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Grace After Dinner
A Dog's Religion
His Duel With Captain D'esterre
The Upstart
His Birth
Wisdom
A Certificate Of Marriage
A Mistaken Frenchman
The Serenading Lover
A Courtier's Retort


Least Viewed

His Birth
Scene Between Fitzgibbon And Curran In The Irish Parliament
His Defence Of Archibald Hamilton Rowan
O'leary Versus Curran
His First Client
Refusal Of Office
His Reception At The Rotundo By The Volunteers
Mr Pulteney
Dr Sacheverell
His Duel With Bully Egan


Random Irish Humour

Use Of Red Tape
A Mistaken Frenchman
High Authority
Epitaph On Judge Boat
The Prince Of Wales
Curran's Quarrel With Fitzgibbon
To Quilca
Paddy And The Parson
His First Client
Swift's Queer Testimonial To His Servant




Dialogue Between Swift And His Landlord

Irish Humour Home




The three towns of Navan, Kells, and Trim, which lay in Swift's route on
his first journey to Laracor, seem to have deeply arrested his
attention, for he has been frequently heard to speak of the beautiful
situation of the first, the antiquity of the second, and the time-shaken
towers of the third. There were three inns in Navan, each of which
claims to this day the honor of having entertained Dr. Swift. It is
probable that he dined at one of them, for it is certain that he slept
at Kells, in the house of Jonathan Belcher, a Leicestershire man, who
had built the inn in that town on the English model, which still exists,
and, in point of capaciousness and convenience, would not disgrace the
first road in England. The host, whether struck by the commanding
sternness of Swift's appearance, or from natural civility, showed him
into the best room, and waited himself at table. The attention of
Belcher seems to have won so far upon Swift as to have produced some
conversation. You're an Englishman, Sir? said Swift. Yes, Sir. What
is your name? Jonathan Belcher, Sir. An Englishman and Jonathan too,
in the town of Kells--who would have thought it! What brought you to
this country? I came with Sir Thomas Taylor, Sir; and I believe I
could reckon fifty Jonathans in my family, Sir. Then you are a man of
family? Yes, Sir; I have four sons and three daughters by one mother,
a good woman of true Irish mould. Have you been long out of your
native country? Thirty years, Sir. Do you ever expect to visit it
again? Never. Can you say that without a sigh? I can, Sir; my
family is my country! Why, Sir, you are a better philosopher than
those who have written volumes on the subject. Then you are reconciled
to your fate? I ought to be so; I am very happy; I like the people,
and, though I was not born in Ireland, I'll die in it and that's the
same thing. Swift paused in deep thought for near a minute, and then
with much energy repeated the first line of the preamble of the noted
Irish statute--Ipsis Hibernis Hiberniores!--(The English) are more
Irish than the Irish themselves.





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