remember that among at least two thousand papers, full of groundless reflections against me, hundreds of which I have seen, and heard of more, I never saw any one production that the meanest writer could. have cause to be proud of; for which I can assign a very natural reason; that during the whole busy time of my life, the men of wit (in England) were all my particular friends, although many of them differed from me in opinions of public persons and proceedings. As to Ireland, where I lived very little before the Queen's death, and ever since in perfect retirement, I remember to have published nothing but what is called the Drapier's Letters, and some few other trifles relating to the affairs of this miserable and ruined kingdom. What other things fell from me, (chiefly in verse,) were only amusements in hours of sickness or leisure, or in private families, to divert ourselves and some neighbours, but were never intended for public view, which is plain from the subjects and the careless way of handling them; neither indeed can it answer the true ends of vanity, or desire of praise, to let the world see such little sallies of fancy or humour, because if they be ill or indifferently performed, (which must often be the case,) the loss of reputation is certain; and however well executed, after a week's vogue, they are utterly forgot. I know not how I come to be led so far from the subject of your letter. I confess there were some few persons who made random conjectures that you might possibly be concerned in the paper you hint at, but they were such who knew very little of you or me; for others who were better acquainted with us both have always cleared you, because they did not look upon that paper any way equal to your known good sense and candour, or talent of writing. And as to myself, I had further conviction, because I knew how well

you were acquainted with the whole history and occasion of writing those verses on the Barrack; how well pleased the master and lady of the family were with it; that you had read it more than once; that it was no secret to any neighbour, nor any reserve but that against giving a copy. You know well by what incidents that reserve was broken, by granting a copy to a great person, and from thence how it fell into other hands, and so came, (as is the constant case,) to be published, and is now forgot. I confess my own conjectures about this late libel against me lay towards another gentleman, who, I am informed, hath since cleared himself, I mean Dr. Tisdall; but that suspicion was first taught me by others and yet I know very well that for at least fifteen years past, he hath been often engaged in a kind of flirting war of satiric burlesque verse with certain wags both in town and country, who, it seems, were provoked with his faculty of jibing, and used to answer him in his own way. Yet I have been assured that in these combats, he was generally mistaken in his adversaries, falling foul upon many persons who never dipt a pen either for or against him and I think you, among others, had some marks of his favour. But, as to me, who, I solemnly profess, was always entirely innocent, during the whole time that his pen and tongue took this unhappy turn, as well as before and since, I could never be one month at peace for his wit; whatever was writ to ridicule him, was laid at my door, and only by himself: with a further declaration, much to my honour, that he knew my style, would trouble himself to inquire no further; and, using my sirname, said, I was his man. Some of his performances I have seen, and have heard of more, besides the great number he kept in petto; so that five or six gentlemen have often and very lately assured me,

that in one evening-sitting, he has produced a dozen of his libels wholly against me; desiring I might be told of it, and assuring those gentlemen that the whole dozen should be published, if I would not let him alone. This was a little hard upon me, who had never one single moment in my life the least inclination to enter the lists with him, at those or any other weapons whatsoever, any more than I would venture to sit four hours disputing with him any point of controversy. I confess this keenness of the doctor in determining, whenever he was attacked, to fix on me for his adversary, inclined me to conceive that he might have probably writ this last paper, and other people had the same thought; but I hear he hath utterly denied it; and I believe him: for I am confident he is an honest man, but unhappily misled, through the whole course of his life, by mistaking his talent, which he hath, against nature, applied to wit and raillery, and rhyming: besides which, his incurable absence of mind on all occasions, and in all companies, hath led him into ten thousand errors, especially of that kind, which are mortal to all agreeable or improving conversation, and which hath put him upon such a foot with every friend, that I heartily lament the situation he is in.

I entreat your pardon for the length and insignificancy of this letter, but my solitary way of life is apt to make me talkative upon paper. I desire you

would believe, first, that I have so frequently been libelled, that my curiosity to know the authors is quite extinct, though that of some friends is not; secondly, that I am not hasty in judging of men's style, or matter, or malice. I can venture to say, that a thing is not written by such a person, because it is much below his good sense; and to look among the herd of dunces is endless. As to yourself, I hope you will be my witness that I have always

treated you with particular distinction; and if we differ in opinions relating to public proceedings, it is for very good reasons: you are an expectant from the world and from power; I have long done with both having been an original offender against all principles set up since the death of the queen, I could not think it worth my while to quit my old ones, and must have done it with an ill grace, though honour and conscience had been out of the question. Whoever really believes that things are well, is many ways happy; he is pleased with the world, (as I was formerly,) and the world with him; his merit is allowed, and favour will certainly follow; which I heartily wish you, only desiring, that in what appears to my eyes a very dirty road, you would pick out the cleanest stages you can; and believe me to be, with much esteem, Sir,

Your most obedient humble servant,

J. S.

FROM LADY CATHERINE JONES.

June 15, 1732.

THE return of my humble thanks to Mr. Dean by the date it bears, looks more like a slumber of gratitude, than the quick sense of that rare virtue which I owe to you, sir, for the trouble you have so willingly undertaken, in executing what I so much desired; since the manner you have done it in, answers my wishes in every respect. The proposal you made, I acquainted my sister Kildare, and niece Fanny Coningsby with; for I being but one part of the family, cannot act farther than they will consent,

which is, that they will settle twenty shillings per year, that you may never be liable to any more trouble upon the same occasion.*

I need not inform Mr. Dean, that the world teaches us, that relations and friends look like two different species: and though I have the honour to be allied to my Lord Burlington, yet since the death of my good father and his, the notice he takes of me is, as if I was a separated blood; or else, I am vain enough to say, we are sprung from one ancestor, whose ashes keep up a greater lustre than those who are not reduced to it.

I cannot conclude without saying, that were I worthy, in any way, to have the pleasure of seeing Dean Swift, I do not know any passion, even envy would not make innocent, in my ambition of seeing the author of so much wit and judicious writing, as I have had the advantage to reap.

Your most humble and obliged servant,

CATHARINE JONES.

Your opinion of Mr. French † is just, and his due.

TO MR. GAY AND THE DUCHESS OF

QUEENSBERRY.

Dublin, July 10, 1732.

I HAD your letter by Mr. Ryves, a long time after the date, for I suppose he staid long in the way. I

* For the purpose of keeping in repair the monument of her grandfather, Archbishop Jones.

† Humphrey French, lord-mayor of Dublin.