Though Mrs. Dingley is constantly associated with Stella in the affectionate greetings in the Journal, she seems to have been included merely as a cloak to enable him to express the more freely his affection for her companion.  Such phrases as “saucy girls,” “sirrahs,” “sauceboxes,” and the like, are often applied to both; and sometimes Swift certainly writes as if the one were as dear to him as the other; thus we find, “Farewell, my dearest lives and delights, I love you better than ever, if possible, as hope saved, I do, and ever will. . . .  I can count upon nothing, nor will, but upon MD’s love and kindness. . . .  And so farewell, dearest MD, Stella, Dingley, Presto, all together, now and for ever, all together.”  But as a rule, notwithstanding Swift’s caution, the greetings intended for Stella alone are easily distinguishable in tone.  He often refers to her weak eyes and delicate health.  Thus he writes, “The chocolate is a present, madam, for Stella.  Don’t read this, you little rogue, with your little eyes; but give it to Dingley, pray now; and I will write as plain as the skies.”  And again, “God Almighty bless poor Stella, and her eyes and head:  what shall we do to cure them, poor dear life?” Or, “Now to Stella’s little postscript; and I am almost crazed that you vex yourself for not writing.  Can’t you dictate to Dingley, and not strain your dear little eyes?  I am sure ’tis the grief of my soul to think you are out of order.”  They had been keeping his birthday; Swift wished he had been with them, rather than in London, where he had no manner of pleasure:  “I say Amen with all my heart and vitals, that we may never be asunder again ten days together while poor Presto lives.”  A few days later he says, “I wish I were at Laracor, with dear charming MD,” and again, “Farewell, dearest beloved MD, and love poor poor Presto, who has not had one happy day since he left you.”  “I will say no more, but beg you to be easy till Fortune takes his course, and to believe MD’s felicity is the great goal I aim at in all my pursuits.”  “How does Stella look, Madam Dingley?” he asks; “pretty well, a handsome young woman still?  Will she pass in a crowd?  Will she make a figure in a country church?” Elsewhere he writes, on receipt of a letter, “God Almighty bless poor dear Stella, and send her a great many birthdays, all happy and healthy and wealthy, and with me ever together, and never asunder again, unless by chance. . . .  I can hardly imagine you absent when I am reading your letter or writing to you.  No, faith, you are just here upon this little paper, and therefore I see and talk with you every evening constantly, and sometimes in the morning.”  The letters lay under Swift’s pillow, and he fondled them as if he were caressing Stella’s hand.