friend at London had given Watt to put up for me, and drank a pint of the wine, which was bad enough. Not a soul is yet come to Holyhead except a young fellow who smiles when he meets me and would fain be my companion, but it has not come to that yet. I writ abundance of verses this day; and several useful hints, thô I say it. I went to bed at ten and dreamt abundance of nonsense.

Tuesday 26th. I am forced to wear a shirt 3 days for fear of being lowsy. I was sparing of them all the way. It was a mercy there were 6 clean when I left London; otherwise Watt (whose blunders would bear an history) would have got them all in the great Box of goods which went by the Carrier, to Chester. He brought but one crevat, and the reason he gave was because the rest were foul and he thought he should not get foul linen into the Portmanteau. For he never dreamt it might be washed on the way. My shirts are all foul now, and by his reasoning I fear he will leave them at Holyhead when we go. I got a small Loyn of mutton but so tough I could not chew it, and drank my second pint of wine. I walked this morning a good way among the rocks, and to a hole in one of them from whence at certain periods the water spurted up several feet high. It rained all night and hath rained since dinner. But now the sun shines and I will take my afternoon walk. It was fiercer and wilder weather than yesterday, yet the Captain now dreams of sailing. To say the truth Michaelmas is the worst season in the year. Is this strange stuff? Why what would you have me do? I have writ verses and put down hints till I am weary. I see no creature. I cannot read by candlelight. Sleeping will make me sick. I reckon myself fixed here and have a mind like Marshall Tallard to take a house and garden. I wish you a Merry Christmas and expect to see you by CandleI have walked this morning again about 3 miles on the rocks, my giddiness, God be thanked is almost gone and my hearing continues. I am now retired to my chamber to scribble or sit humdrum. The night is fair and they pretend to have some hopes of going

mas.

to-morrow.

Sept. 26th. Thoughts upon being confined at Holyhead. If this were to be my settle. ment during life I could caress myself a while by forming new conveniencies to be easy, and should not be frightened either by the solitude or the meaness of lodging, eating or drinking. I shall say nothing upon the suspense I am in about my dearest friend because that is a case extraordinary, and therefore by way of comfort. I will speak as if it were not in my thoughts and only as a passenger who is in a scurvy, unprovided comfortless place without one companion and who therefore wants to be at home where he hath all conveniences proper for a Gentleman of quality. I cannot read at night, and I have no books to read in the day. I have no subject in my head at present to

Esther Johnson.

write upon. I dare not send my linen to be washed for fear of being called away at half an hour's warning, and then I must leave them behind which is a serious point; in the mean time I am in danger of being lowsy which is a ticklish Point. I live at great expense without one comfortable bit or sup. I am afraid of joyning with passengers for fear of getting acquaintance with Irish. The days are short and I have five hours at night to spend by myself before I go to bed, I should be glad to converse with Farmers or shopkeepers, but none of them speak English. A Dog is better company than the Vicar, for I remember him of old. What can I do but write everything that comes into my head. Watt is a booby of that species which I dare not suffer to be familiar with me, for he would ramp on my shoulders in half an hour. But the worst part is my half-hourly longing, and hopes and vain expectations of a wind, so that I live in suspense which is the worst circumstance of human nature. I am a little wrung (?) from two scurvy disorders and if I should relapse there is not a Welsh house-cur that would not have more care taken of him, than I, and whose loss would not be more lamented. I confine myself to my narrow chamber in all unwalkable hours. The Master of the pacquet boat, one Jones, hath not treated me with the least civility, although Watt gave him my name. In short I come from being used like an Emperor to be used worse than a Dog at Holyhead. Yet my hat is worn to pieces by answering the civilities of the poor inhabitants as they pass by. The women might be safe enough who all wear hats yet never pull them off, and if the dirty streets did not foul their petticoats by courtseying so low. Look you; be not impatient for I only wait till my watch makes io and then I will give you ease and myself sleep, if I can. O' my conscience you may know a Welsh dog as well as a Welsh man or woman, by its peevish passionate way of barking. paper shall serve to answer all your questions about my journey, and I will have it printed to satisfy the Kingdom. Forsan et hæc olim is a damned lye † for I shall always fret at the remembrance of this imprisonment. Pray pity your Watt for he is called dunce puppy and Lyar 500 times an hour, and yet he means not ill for he means nothing. Oh for a dozen bottles of deanery wine and a slice of bread and butter. The wine you sent us yesterday is a little upon the sour. I wish you had chosen a better. I am going to bed at ten o'clock because I am weary of being up. Wednesday. Last night I dreamt the Lord Bolingbroke and Mr. Pope were at my Cathedral. Ld. in the gallery and that my Ld. was to preach. I could not find my surplice, the Church servants were out of the way: the Door was shut. I sent to my Ld. to come into my stall for more

This

Thus the sentence runs in the manuscript; its meaning is certainly obscure.

