ready for me. So I cooled my heels in the Parlor till he came, but called for a glass of Brandy. I have been cooking myself dry, and am now in my night gown ; and this moment comes a Letter to me from one Whelden who tells me he hears I am a lover of the Mathematicks, that he has found out the Longitude, shewn his discourse to Dr. Dobbs of y' College, and sent Letters to all the Mathematicians in London 3 months ago, but received no answer, and desires I would read his discourse. I sent back his Letter with my answer under it, too long to tell you, only I said I had too much of the Longitude already, by 2 projectors, whom I encouraged, one of which was a cheat and the oth' cut his own throat, and for himself I thought he had a mind to deceive others, or was deceived himself. And so I wait for dinner. I shall dine like a King all alone, as I have done these 6 days. As it happened, if I had gone straight from Chester to Parkgate, 8 miles, I should have been in Dublin on Sunday last. Now Mich'lmas approaches, the worst time in the year for the Sea, and this rain has made these parts unwalkable, so that I must either write or doze. Bite; when we was in the wild cabin, I order Wat to take a cloth and wipe my wet gown and cassock-it happened to be a meal bagand as my Gown dryed, it was all daubed with flour well cemented with the rain. What do I, but see the Gown and cassock well dried in my room, and while Wat was at dinner, I was an hour rubbing the meal out of them, and did it excell; He is just come up, and I have gravely bid him take them down to rub them, and I wait whether he will find out what I have been doing. The Rogue is come up in six minutes with my gown, and says there were but few spots (tho' he saw a thousand at first) but neither wonders at it nor seems to suspect me who laboured like a horse to rub them out. The 3 Pacquet boats are now all on this side; and the weather grows worse, and so much rain that there is an end of my walking. I wish you would send me word how I shall dispose of my time. If the Vicar could but play at back-gammon I were an Emperor; but I know him not. I am as insignificant here as Parson Brooke is in Dublin. By my conscience, I believe Cæsar would be the same without his army at his back. Well, the longer I stay here, the more you will murmur for want of packets. Whoever would wish to live long should live here, for a day is longer than a week, and if the weather be foul, as long as a fortnight. Yet here I could live with two or three friends, in a warm house, and good wine-much better than being a Slave in Ireld. But my misery is, that I am in the worst part of Wales under the very worst circumstances; afraid of a relapse, in utmost solitude; impatient for the condition of our friend; not a soul to converse with, hindered from exercise by rain, cooped up in a room not half so large as one of the Deanery Closets. My room smokes into the bargain, and the other is too cold and moist to be without a fire. There is or should be a Proverbe here, "When Mrs. Welsh's Chimney smokes, Tis a sign she'll keep her folks. But, when of smoke the room is clear, It is a sign we sha'nt

N N

stay here." All this is to divert thinking. Tell me, am not I in a comfortable way? The Yacht is to be here for La Carteret on the 14th of Octb. I fancy he and I shall come over together. I have open'd my door to let in the wind that it may drive out the smoke. I asked the wind why it is so cross, he assures me 'tis not his fault, but his cursed Master Æolus's. Here is a young Jackanapes in the same Inn waiting for a wind, who would fain be my companion; and if I stay here much longer, I am afraid all my pride and grandeur will truckle to comply with him, especially if I finish these leaves that remain ; but I will write close, and do as the Devil did at mass-pull the paper with my teeth to make it hold out.

