imself at
Chester. He turned to a home of sorrow: poor Stella was sinking into the
grave, and, after a languishing decay of about two months, died in her
forty-fourth year, on January 28, 1728. How much he wished her life his
papers show; nor can it be doubted that he dreaded the death of her whom
he loved most, aggravated by the consciousness that himself had hastened
it.

Beauty and the power of pleasing, the greatest external advantages that
woman can desire or possess, were fatal to the unfortunate Stella. The
man whom she had the misfortune to love was, as Delany observes, fond
of singularity, and desirous to make a mode of happiness for himself,
different from the general course of things and order of Providence.
From the time of her arrival in Ireland he seems resolved to keep her in
his power, and therefore hindered a match sufficiently advantageous by
accumulating unreasonable demands, and prescribing conditions that could
not be performed. While she was at her own disposal he did not consider
his possession as secure; resentment, ambition, or caprice might
separate them: he was therefore resolved to make "assurance doubly
sure," and to appropriate her by a private marriage, to which he had
annexed the expectation of all the pleasures of perfect friendship,
without the uneasiness of conjugal restraint. But with this state poor
Stella was not satisfied; she never was treated as a wife, and to the
world she had the appearance of a mistress. She lived sullenly on, in
hope that in time he would own and receive her; but the time did not
come till the change of his manners and depravation of his mind made her
tell him, when he offered to acknowledge her, that "it was too late."
She then gave up herself to sorrowful resentment, and died under the
tyranny of him by whom she was in the highest degree loved and honoured.
What were her claims to this eccentric tenderness, by which the laws of
nature were violated to restrain her, curiosity will inquire; but
how shall it be gratified? Swift was a lover; his testimony may be
suspected. Delany and the Irish saw with Swift's eyes, and therefore add
little confirmation. That she was virtuous, beautiful, and elegant, in
a very high degree, such admiration from such a lover makes it very
probable: but she had not much literature, for she could not spell her
own language; and of her wit, so loudly vaunted, the smart sayings which
Swift himself has collected afford no splendid spe