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The Journal to Stella

J >> Jonathan Swift >> The Journal to Stella




17. I went to Court to seek a dinner: but the Queen was not at church, she
has got a touch of the gout; so the Court was thin, and I went to the Coffee-
house; and Sir Thomas Frankland and his eldest son and I went and dined with
his son William.[49] I talked a great deal to Sir Thomas about Manley; and
find he is his good friend, and so has Ned Southwell been, and I hope he will
be safe, though all the Irish folks here are his mortal enemies. There was a
devilish bite to-day. They had it, I know not how, that I was to preach this
morning at St. James's Church; an abundance went, among the rest Lord Radnor,
who never is abroad till three in the afternoon. I walked all the way home
from Hatton Garden at six, by moonlight, a delicate night. Raymond called at
nine, but I was denied; and now I am in bed between eleven and twelve, just
going to sleep, and dream of my own dear roguish impudent pretty MD.

18. You will now have short days' works, just a few lines to tell you where I
am, and what I am doing; only I will keep room for the last day to tell you
news, if there be any worth sending. I have been sometimes like to do it at
the top of my letter, until I remark it would be old before it reached you. I
was hunting to dine with Mr. Harley to-day, but could not find him; and so I
dined with honest Dr. Cockburn, and came home at six, and was taken out to
next door by Dopping and Ford, to drink bad claret and oranges; and we let
Raymond come to us, who talks of leaving the town to-morrow, but I believe
will stay a day or two longer. It is now late, and I will say no more, but
end this line with bidding my own dear saucy MD goodnight, etc.

19. I am come down proud stomach in one instance, for I went to-day to see
the Duke of Buckingham,[50] but came too late: then I visited Mrs.
Barton,[51] and thought to have dined with some of the Ministry; but it
rained, and Mrs. Vanhomrigh was nigh, and I took the opportunity of paying her
for a scarf she bought me, and dined there; at four I went to congratulate
with Lord Shelburne, for the death of poor Lady Shelburne dowager;[52] he was
at his country house, and returned while I was there, and had not heard of it,
and he took it very well. I am now come home before six, and find a packet
from the Bishop of Clogher, with one enclosed to the Duke of Ormond, which is
ten days earlier dated than another I had from Parvisol; however, 'tis no
matter, for the Duke has already disposed of the Vice-Chancellorship to the
Archbishop of Tuam,[53] and I could not help it, for it is a thing wholly you
know in the Duke's power; and I find the Bishop has enemies about the Duke. I
write this while Patrick is folding up my scarf, and doing up the fire (for I
keep a fire, it costs me twelvepence a week); and so be quiet till I am gone
to bed, and then sit down by me a little, and we will talk a few words more.
Well; now MD is at my bedside; and now what shall we say? How does Mrs.
Stoyte? What had the Dean for supper? How much did Mrs. Walls win? Poor
Lady Shelburne: well, go get you to bed, sirrahs.

20. Morning. I was up this morning early, and shaved by candlelight, and
write this by the fireside. Poor Raymond just came in and took his leave of
me; he is summoned by high order from his wife, but pretends he has had enough
of London. I was a little melancholy to part with him; he goes to Bristol,
where they are to be with his merchant brother, and now thinks of staying till
May; so she must be brought to bed in England. He was so easy and manageable,
that I almost repent I suffered him to see me so seldom. But he is gone, and
will save Patrick some lies in a week: Patrick is grown admirable at it, and
will make his fortune. How now, sirrah, must I write in a morning to your
impudence?

Stay till night,
And then I'll write,
In black and white,
By candlelight,
Of wax so bright,
It helps the sight--
A bite, a bite!

Marry come up, Mistress Boldface.--At night. Dr. Raymond came back, and goes
to-morrow. I did not come home till eleven, and found him here to take leave
of me. I went to the Court of Requests, thinking to find Mr. Harley and dine
with him, and refused Henley, and everybody, and at last knew not where to go,
and met Jemmy Leigh by chance, and he was just in the same way, so I dined at
his lodgings on a beef-steak, and drank your health; then left him and went to
the tavern with Ben Tooke and Portlack, the Duke of Ormond's secretary,
drinking nasty white wine till eleven. I am sick, and ashamed of it, etc.