Thursday. 'Tis allowed that we learn patience by suffering. I have now not spirit enough left me to fret. I was so cunning these 3 last days, that whenever I began to rage and storm at the weather, I took special care to turn my face towards Ireland, in hopes by my breath to push the wind forward. But now I give up. However, when, upon asking how is the wind, the people answer, Full in y' teeth, I cannot help wishing, worse were in theirs. Well, it is now 3 afternoon. I have dined and invited the Master. The wind and tide serve, and I am just taking boat to go to the Ship: so adieu till I see you at the Deanery. Friday, Mich's day. You will now know something of what it is to be at sea. We had not been half an hour in the ship till a fierce wind rose directly against us. We tried a good while, but the storm still continued. So we turned back, and it was eight at night, dark and rainy, before the ship got back, and at anchor. The other passengers went back in a boat to Holyhead, but to prevent accidents and broken shins I lay all night on board and came back this morning at 8 am now in my Chamber, where I must stay, and get in a new stock of patience. You all know well enough where I am, for I wrote thrice after your Letters that desired my coming over. The last was from Coventry, 19th instant, but I brought it with me to Chester, and saw it put into the Post, on Thursday 21st, and the next day followed it myself, but the Pacquet boat was gone before I could get here, because I could not ride 70 miles a day.

APPENDIX X.

THE WILL OF ESTHER JOHNSON

ESTHER JOHNSON's Will has been printed at full length by the late Sir W. Wilde, in his "Closing Years of Dean Swift." It is only necessary here to notice some of its important points.

It is dated December 30th, 1727, and begins thus :—

"In the name of God. Amen. I, Esther Johnson, of the city of Dublin, spinster, being of tolerable health in body, and perfectly sound

in mind, do here make my last will and testament, revoking all former wills whatsoever. First, I bequeath my soul to the infinite mercy of God with a most humble hope of everlasting salvation, and my body to the earth, to be buried in the great aisle of the Cathedral Church of St. Patrick's, Dublin, and I desire that a decent monument of plain white marble may be fixed in the wall, over the place of my burial, not exceeding the value of twenty pounds sterling, and that the charges of my funeral may not exceed the said sum."

She next provides for the investment of £1000 of her property in land, to be purchased, exactly according to the directions of Swift's own Will, in any province of Ireland, except Connaught. The proceeds of such investment are to go, during their lives to her mother and sister, and thereafter to the payment of a salary to a chaplain in Dr. Steevens's hospital.* The next stipulation of her Will again bears a striking resemblance to the Will of Swift. "If it shall happen," she says, "(which God forbid) that at any time hereafter the present Established Episcopal Church of this kingdom shall come to be abolished, and be no longer the national Established Church of the said Kingdom, I do, in that case, declare wholly null and void the bequest above made *** and my will is, that, in the case aforesaid, it devolves to my nearest relation then living."

As in the will of Swift, there is a clause preventing rack-renting on the lands to be purchased and held in trust, under her Will.

After some specific legacies, the Will proceeds :—

"Lastly I make and constitute the Rev. Dr. Thomas Sheridan, of the City of Dublin, the Rev. Mr. John Grattan, the Rev. Mr. Francis Corbet, and John Rochfort, Esq., of the City of Dublin, executors of my last Will and testament. I desire likewise that my plate, books, furniture, and whatever other moveables I have, may be sold to discharge my debts : and that my strong box, and all the papers I have in it or elsewhere, may be given to the Rev. Dr. Jonathan Swift, Dean of St. Patrick's.

"Item. I bequeath to the Rev. Dr. Jonathan Swift a bond of thirty pounds, due to me by Dr. Russell, in trust for the use of Mrs. Honoria Swanson." She designates herself as a "Spinster," and she signs herself "Esther Johnson." But this, as has already been pointed out, is no argument against the marriage: it was obviously a necessary part of the compact of secrecy; and she had no reason to fear that Swift would use his legal powers as her husband, to interfere with, or to invalidate, the terms of a Will, so made.

This was exactly the disposition of her property which Swift had urged, in a letter from London, to Mr. Worrall, of 15 July, 1726, that she should make. She adds the condition that the chaplain should be unmarried and this Monck

Mason conceives to be an argument in favour of his contention that she had not herself gone through the ceremony. The cause is weak that requires to be supported by such a puerility.

APPENDIX XI.

THE CHARACTER OF MRS. JOHNSON [STELLA]

[This character gives us so clear a picture of the qualities which Swift found to admire in her whom he had chosen from amongst all women, that the bond between him and Stella is not to be understood without it: and it is printed here as essential to his own biography.]

