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 he 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 and prattling in little half caressing sentences, as a mother might babble over her first child.  Pedantic writers have professed to find in Swift’s use of this “little language” the coming shadow of that insanity which struck him down in his old age.

As it is, these letters are among the curiosities of amatory correspondence.  When Swift writes “oo” for “you,” and “deelest” for “dearest,” and “vely” for “very,” there is no need of an interpreter; but “rettle” for “let ter,” “dallars” for “girls,” and “givar” for “devil,” are at first rather difficult to guess.  Then there is a system of abbreviating.  “Md” means “my dear,” “Ppt” means “poppet,” and “Pdfr,” with which Swift sometimes signed his epistles, “poor, dear, foolish rogue.”