21. I met that beast Ferris, Lord Berkeley's[54] steward formerly; I walked
with him a turn in the Park, and that scoundrel dog is as happy as an emperor,
has married a wife with a considerable estate in land and houses about this
town, and lives at his ease at Hammersmith. See your confounded sect![55]
Well; I had the same luck to-day with Mr. Harley; 'twas a lovely day, and went
by water into the City, and dined with Stratford at a merchant's house, and
walked home with as great a dunce as Ferris, I mean honest Colonel
Caulfeild,[56] and came home by eight, and now am in bed, and going to sleep
for a wager, and will send this letter on Saturday, and so; but first I will
wish you a merry Christmas and a happy New Year, and pray God we may never
keep them asunder again.

22. Morning. I am going now to Mr. Harley's levee on purpose to vex him; I
will say I had no other way of seeing him, etc. Patrick says it is a dark
morning, and that the Duke of Argyle[57] is to be knighted to-day; the booby
means installed at Windsor. But I must rise, for this is a shaving-day, and
Patrick says there is a good fire; I wish MD were by it, or I by MD's.--At
night. I forgot to tell you, Madam Dingley, that I paid nine shillings for
your glass and spectacles, of which three were for the Bishop's case: I am
sorry I did not buy you such another case; but if you like it, I will bring
one over with me; pray tell me: the glass to read was four shillings, the
spectacles two. And have you had your chocolate? Leigh says he sent the
petticoat by one Mr. Spencer. Pray have you no further commissions for me? I
paid the glass-man but last night, and he would have made me a present of the
microscope worth thirty shillings, and would have sent it home along with me;
I thought the deuce was in the man: he said I could do him more service than
that was worth, etc. I refused his present, but promised him all service I
could do him; and so now I am obliged in honour to recommend him to
everybody.--At night. I went to Mr. Harley's levee; he came and asked me what
I had to do there, and bid me come and dine with him on a family dinner; which
I did, and it was the first time I ever saw his lady[58] and daughter;[59] at
five my Lord Keeper[60] came in: I told Mr. Harley, he had formerly presented
me to Sir Simon Harcourt, but now must to my Lord Keeper; so he laughed, etc.

23. Morning. This letter goes to-night without fail; I hope there is none
from you yet at the Coffee-house; I will send and see by and by, and let you
know, and so and so. Patrick goes to see for a letter: what will you lay, is
there one from MD or no? No, I say; done for sixpence. Why has the Dean
never once written to me? I won sixpence; I won sixpence; there is not one
letter to Presto. Good-morrow, dear sirrahs: Stratford and I dine to-day
with Lord Mountjoy. God Almighty preserve and bless you; farewell, etc.

I have been dining at Lord Mountjoy's; and am come to study; our news from
Spain this post takes off some of our fears. The Parliament is prorogued to-
day, or adjourned rather till after the holidays. Bank Stock is 105, so I may
get 12 shillings for my bargain already. Patrick, the puppy, is abroad, and
how shall I send this letter? Good-night, little dears both, and be happy;
and remember your poor Presto, that wants you sadly, as hope saved. Let me go
study, naughty girls, and don't keep me at the bottom of the paper. O, faith,
if you knew what lies on my hands constantly, you would wonder to see how I
could write such long letters; but we'll talk of that some other time. Good-
night again, and God bless dear MD with His best blessings, yes, yes, and
Dingley and Stella and me too, etc.

Ask the Bishop of Clogher about the pun I sent him of Lord Stawel's
brother;[61] it will be a pure bite. This letter has 199 lines in it, beside
all postscripts; I had a curiosity to reckon.

There is a long letter for you.

It is longer than a sermon, faith.

I had another letter from Mrs. Fenton, who says you were with her; I hope you
did not go on purpose. I will answer her letter soon; it is about some money
in Lady Giffard's hands.

They say you have had eight packets due to you; so pray, madams, do not blame
Presto, but the wind.

My humble service to Mrs. Walls and Mrs. Stoyte; I missed the former a good
while.



LETTER 12.

LONDON, Dec. 23, 1710.

I have sent my 11th to-night as usual, and begin the dozenth, and I told you I
dined with Stratford at Lord Mountjoy's, and I will tell you no more at
present, guess for why; because I am going to mind things, and mighty affairs,
not your nasty First-Fruits--I let them alone till Mr. Harley gets the Queen's
letter--but other things of greater moment, that you shall know one day, when
the ducks have eaten up all the dirt. So sit still a while just by me, while
I am studying, and don't say a word, I charge you, and when I am going to bed,
I will take you along, and talk with you a little while, so there, sit there.-
-Come then, let us see what we have to say to these saucy brats, that will not
let us go sleep at past eleven. Why, I am a little impatient to know how you
do; but that I take it for a standing maxim, that when you are silent, all is
pretty well, because that is the way I will deal with you; and if there was
anything you ought to know now, I would write by the first post, although I
had written but the day before. Remember this, young women; and God Almighty
preserve you both, and make us happy together; and tell me how accompts stand
between us, that you may be paid long before it is due, not to want. I will
return no more money while I stay, so that you need not be in pain to be paid;
but let me know at least a month before you can want. Observe this, d'ye
hear, little dear sirrahs, and love Presto, as Presto loves MD, etc.

