thers, but he thought they were
pursuing the true interests of the public, and was glad to contribute
what was in his power. His vanity was gratified by Harley inviting him
to the private dinners with St. John and Harcourt which were given on
Saturdays, and by their calling him Jonathan; but he did not hope too
much from their friendship: "I said I believed they would leave me
Jonathan, as they found me... but I care not."

Of Swift's frugal habits there is abundant evidence in the Journal.
When he came to town he took rooms on a first floor, "a dining-room and
bed-chamber, at eight shillings a week; plaguy dear, but I spend nothing
for eating, never go to a tavern, and very seldom in a coach; yet after
all it will be expensive." In November he mentions that he had a fire:
"I am spending my second half-bushel of coals." 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 de