† He alludes of course to the famous words in the speech of Eneas: "Forsan et hæc olim meninisse juvabit." - Æn. I. 203.

conveniency to get into the pulpit: the stall was all broken, they said. Collegians had done it. I squeezed among the rabble; saw my Ld. in the Pulpit. I thought his prayer was good, but I forget it. In his Sermon I did not like his quoting Mr. Wycherley by name, and his play. This is all and so I

To-day we were certainly to sayl: the morning was calm. Watt and I walked up the mountain Marucia, properly called Holyhead or Sacrum Promontorium by Ptolomy, 2 miles from this town. I took breath 59 times. I looked from the top to see the Wicklow hills, but the day was too hazy, which I felt to my sorrow; for returning we were overtaken by a furious shower, I got into a Welsh cabin almost as bad as an Irish one. There were only an old Welsh woman sifting flour who understood no English, and a boy who fell a roaring for fear of me. Watt (otherwise called unfortunate Jack) ran home for my coat but stayed so long that I came home in worse rain without him, and he was so lucky to miss me, but took care to convey the key of my room where a fire was ready for me. So I cooled my heels in the Parlour, 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 mathematics, that he has found out the Longitude, shown his discourse to Mr. Dobbs of yr Colledge 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 other 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 six days. As it happened if I had gone strait from Chester to Park-gate 8 miles I should have been in Dublin on Sunday last. Now Michaelmas 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 were in the wild cabin I order Watt to take a cloth and wipe my wet gown and Cassock: it happened to be a meal-bag and 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 dryed in my room, and while Watt was at dinner I was an hour rubbing the meal out of them, and did it exactly. 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, and says there were but few

specks (tho' he saw a thousand at first) but neither wondered at it, nor seemed to suspect me who labored like a horse to rub them out. The 3 packet boats are now all on their side, and the weather grown 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. I am as insignificant a person 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 fine, 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 Ireland. But my misery is that I am in the very 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, caged up in a room not half so large as one of the Deanery closets, my Room smokes into the bargain, but the weather is too cold and moist to be without a fire. There is or should be a proverb here, when Mrs. Welch's chimney smokes, 'Tis a sign she'll keep her folks. But when of smoke the room is clear. It is a sign we shan't stay here. All this is to divert thinking. Tell me, am not I a comfortable wag? The Yatcht is to leave for Lord Carteret on the 14th of October. I fancy he and I shall come over together. I have opened my door to let in the wind that it may drive out the smoke. I asked the wind why [he] is so cross, he assures me 'tis not his fault, but his cursed Master Eolus's. Here is a young Jackanapes in the 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 three last days that whenever I began to rage and storm at the weather I took special care to turn my face towards Ireland, in hope 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 the teeth I cannot help wishing a T- were in theirs. Well, it is now three in the afternoon, I have dined, and revisited 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 Michaelmas 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 tryed a good while, but the storm still continued: so we turned back and it was 8 at night dark

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 a fresh 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 packet boat was gone before I could get here, because I could not ride 70 miles a day.

So ends the journal, and such were the circumstances under which Swift left England, never again to revisit it. In another page of the same pocket-book are written the following paragraphs, which appear to be the fragment of a notice possibly intended to be prefixed to an edition of the "Miscellanies," two volumes of which had a few months before been published by Pope. These volumes had drawn, both upon Swift himself and on his friends Pope, Gay, and Arbuthnot, the attacks of innumerable scribblers, whom Pope was now preparing to gibbet in "The Dunciad." The piece is not dated, but it was in all probability written at Holyhead, at the same time as the diary. It is probably referred to in the entry for September 25, where he says, "I writ abundance of verses this day, and several useful hints."

I do hereby give notice to Posterity that having been the author of several writings, both in verse and prose which have passed with good success, it hath drawn upon me the censure of innumerable attemptors and imitators and creatures, many of whose names I know, but shall in this be wiser than Virgil and Horace by not delivering their names down to future ages and at the same time disappoint the tribe of writers, whose chief end next to that of getting bread, was an ambition of having their names upon record, by answer. ing or retorting their scurrilities, and armed slily have made use of my resentment to let the future world know that there were such persons now in being. I do therefore charge my successor in fame by virtue of being an antient 200 years hence to follow the same method. Dennis, Blackmore, Bentley and several others will reap great advantage by those who have not observed my rule. And heaven forgive Mr. Pope who hath so grievously transgressed it, by transmitting so many names of forgotten memory full at length to be known by Readers in succeeding times, who perhaps may be seduced to Duck lane and Grub Street, and there find some of the very treatises he mentions in his Satyres. I heartily applaud my own innocency and prudence

