the constant fund of amusement he found in the facetious humor and
oddity of the parish clerk, Roger Cox. Roger was originally a hatter in
the town of Cavan, trot, being of a lively jovial temper, and fonder of
setting the fire-side of a village alehouse in a roar, over a tankard of
ale or a bowl of whiskey, with his flashes of merriment and jibes of
humor, than pursuing the dull routine of business to which fate had
fixed him, wisely forsook it for the honorable function of a parish
clerk, which he considered as an office appertaining in some wise to
ecclesiastical dignity; since by wearing a band, no small part of the
ornament of the Protestant clergy, he thought he might not unworthily be
deemed, as it were, "_a shred of the linen vestment of Aaron_." Nor was
Roger one of those worthy parish clerks who could be accused of merely
humming the psalms through the nostrils as a sack-butt, but much oftener
instructed and amused his fellow-parishioners with the amorous ditties
of the _Waiting Maid's Lamentation_, or one of those national songs
which awake the remembrance of glorious deeds, and make each man burn
with the enthusiasm of the conquering hero. With this jocund companion
Swift relieved the tediousness of his lonesome retirement; nor did the
easy freedom which he indulged with Roger ever lead his humble friend
beyond the bounds of decorum and respect.
Roger's dress was not the least extraordinary feature of his appearance.
He constantly wore a full-trimmed scarlet waistcoat of most uncommon
dimensions, a light grey coat, which altogether gave him an air of
singularity and whim as remarkable as his character.
To repeat all the anecdotes and witticisms which are recorded of the
prolific genius of Roger in the simple annals of Laracor, would fill a
little volume. He died at the good old age of ninety.
Soon after Swift's arrival at Laracor, he gave public notice that he
would read prayers every Wednesday and Friday. On the first of those
days after he had summoned his congregation, he ascended the desk, and
after sitting some time with no other auditor than his clerk Roger, he
rose up and with a composure and gravity that, upon this occasion, were
irresistibly ridiculous, began--"Dearly beloved Roger, the Scripture
moveth you and me in sundry places," and so proceeded to the end of the
service. The story is not quite complete. But the fact is, that when he
went into the church he found Roger _alone_, and exclaimed with evident
surprise, "_What, Roger! none here but you_?" "_Yes, sir_," replied
Roger drily (turning over the book to find the lessons, for the day),
"_sure you are here too_."
ROGER AND THE POULTRY.
There happened, while Swift was at Laracor, the sale of a farm and
stock, the farmer being dead. Swift chanced to walk past during the
auction just as a pen of poultry had been put up. Roger bid for them,
and was overbid by a farmer of the name of Hatch. "What, Roger, won't
you buy the poultry?" exclaimed Swift. "No, sir," said Roger, "I see
they are _just a'going to Hatch_."
KELLY THE BLACKSMITH.
Although Roger took the lead, he did not monopolize all the wit, of the
parish. It happened that Swift, having been dining at some little
distance from Laracor, was returning home on horseback in the evening,
which was pretty dark. Just before he reached Kellistown, a neighboring
village, his horse lost a shoe. Unwilling to run the risk of laming the
animal by continuing his ride in that condition, he stopped at one
Kelly's, the blacksmith of the village, where, having called the man, he
asked him if he could shoe a horse with a _candle_. "No," replied the
smutty son of Vulcan, "but I can with a _hammer_." Swift, struck with
the reply, determined to have a little more conversation with him.
Accordingly, he alighted and went into the cabin, which was literally
rotten, but supported, wherever it had given way at different times,
with pieces of timber. Swift, as was usual with him, began to rate poor
Kelly soundly for his indolence in not getting his house put into better
repair, in which the wife joined. "Hold, Doctor, for one moment!"
exclaimed Kelly, "and tell me, whether you ever saw a _rotten_ house
_better_ supported in all your life."
BIRTH-DAY PRESENTS.
It was for many years a regular custom with Swift's most intimate
friends to make him some presents on his birth day. On that occasion,
30th November, 1732, Lord Orrery presented him with a paper book, finely
bound, and Dr Delany with a silver standish, accompanied with the
following verses;--
TO DR. SWIFT, WITH A PAPER BOOK, BY JOHN,
EARL OF ORRERY
To thee, Dear Swift, those spotless leaves I send;
Small is the present, but sincere the friend.