24. You will have a merrier Christmas Eve than we here. I went up to Court
before church; and in one of the rooms, there being but little company, a
fellow in a red coat without a sword came up to me, and, after words of
course, asked me how the ladies did? I asked, "What ladies?" He said, "Mrs.
Dingley and Mrs. Johnson." "Very well," said I, "when I heard from them last:
and pray when came you from thence, sir?" He said, "I never was in Ireland";
and just at that word Lord Winchelsea[1] comes up to me, and the man went off:
as I went out I saw him again, and recollected him, it was Vedeau[2] with a
pox: I then went and made my apologies, that my head was full of something I
had to say to Lord Winchelsea, etc., and I asked after his wife, and so all
was well; and he inquired after my lodging, because he had some favour to
desire of me in Ireland, to recommend somebody to somebody, I know not what it
is. When I came from church, I went up to Court again, where Sir Edmond
Bacon[3] told me the bad news from Spain,[4] which you will hear before this
reaches you; as we have it now, we are undone there, and it was odd to see the
whole countenances of the Court changed so in two hours. Lady Mountjoy[5]
carried me home to dinner, where I stayed not long after, and came home early,
and now am got into bed, for you must always write to your MD's in bed, that
is a maxim.

Mr. White and Mr. Red,
Write to MD when abed;
Mr. Black and Mr. Brown,
Write to MD when you're down;
Mr. Oak and Mr. Willow,
Write to MD on your pillow.--

What is this? faith, I smell fire; what can it be? this house has a thousand
stinks in it. I think to leave it on Thursday, and lodge over the way.
Faith, I must rise, and look at my chimney, for the smell grows stronger,
stay--I have been up, and in my room, and found all safe, only a mouse within
the fender to warm himself, which I could not catch. I smelt nothing there,
but now in my bed-chamber I smell it again; I believe I have singed the
woollen curtain, and that is all, though I cannot smoke it. Presto is plaguy
silly to-night, an't he? Yes, and so he be. Ay, but if I should wake and see
fire. Well; I will venture; so good-night, etc.

25. Pray, young women, if I write so much as this every day, how will this
paper hold a fortnight's work, and answer one of yours into the bargain? You
never think of this, but let me go on like a simpleton. I wish you a merry
Christmas, and many, many a one with poor Presto at some pretty place. I was
at church to-day by eight, and received the Sacrament, and came home by ten;
then went to Court at two: it was a Collar-day, that is, when the Knights of
the Garter wear their collars; but the Queen stayed so late at Sacrament, that
I came back, and dined with my neighbour Ford, because all people dine at home
on this day. This is likewise a Collar-day all over England in every house,
at least where there is BRAWN: that's very well.--I tell you a good pun; a
fellow hard by pretends to cure agues, and has set out a sign, and spells it
EGOES; a gentleman and I observing it, he said, "How does that fellow pretend
to cure AGUES?" I said I did not know; but I was sure it was not by a SPELL.
That is admirable. And so you asked the Bishop about that pun of Lord
Stawel's brother. Bite! Have I caught you, young women? Must you pretend to
ask after roguish puns, and Latin ones too? Oh but you smoked me, and did not
ask the Bishop. Oh but you are a fool, and you did. I met Vedeau again at
Court to-day, and I observed he had a sword on; I fancy he was broke, and has
got a commission, but I never asked him. Vedeau I think his name is, yet
Parvisol's man is Vedel, that is true. Bank Stock will fall like stock-fish
by this bad news, and two days ago I could have got twelve pounds by my
bargain; but I do not intend to sell, and in time it will rise. It is odd
that my Lord Peterborow foretold this loss two months ago, one night at Mr.
Harley's, when I was there; he bid us count upon it, that Stanhope would lose
Spain before Christmas; that he would venture his head upon it, and gave us
reasons; and though Mr. Harley argued the contrary, he still held to his
opinion. I was telling my Lord Angelsea this at Court this morning; and a
gentleman by said he had heard my Lord Peterborow affirm the same thing. I
have heard wise folks say, "An ill tongue may do much." And 'tis an odd
saying,

"Once I guessed right,
And I got credit by't;
Thrice I guessed wrong,
And I kept my credit on."

