ontempt, and the hardness of it were such as no self-respecting
woman could endure. It put an end to their acquaintance, as Swift
undoubtedly intended it should do. He would have been less censurable
had he struck Varina with his fist or kicked her.

The true reason for Swift's utter change of heart is found, no doubt,
in the beginning of what was destined to be his long intimacy with
Esther Johnson. When Swift left Sir William Temple's in a huff, Esther
had been a mere schoolgirl. Now, on his return, she was fifteen years
of age, and seemed older. She had blossomed out into a very comely
girl, vivacious, clever, and physically well developed, with dark hair,
sparkling eyes, and features that were unusually regular and lovely.

For three years the two were close friends and intimate associates,
though it cannot be said that Swift ever made open love to her. To the
outward eye they were no more than fellow workers. Yet love does not
need the spoken word and the formal declaration to give it life and
make it deep and strong. Esther Johnson, to whom Swift gave the pet
name of "Stella," grew into the existence of this fiery, hold, and
independent genius. All that he did she knew. She was his confidante.
As to his writings, his hopes, and his enmities, she was the mistress
of all his secrets. For her, at last, no other man existed.

On Sir William Temple's death, Esther John son came into a small
fortune, though she now lost her home at Moor Park. Swift returned to
Ireland, and soon afterward he invited Stella to join him there.

Swift was now thirty-four years of age, and Stella a very attractive
girl of twenty. One might have expected that the two would marry, and
yet they did not do so. Every precaution was taken to avoid anything
like scandal. Stella was accompanied by a friend--a widow named Mrs.
Dingley--without whose presence, or that of some third person, Swift
never saw Esther Johnson. When Swift was absent, how ever, the two
ladies occupied his apartments; and Stella became more than ever
essential to his happiness.

When they were separated for any length of time Swift wrote to Stella
in a sort of baby-talk, which they called "the little language." It was
made up of curious abbreviations and childish words, growing more and
more complicated as the years went on. It is interesting to think of
this stern and often savage genius, who loved to hate, and whose hate
was almost less terrible than his love, babbling a