Think not so poor a book below thy care;
Who knows the price that thou canst make it bear?
Tho' tawdry now, and like Tyralla's face,
The spacious front shines out with borrow'd grace;
Tho' pasteboards, glitt'ring like a tinsell'd coat,
A _rasa tabula_ within denote;
Yet if a venal and corrupted age,
And modern vices should provoke thy rage;
If, warn'd once more by their impending fate,
A sinking country and an injured state
Thy great assistance should again demand,
And call forth Reason to defend the land;
Then shall we view these sheets with glad surprise
Inspired with thought, and speaking to our eyes:
Each vacant space shall then, enrich'd, dispense
True force of eloquence and nervous sense;
Inform the judgment, animate the heart,
And sacred rules of policy impart.
The spangled cov'ring, bright with splendid ore,
Shall cheat the sight with empty show no more;
But lead us inward to those golden mines,
Where all thy soul in native lustre shines.
So when the eye surveys some lovely fair,
With bloom of beauty, graced with shape and air,
How is the rapture heightened when we find
The form excelled by her celestial mind!
VERSES LEFT WITH A SILVER STANDISH ON THE
DEAN'S DESK, BY DR. DELANY.
Hither from Mexico I came,
To serve a proud Iernian dame;
Was long submitted to her will,
At length she lost me at Quadrille.
Through various shapes I often passed,
Still hoping to have rest at last;
And still ambitious to obtain
Admittance to the patriot Dean;
And sometimes got within his door,
But soon turn'd out to serve the poor;
Not strolling idleness to aid,
But honest industry decay'd.
At length an artist purchased me,
And wrought me to the shape you see.
This done, to Hermes I applied:
"O Hermes! gratify my pride!
Be it my fate to serve a sage,
The greatest genius of his age;
That matchless pen let me supply,
Whose living lines will never die!"
"I grant your suit," the god replied,
And here he left me to reside.
VERSES BY SWIFT, ON THE OCCASION.
A paper Book is sent by _Boyle,_
Too neatly gilt for me to soil:
Delany sends a Silver Standish,
When I no more a pen can brandish.
Let both around my tomb be placed,
As trophies of a muse deceas'd:
And let the friendly lines they writ,
In praise of long departed wit,
Be graved on either side in columns,
More to my praise than all my volumes;
To burst with envy, spite, and rage,
The Vandals of the present age.
THE DEAN'S CONTRIBUTORY DINNER.
Dean Swift once invited to dinner several of the first noblemen and
gentlemen in Dublin. A servant announced the dinner, and the Dean led
the way to the dining-room. To each chair was a servant, a bottle of
wine, a roll, and an inverted plate. On taking his seat, the Dean
desired the guests to arrange themselves according to their own ideas of
precedence, and fall to. The company were astonished to find the table
without a dish or any provisions. The Lord Chancellor, who was present,
said, "Mr. Dean, we do not see the joke." "Then I will show it you,"
answered the Dean, turning up his plate, under which was half-a-crown
and a bill of fare from a neighboring tavern. "Here, sir," said he, to
his servant, "bring me a plate of goose." The company caught the idea,
and each man sent his plate and half-a-crown. Covers, with everything
that the appetites of the moment dictated, soon appeared. The novelty,
the peculiarity of the manner, and the unexpected circumstances,
altogether excited the plaudits of the noble guests, who declared
themselves particularly gratified by the Dean's entertainment. "Well,"
said the Dean, "gentlemen, if you have dined, I will order _dessert_." A
large roll of paper, presenting the particulars of a splendid dinner,
was produced, with an estimate of expense. The Dean requested the
accountant-general to deduct the half-crowns from the amount, observing,
"that as his noble guests were pleased to express their satisfaction
with the dinner, he begged their advice and assistance in disposing of
the _fragments_ and _crumbs_," as he termed the balance mentioned by the
accountant-general--which was two hundred and fifty pounds. The company
said, that no person was capable of instructing the Dean in things of
that nature. After the circulation of the finest wines, the most
judicious remarks on charity and its abuse were introduced, and it was
agreed that the proper objects of liberal relief were well-educated
families, who from affluence, or the expectation of it, were reduced
through misfortune to silent despair. The Dean then divided the sum by
the number of his guests, and addressed them according to their
respective private characters, with which no one was, perhaps, better
acquainted. "You, my Lords," said the Dean to several young noblemen, "I
wish to introduce to some new acquaintance, who will at least make their
acknowledgment for your favors with sincerity. You, my reverend Lords,"
addressing the bishops present, "adhere so closely to the spirit of the
Scriptures, that your left hands are literally ignorant of the
beneficence of your right. You, my Lord of Kildare, and the two noble
lords near you, I will not entrust with any part of this money, as you
have been long in the _usurious_ habits of lending your own on such
occasions; but your assistance, my Lord of Kerry, I must entreat, as
charity covereth a multitude of sins."