No, it is you are sorry, not I.

26. By the Lord Harry, I shall be undone here with Christmas boxes. The
rogues of the Coffee-house have raised their tax, everyone giving a crown; and
I gave mine for shame, besides a great many half-crowns to great men's
porters, etc. I went to-day by water into the city, and dined with no less a
man than the City Printer.[6] There is an intimacy between us, built upon
reasons that you shall know when I see you; but the rain caught me within
twelvepenny length of home. I called at Mr. Harley's, who was not within,
dropped my half-crown with his porter, drove to the Coffee-house, where the
rain kept me till nine. I had letters to-day from the Archbishop of Dublin
and Mr. Bernage;[7] the latter sends me a melancholy account of Lady
Shelburne's[8] death, and his own disappointments, and would gladly be a
captain; if I can help him, I will.

27. Morning. I bespoke a lodging over the way for tomorrow, and the dog let
it yesterday to another; I gave him no earnest, so it seems he could do it;
Patrick would have had me give him earnest to bind him; but I would not. So I
must go saunter to-day for a lodging somewhere else. Did you ever see so open
a winter in England? We have not had two frosty days; but it pays it off in
rain: we have not had three fair days these six weeks. O, faith, I dreamt
mightily of MD last night; but so confused, I cannot tell a word. I have made
Ford acquainted with Lewis; and to-day we dined together: in the evening I
called at one or two neighbours, hoping to spend a Christmas evening; but none
were at home, they were all gone to be merry with others. I have often
observed this, that in merry times everybody is abroad; where the deuce are
they? So I went to the Coffee-house, and talked with Mr. Addison an hour, who
at last remembered to give me two letters, which I cannot answer to-night, nor
to-morrow neither, I can assure you, young women, count upon that. I have
other things to do than to answer naughty girls, an old saying and true,

Letters from MD's
Must not be answered in ten days:

it is but bad rhyme, etc.

28. To-day I had a message from Sir Thomas Hanmer, to dine with him; the
famous Dr. Smalridge[9] was of the company, and we sat till six; and I came
home to my new lodgings in St. Albans Street,[10] where I pay the same rent
(eight shillings a week) for an apartment two pair of stairs; but I have the
use of the parlour to receive persons of quality, and I am got into my new
bed, etc.

29. Sir Andrew Fountaine has been very ill this week; and sent to me early
this morning to have prayers, which you know is the last thing. I found the
doctors and all in despair about him. I read prayers to him, found he had
settled all things; and, when I came out, the nurse asked me whether I thought
it possible he could live; for the doctors thought not. I said, I believed he
would live; for I found the seeds of life in him, which I observe seldom fail
(and I found them in poor, dearest Stella, when she was ill many years ago);
and to-night I was with him again, and he was mightily recovered, and I hope
he will do well, and the doctor approved my reasons; but, if he should die, I
should come off scurvily. The Secretary of State (Mr. St. John) sent to me to
dine with him; Mr. Harley and Lord Peterborow dined there too; and at night
came Lord Rivers. Lord Peterborow goes to Vienna in a day or two: he has
promised to make me write to him. Mr. Harley went away at six; but we stayed
till seven. I took the Secretary aside, and complained to him of Mr. Harley,
that he had got the Queen to grant the First-Fruits, promised to bring me to
her, and get her letter to the bishops of Ireland; but the last part he had
not done in six weeks, and I was in danger to lose reputation, etc. He took
the matter right, desired me to be with him on Sunday morning, and promises me
to finish the affair in four days; so I shall know in a little time what I
have to trust to.--It is nine o'clock, and I must go study, you little rogues;
and so good-night, etc.

