In another place he says, “People have so left the town, that I am at a loss for a dinner. . . .  It cost me eighteenpence in coach-hire before I could find a place to dine in.”  Elsewhere we find:  “This paper does not cost me a farthing:  I have it from the Secretary’s office.”  He often complains of having to take a coach owing to the dirty condition of the streets:  “This rain ruins me in coach-hire; I walked away sixpennyworth, and came within a shilling length, and then took a coach, and got a lift back for nothing."[13]

Swift’s arrogance—­the arrogance, sometimes, of a man who is morbidly suspicious that he may be patronised—­is shown in the manner in which he speaks of the grand ladies with whom he came in contact.  He calls the Duke of Ormond’s daughters “insolent drabs,” and talks of his “mistress, Ophy Butler’s wife, who is grown a little charmless.”  When the Duchess of Shrewsbury reproached him for not dining with her, Swift said that was not so soon done; he expected more advances from ladies, especially duchesses.  On another occasion he was to have supped at Lady Ashburnham’s, “but the drab did not call for us in her coach, as she promised, but sent for us, and so I sent my excuses.”  The arrogance was, however, often only on the surface.  It is evident that Swift was very kind in many cases.  He felt deeply for Mrs. Long in her misfortunes, living and dying in an obscure country town.  On the last illness of the poet Harrison he says, “I am very much afflicted for him, as he is my own creature. . . .  I was afraid to knock at the door; my mind misgave me.”  He was “heartily sorry for poor Mrs. Parnell’s death; she seemed to be an excellent good-natured young woman, and I believe the poor lad is much afflicted; they appeared to live perfectly well together.”  Afterwards he helped Parnell by introducing him to Bolingbroke and Oxford.  He found kind words for Mrs. Manley in her illness, and Lady Ashburnham’s death was “extremely moving. . . .  She was my greatest favourite, and I am in excessive concern for her loss.”  Lastly, he was extraordinarily patient towards his servant Patrick, who drank, stopped out at night, and in many ways tried Swift’s temper.  There were good points about Patrick, but no doubt the great consideration which Swift showed him was due in part to the fact that he was a favourite of the ladies in Dublin, and had Mrs. Vanhomrigh to intercede for him.

But for the best example of the kindly side of Swift’s nature, we must turn to what he tells us in the Journal about Stella herself.  The “little language” which Swift used when writing to her was the language he employed when playing with Stella as a little child at Moor Park.  Thackeray, who was not much in sympathy with Swift, said that he knew of “nothing more manly, more tender, more exquisitely touching, than some of these notes.”  Swift says that when he wrote plainly, he felt as if they were no longer alone, but “a bad scrawl is so snug it looks like a PMD.”  In writing his fond and playful prattle, he made up his mouth “just as if he were speaking it."[14]