SWIFT AND BETTESWORTH.
Dean Swift having taken a strong dislike to Sergeant Bettesworth,
revenged himself by the following lines in one of his poems:
So at the bar the booby Bettesworth,
Tho' half-a-crown outpays his sweat's worth,
Who knows in law nor text nor margent,
Calls Singleton his brother sergeant.
The poem was sent to Bettesworth, when he was in company with some of
his friends. He read it aloud, till he had finished the lines relating
to himself. He then flung it down with great violence, trembled and
turned pale. After some pause, his rage for a while depriving him of
utterance, he took out his penknife, and swore he would cut off the
Dean's ears with it. Soon after he went to seek the Dean at his house;
and not finding him at home, followed him to a friend's, where he had an
interview with him. Upon entering the room, Swift desired to know his
commands. "Sir," says he, "I am Sergeant Bet-tes-worth;" in his usual
pompous way of pronouncing his name in three distinct syllables. "Of
what regiment, pray?" says Swift. "O, Mr. Dean, we know your powers of
raillery; you know me well enough, that I am one of his majesty's
sergeants-at-law." "What then, sir?" "Why then, sir, I am come to demand
of you, whether you are the author of this poem (producing it), and the
villanous lines on me?" at the same time reading them aloud with great
vehemence of emphasis, and much gesticulation. "Sir," said Swift, "it
was a piece of advice given me in my early days by Lord Somers, never to
own or disown any writing laid to my charge; because, if I did this in
some cases, whatever I did not disown afterwards would infallibly be
imputed to me as mine. Now, sir, I take this to have been a very wise
maxim, and as such have followed it ever since; and I believe it will
hardly be in the power of all your rhetoric, as great a master as you
are of it, to make me swerve from that rule." Bettesworth replied,
"Well, since you will give me no satisfaction in this affair, let me
tell you, that your gown is alone your protection," and then left the
room.
The sergeant continuing to utter violent threats against the Dean, there
was an association formed and signed by all the principal inhabitants of
the neighborhood, to stand by and support their generous benefactor
against any one who should attempt to offer the least injury to his
person or fortune. Besides, the public indignation became so strong
against the sergeant, that although he had made a considerable figure at
the bar, he now lost his business, and was seldom employed in any suit
afterwards.
SWIFT AMONG THE LAWYERS.
Dean Swift having preached an assize sermon in Ireland, was invited to
dine with the Judges; and having in his sermon considered the use and
abuse of the law, he then pressed a little hard upon those counsellors,
who plead causes which they knew in their consciences to be wrong. When
dinner was over, and the glass began to go round, a young barrister
retorted upon the dean; and after several altercations, the counsellor
asked him, "If the devil was to die, whether a _parson_ might not be
found, who, for money, would preach his funeral?" "Yes," said Swift, "I
would gladly be the man, and I would then give the _devil_ his due, as I
have this day done his _children_."
PREACHING PATRIOTISM.
Dean Swift is said to have jocularly remarked, that he never preached
but twice in his life, and then they were not sermons, but pamphlets.
Being asked, upon what subject? he replied, they were against Wood's
halfpence. One of these sermons has been preserved, and is from this
text, "As we have the opportunity, let us do good to all men." Its
object was to show the great want of public spirit in Ireland, and to
enforce the necessity of practising that virtue. "I confess," said he,
"it was chiefly the consideration of the great danger we are in, which
engaged me to discourse to you on this subject, to exhort you to a love
of your country, and a public spirit, when all you have is at stake; to
prefer the interest of your prince and your fellow subjects before that
of one destructive impostor, and a few of his adherents."
