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A Dog's Religion
Grace After Dinner
His Duel With Captain D'esterre
A Certificate Of Marriage
His Birth
Wisdom
A Mistaken Frenchman
A Courtier's Retort
Arthur O'leary
A Martial Judge
Least Viewed
His Birth
Swift Arbuthnot And Parnell
To Quilca
His Reception At The Rotundo By The Volunteers
Sow-west And The Wigs
His Charity
Epistolary Bores
Sir R Peel's Opinion Of O'connell
Swift And Bettesworth
His First Client
Random Irish Humour
Dialogue Between Swift And His Landlord
Election And Railway Dinners
Grace After Dinner
Refusal Of Office
Verses Left With A Silver Standish On The Dean's Desk By Dr Delany
Miss Bennet
Use Of Red Tape
Swift's Charity
A Martial Judge
Dr O'leary And Father Callanan
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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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