We descended to the neat little barroom with its sanded floor and polished glassware and shining brass.  The holy father ordered ’arf-and-’arf at my expense and recited one of Moore’s ballads.  The landlady then gave us Byron’s “Here’s a Health to Thee, Tom Moore.”  A neighbor came in.  Then we had more ballads, more ’arf-and-’arf, a selection from “Lalla Rookh,” and various tales of the poet’s early life, which possibly would be hard to verify.

And as the tumult raged, the smoke of battle gave me opportunity to slip away.  I crossed the street, turned down one block, and entered Saint Patrick’s Cathedral.

Great, roomy, gloomy, solemn temple, where the rumble of city traffic is deadened to a faint hum: 

    “Without, the world’s unceasing noises rise,
    Turmoil, disquietude and busy fears;
    Within, there are the sounds of other years,
    Thoughts full of prayer and solemn harmonies
    Which imitate on earth the peaceful skies.”

Other worshipers were there.  Standing beside a great stone pillar I could make them out kneeling on the tiled floor.  Gradually, my eyes became accustomed to the subdued light, and right at my feet I saw a large brass plate set in the floor and on it only this: 

    Swift
    Died Oct. 19, 1745
    Aged 78

On the wall near is a bronze tablet, the inscription of which, in Latin, was dictated by Swift himself: 

“Here lies the body of Jonathan Swift, Dean of this Cathedral, where fierce indignation can no longer rend his heart.  Go! wayfarer, and imitate, if thou canst, one who, as far as in him lay, was an earnest champion of liberty——­”

Above this is a fine bust of the Dean, and to the right is another tablet: 

“Underneath lie interred the mortal remains of Mrs. Hester Johnson, better known to the world as ‘Stella,’ under which she is celebrated in the writings of Doctor Jonathan Swift, Dean of this Cathedral.  She was a person of extraordinary endowments and accomplishments, in body, mind and behavior; justly admired and respected by all who knew her, on account of her eminent virtues as well as for her great natural and acquired perfections.”

These were suffering souls and great.  Would they have been so great had they not suffered?  Who can tell?  Were the waters troubled in order that they might heal the people?

Did Swift misuse this excellent woman, is a question that has been asked and answered again and again.

A great author has written: 

“A woman, a tender, noble, excellent woman, has a dog’s heart.  She licks the hand that strikes her.  And wrong nor cruelty nor injustice nor disloyalty can cause her to turn.”

Death in pity took Stella first; took her in the loyalty of love and the fulness of faith from a world which for love has little recompense, and for faith small fulfilment.