it up, in thinking favourably of me. Years have made me lose my memory in every thing but friendship and gratitude: and you, whom I have never seen, will never be forgotten by me until I am dead. I am, honourable sir, with the highest respect,

Your most obedient and

obliged humble servant.

SIR,

TO MR. FAULKNER.

DEC. 4, 1739.

I CANNOT find a manuscript I wrote, called, Directions for Servants*, which I thought was very useful, as well as humourous. I believe, you have both seen and read it. I wish you could give me some intelligence of it, because my memory is quite gone; therefore, let me know all you can conjecture about it. I am, sir,

Your very humble servant,

JONATHAN SWIFT.

FROM THE REV. MR. THROP.

REV. SIR,

DECEMBER 10, 1739.

THE many professions of kindness you have made,

and friendship you have shown, to my mother and

*On this head see the Eighteenth volume of this collection.

her family, particularly in declaring your abhorrence and detestation of the cruel and inhuman behaviour of that monster * to my unfortunate and innocent brother, induced my mother to trouble you with a few of the narratives of that case, to disperse among such members of the house of commons as were of your acquaintance. The reason of our troubling you to do this, is because we intend presenting a petition to the members of the house of commons this session, to oblige to wave his privilege, every other attempt we have tried since my brother's death proving fruitless.

Your appearing, sir, in this affair, will not only make the more ready to do justice, but prevent others from supporting him in his villanies, which will be of infinite service to my mother and her family.

The bearer carries you a dozen of cases; and if you should have occasion for any more, they shall be sent you by, reverend sir, your most obliged and obedient humble servant,

ROBERT THROP.

I have written the names of several persons mentioned in the narrative at length upon the back of the titlepage.

Mr. Faulkner fills the blank with "Mr. Wilson."

MADAM,

TO MRS. WHITEWAY.

DEC. 31, 1739.

I hope

It is impossible to have health in such desperate T weather; but you are worse used than others. Every creature of either sex are uneasy; for our kingdom is turned to be a Muscovy, or worse. Even I cannot do any good by walking: Is not warmth good against rheumatick pains? Deane Swift will be able to assist you both. I wish for a happy turn in the weather. I am doubly desolate, and wish I could sleep until the sun would comfort us. Would neither your son or daughter save you the pains of writing on your back? are much more friendly to me than a thousand of them. Adieu. I am ever yours.

You

J. SWIFT.

TO THE SAME.

DEAR MADAM,

I AM truly and heartily glad that you are a little mended, and can lie on your belly, or side, not altogether on your back. You are much in the right not to stir, and so was Croker† not to suffer

Then married to Mrs. Harrison.

+ An eminent apothecary of great humanity and skill.

you.

you. I am not yet worse for the cold weather, but am angry at it. I am heartily sorry for yourself and daughter; but Mr. Swift dares not be sick, for his chief business is to look after you and your daughter. I walk only in my bedchamber and closet, which has also a fire. I am ever yours.

I HAVE been many days heartily concerned for

your ill health; it is now twenty-five days since we have found nothing but frost and misery, and they may continue for as many more. This day is yet the coldest of them all. Dr. Wilson and I are both very uneasy to find no better message from you. I received, as I was going to dinner, the enclosed letter from your beloved of which

I shall make you happy with. It will show you the goodness, the wisdom, the gratitude, the truth, the civility of that excellent divine, adorned with an orthography (spelling) fit for himself. Pray read it a hundred times, but return it after you have read it a hundred times. My love and service to your son and daughter; let them both read the enclosed.

I would not lose your lover's letter for 1001. It must be sent back by the bearer. Let me know the exact number of lies that are in it; but I fear that will take up your time too much. I am ever yours, JON. SWIFT.

TO THE SAME.

FEBRUARY 3, 1739-40.

THE bad account I had of your health for many days or rather weeks, has made me continually uneasy to the last degree; and Mr. Swift, who was with me so long yesterday, could not in conscience give me any comfort: but your kind letter has raised my spirits in some measure. I hope we have almost done with this cursed weather, yet still my garden is all in white. I read your letter to Dr. Wilson, who is somewhat better, and he resolves to apply your medicine, I mean your improvements of what you prescribe to add to his surgeon's method. I am ever, dear madam, entirely yours,

J. SWIFT.

*

TO THE SAME.

DEAR MADAM,

APRIL 29, 1740.

I FIND that you and I are fellow sufferers almost equally in our healths, although I am more than

twenty