A short

This brings us to the verses. Copy of verses which are not found in this pocket-book, but which were apparently written at this time, have been printed in Scott's edition of Swift (first edit., vol. xiv., p. 359). How they got into print or whence they were produced we know not. But they would seem to show that Swift must have written more during these uncomfortable days than has been preserved in the note-book before us. The printed verses are far inferior to the verses here for the first time given to the world. Indeed, the following verses seem to us to rank among the best of Swift's minor pieces. They are in his most successful vein. Though they had not, as the manuscript shows, received his finishing touches, they have all the point, all the dry peculiar humor- all that condensed energy of expression which are the characteristics of the poetry in which he excelled. The Irish policy of Carteret, and the method by which that policy was carried out, are very happily described. Swift's hatred and contempt for the country of which he had been the saviour, but which he never beheld without loathing, found here, as in many passages of his published works, eloquent expression. We should add that the manuscript is sometimes very difficult to decipher; and though we have had the assistance of a gentleman who has had great experience in such work, we have been obliged to in three cases leave blank spaces.

For want of matter swears and frets
Are (sic) forced to read the old gazettes.
I never was in haste before

To reach that slavish, hateful shore
Before I always found the wind
To me was most malicious-kind
But now the danger of a friend
On whom my fears and hopes depend
Absent from whom all clymes are curst
With whom I'm happy in the worst,
With rage impatient makes me wait
A passage to the land I hate
Else rather on this bleaky shore
Where loudest winds incessant roar,
Where neither herb nor tree will thrive,
Where nature hardly seems alive
I'd go in Freedom to my grave
Than rule yon Isle and be a slave.
(Here a blank space is left in the manuscript.)
Remove me from this land of slaves,
Where all are fools and all are knaves
Where every knave and fool is bought,
Yet hardly sells himself for nought
Where Whig and Tory fiercely fight
Who's in the wrong, who in the right.
And where their country lies at stake
They only fight for fighting's sake.
While English Sharpers take the pay
And then stand by to see fair play.
Meanwhile the whig is always winner
And for his courage gets-
-a Dinner.
His Excellency too perhaps
Spits in his mouth and stroakes his chaps.
The humble whelp gives every vote
To put the question strains his throat,
His Excellency's condescension
Will serve instead of place or pension,
When to the window he's trepanned
When my Lord shakes him by the hand.
Or in the presence of beholders
His arms upon the booby's shoulders.
You quickly see the gudgeon bite
He tells his brother fools at night
How well the Governor's inclin'd,
So just, so gentle, and so kind.
He heard I kept a pack of 'hounds
And longed to hunt upon my grounds
He said our Lodges were so fair
The land had nothing to compare
But that indeed which pleas'd me most
He called my Doll a perfect toast.
He whisper'd public things at last
Ask'd me how our Election past
Some augmentation, Sir, you know
Would make at least a handsome show.
Now kings a compliment expect
I shall not offer to direct.

There are some prating folks in town,
But, Sir, we must support the Crown
Our Letters say a Jesuit boasts

I think they justly ought to share
In all employments we can spare
Next for encouragement of spinning
A duty might be laid on linen,
An act for laying down the plough
England will send you corn enough.
Another act that absentees
For licencies shall pay no fees

*

If England's friendship you would keep,
Feed nothing in your lands but sheep.
But make an act secure and full
To bring up all who smuggle wool,
And then he kindly gives us hints
That all our wives should go in Chintz.
To-morrow I shall tell you more,
For I'm to dine with him at four
This was the speech, and here's the jest
His arguments convinc't the rest.
Away he runs with zealous hotness
Exceeding all the heels of Totness
To move that all the nation round
Should pay a guinea. in the pound.
Yet should this blockhead beg a place
Either from Excellence or grace
'Tis pre-engaged, and in his room
Townshend's cast Page or Walpole's groom.

It would be possible to institute a curiously close parallel between Swift and Skelton; but in none of his extant poems is Swift more essentially Skeltonian than in the following, which is exactly in the vein and sometimes in the very measure of "Why come ye not to Court?" It would be interesting to know if Swift was acquainted with the writings of that interesting and original poet.

On Lord Carteret's arms, given as the custom is at every inn where the Lord Lieutenant dines or lyes -with all the bills in a long Parliament.

'Tis forty to one

When Carteret's gone These praises we blot out, The truth will be got out, And then we'll be smart on His Lordship or Wharton Or Shrewsbury's Duke With many rebuke, Or Bolton the wise With his Spanish flyes, Or Grafton the deep Either drunk or asleep. Then Tilly and Aymes Will then lodge their claims, If somebody's grace Should come in their place. And thus it goes round, We praise and confound They come to no good Nor would if they could

This couplet is cancelled in the original.