30. Morning. The weather grows cold, you sauceboxes. Sir Andrew Fountaine,
they bring me word, is better. I will go rise, for my hands are starving
while I write in bed. Night. Now Sir Andrew Fountaine is recovering, he
desires to be at ease; for I called in the morning to read prayers, but he had
given orders not to be disturbed. I have lost a legacy by his living; for he
told me he had left me a picture and some books, etc. I called to see my
quondam neighbour Ford (do you know what quondam is, though?), and he engaged
me to dine with him; for he always dines at home on Opera-days. I came home
at six, writ to the Archbishop, then studied till past eleven, and stole to
bed, to write to MD these few lines, to let you know I am in good health at
the present writing hereof, and hope in God MD is so too. I wonder I never
write politics to you: I could make you the profoundest politician in all the
lane.--Well, but when shall we answer this letter, No. 8 of MD's? Not till
next year, faith. O Lord--bo--but that will be a Monday next. Cod's-so, is
it? and so it is: never saw the like.--I made a pun t'other day to Ben
Portlack[11] about a pair of drawers. Poh, said he, that's mine a--- all
over. Pray, pray, Dingley, let me go sleep; pray, pray, Stella, let me go
slumber; and put out my wax-candle.

31. Morning. It is now seven, and I have got a fire, but am writing abed in
my bed-chamber. 'Tis not shaving-day, so I shall be ready early to go before
church to Mr. St. John; and to-morrow I will answer our MD's letter.

Would you answer MD's letter,
On New Year's Day you'll do it better;
For, when the year with MD 'gins,
It without MD never lins.

(These proverbs have always old words in them; lins is leave off.)

But, if on New Year you write nones,
MD then will bang your bones.

But Patrick says I must rise.--Night. I was early this morning with Secretary
St. John, and gave him a memorial to get the Queen's letter for the First-
Fruits, who has promised to do it in a very few days. He told me he had been
with the Duke of Marlborough, who was lamenting his former wrong steps in
joining with the Whigs, and said he was worn out with age, fatigues, and
misfortunes. I swear it pitied me; and I really think they will not do well
in too much mortifying that man, although indeed it is his own fault. He is
covetous as hell, and ambitious as the Prince of it: he would fain have been
General for life, and has broken all endeavours for peace, to keep his
greatness and get money. He told the Queen he was neither covetous nor
ambitious. She said if she could have conveniently turned about, she would
have laughed, and could hardly forbear it in his face. He fell in with all
the abominable measures of the late Ministry, because they gratified him for
their own designs. Yet he has been a successful General, and I hope he will
continue his command. O Lord, smoke the politics to MD! Well; but, if you
like them, I will scatter a little now and then, and mine are all fresh from
the chief hands. Well, I dined with Mr. Harley, and came away at six: there
was much company, and I was not merry at all. Mr. Harley made me read a paper
of verses of Prior's. I read them plain, without any fine manner; and Prior
swore, I should never read any of his again; but he would be revenged, and
read some of mine as bad. I excused myself, and said I was famous for reading
verses the worst in the world; and that everybody snatched them from me when I
offered to begin. So we laughed.--Sir Andrew Fountaine still continues ill.
He is plagued with some sort of bile.

Jan. 1. 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. Patrick wishes me a happy New Year, and desires
I would rise, for it is a good fire, and faith 'tis cold. I was so politic
last night with MD, never saw the like. Get the Examiners, and read them; the
last nine or ten are full of the reasons for the late change, and of the
abuses of the last Ministry; and the great men assure me they are all true.
They are written by their encouragement and direction. I must rise and go see
Sir Andrew Fountaine; but perhaps to-night I may answer MD's 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.

Good-morrow again, dear sirrahs; one cannot rise for your play.--At night. I
went this morning to visit Lady Kerry and Lord Shelburne; and they made me
dine with them. Sir Andrew Fountaine is better. And now let us come and see
what this saucy, dear letter of MD says. Come out, letter, come out from
between the sheets; here it is underneath, and it will not come out. Come out
again, I say: so there. Here it is. What says Presto to me, pray? says it.
Come, and let me answer for you to your ladies. Hold up your head then, like
a good letter. There. Pray, how have you got up with Presto, Madam Stella?
You write your eighth when you receive mine: now I write my twelfth when I
receive your eighth. Do not you allow for what are upon the road, simpleton?
What say you to that? And so you kept Presto's little birthday, I warrant:
would to God I had been at the health rather than here, where I have no manner
of pleasure, nothing but eternal business upon my hands. I shall grow wise in
time; but no more of that: only I say Amen with my heart and vitals, that we
may never be asunder again ten days together while poor Presto lives. --------
------------------------------------------------ I can't be merry so near any
splenetic talk; so I made that long line, and now all's well again. Yes, you
are a pretending slut, indeed, with your fourth and fifth in the margin, and
your journal, and everything. Wind--we saw no wind here, nothing at all
extraordinary at any time. We had it once when you had it not. But an old
saying and a true:

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