THIS day, being Sunday, January 28, 1727-8, about eight o'clock at night, a servant brought me a note, with an account of the death of the truest, most virtuous, and valuable friend, that I, or perhaps any other person, was ever blessed with. She expired about six in the evening of this day; and as soon as I am left alone, which is about eleven at night, I resolve, for my own satisfaction, to say something of her life and character.

She was born at Richmond, in Surrey, on the 13th day of March, in the year 1681. Her father was a younger brother of a good family in Nottinghamshire, her mother of a lower degree; and indeed she had little to boast of her birth. I knew her from six years old, and had some share in her education, by directing what books she should read, and perpetually instructing her in the principles of honour and virtue; from which she never swerved in any one action or moment of her life. She was sickly from her childhood until about the age of fifteen; but then grew into perfect health, and was looked upon as one of the most beautiful, graceful, and agreeable young women in London, only a little too fat. Her hair was blacker than a raven, and every feature of her face in perfection. She lived generally in the country, with a family where she contracted an intimate friendship with another lady of more advanced years. I was then, to my mortification, settled in Ireland; and about a year after, going to visit my friends in England, I found she was a little uneasy upon the death of a person on whom she had some dependance.* Her fortune, at that time, was in all not above fifteen hundred pounds, the interest of which was but a scanty maintenance. Under this consideration, and indeed very much for my own satisfaction, who had few friends or acquaintance in Ireland, I prevailed with her and her dear friend and companion, the other lady, to draw what money they had into Ireland, a great part of their fortune being in annuities upon funds. Money was then ten per cent. in Ireland, besides the advantage of returning it, and all necessaries of life at half

* The omission of Sir W. Temple's name is clearly due to Swift's strained

relations with the family.

the price. They complied with my advice, and soon after came over; but I happening to continue some time longer in England, they were much discouraged to live in Dublin, where they were wholly strangers. She was at that time about nineteen years old, and her person was soon distinguished. But the adventure looked so like a frolic, the censure held for some time, as if there were a secret history in such a removal; which, however, soon blew off by her excellent conduct. She came over with her friend on the in the year 170-; and they both lived together until this day, when death removed her from us. For some years past, she had been visited with continual ill health; and several times, within these last two years, her life was despaired of. But, for this twelvemonth past, she never had a day's health; and, properly speaking, she has been dying six months, but kept alive, almost against nature, ly the generous kindness of two physicians, and the care of her friends. Thus far I writ the same night between eleven and twelve.

Never was any of her sex born with better gifts of the mind, or who more improved them by reading and conversation. Yet her memory was not of the best, and was impaired in the latter years of her life. But I cannot call to mind that I ever once heard her make a wrong judgment of persons, books, or affairs. Her advice was always the best, and with the greatest freedom, mixed with the greatest decency. She had a gracefulness, somewhat more than human, in every motion, word, and action. Never was so happy a conjunction of civility, freedom, easiness, and sincerity. There seemed to be a combination among all that knew her, to treat her with a dignity much beyond her rank; yet people of all sorts were never more easy than in her company. Mr. Addison, when he was in Ireland, being introduced to her, immediately found her out; and, if he had not soon after left the kingdom, assured me he would have used all endeavours to cultivate her friendship. A rude or conceited coxcomb passed his time very ill, upon the least breach of respect; for, in such a case, she had no mercy, but was sure to expose him to the contempt of the standers-by, yet in such a manner, as he was ashamed to complain, and durst not resent. All of us who had the happiness of her friendship agreed unanimously, that, in an afternoon or evening's conversation, she never failed, before we parted, of delivering the best thing that was said in the company. Some of us have written down several of her sayings, or what the French call bons mots, wherein she excelled beyond belief. She never mistook the understanding of others; nor ever said a severe word, but where a much severer was deserved.

Her servants loved, and almost adored her at the same time. She would, upon occasions, treat them with freedom; yet her demeanour was so awful, that they durst not fail in the least point of respect. She chid them seldom, but it was with severity, which had an effect on them for a long time after.

January 29. My head aches, and I can write no more.