"Perhaps it may be thought by some, that this way of discoursing is not
so proper from the pulpit; but surely when an open attempt is made, and
far carried on, to make a great kingdom one large poor-house; to deprive
us of all means to excite hospitality or charity; to turn our cities and
churches into ruins; to make this country a desert for wild beasts and
robbers; to destroy all arts and sciences, all trades and manufactures,
and the very tillage of the ground, only to enrich one obscure
ill-designing projector, and his followers; it is time for the pastor
to cry out that the wolf is getting into his flock, to warn them to
stand together, and all to consult the common safety. And God be praised
for his infinite goodness, in raising such a spirit of union among us at
least in this point, in the midst of all our former divisions; which
union, if it continues, will in all probability defeat the pernicious
design of this pestilent enemy to the nation."
It will scarcely be credited, that this dreadful description, when
stripped of its exaggerations, meant no more than that Ireland might
lose about six thousand a year during Wood's patent for coining
halfpence!
SWIFT AND HIS BUTLER
During the publication of the Drapers Letters, Swift was particularly
careful to conceal himself from being known as the author. The only
persons in the secret, were Robert Blakely, his butler, whom he employed
as an amanuensis, and Dr. Sheridan. It happened, that on the very
evening before the proclamation, offering a reward of £300 for
discovering the author of these letters, was issued, Robert Blakely
stopped out later than usual without his master's leave. The dean
ordered the door to be locked at the accustomed hour, and shut him out.
The next morning the poor fellow appeared before his master with marks
of great contrition. Swift would hear no excuses, but abusing him
severely, bade him strip off his livery, and quit the house instantly.
"What!" said he, "is it because I am in your power that you dare to take
these liberties with me? get out of my house, and receive the reward of
your treachery."
Mrs. Johnson (Stella), who was at the deanery, did not interfere, but
immediately dispatched a messenger to Dr. Sheridan, who on his arrival
found Robert walking up and down the hall in great agitation. The doctor
bade him not be uneasy, as he would try to pacify the dean, so that he
should continue in his place. "That is not what vexes me," replied
Robert, "though to be sure I should be sorry to lose so good a master;
but what grieves me to the soul, is, that my master should have so bad
an opinion of me, as to suppose me capable of betraying him for any
reward whatever." When this was related to the dean, he was so struck
with the honor and generosity of sentiment, which it exhibited in one
so humble in life, that he immediately restored him to his situation,
and was not long in rewarding his fidelity.
The place of verger to the cathedral becoming vacant, Swift called
Robert to him, and asked him if he had any clothes of his own that were
not a livery? Robert replying in the affirmative, he desired him to take
off his livery, and put them on. The poor fellow, quite astonished,
begged to know what crime he had committed, that he was to be
discharged. The dean bade him do as he was ordered; and when he returned
in his new dress, the dean called all the other servants into the room,
and told them that they were no longer to consider him as their
fellow-servant Robert, but as Mr. Blakely, verger of St. Patrick's
Cathedral; an office which he had bestowed on him for his faithful
services, and as a proof of that sure reward, which honesty and fidelity
would always obtain.
HIS SATURNALIA.
Dean Swift, among other eccentricities, determined upon having a feast
once a year, in imitation of the Saturnalia in ancient Rome. In this
project he engaged several persons of rank, and his plan was put in
execution at the deanery house. When all the servants were seated, and
every gentleman placed behind his own servant, the Dean's footman, who
presided, found fault with some meat that was not done to his taste; and
imitating his master on such occasions, threw it at him. But the Dean
was either so mortified by the reproof, or so provoked at the insult,
that he flew into a violent passion, beat the fellow, and dispersed the
whole assembly.--Thus abruptly terminated the Dean's Saturnalia.
THE DEAN AND FAULKNER.
George Faulkner, the Dublin printer, once called on Dean Swift on his
return from London, dressed in a rich coat of silk brocade and gold
lace, and seeming not a little proud of the adorning of his person: the
Dean determined to humble him. When he entered the room, and saluted the
Dean with all the respectful familiarity of an old acquaintance, the
Dean affected not to know him; in vain did he declare himself as George
Faulkner, the Dublin printer; the Dean declared him an impostor, and at
last abruptly bade him begone. Faulkner, perceiving the error he had
committed, instantly returned home, and resuming his usual dress, again
went to the Dean, when he was very cordially received. "Ah, George,"
said he, "I am so glad to see you, for here has been an impudent
coxcomb, bedizened in silks and gold lace, who wanted to pass himself
off for you; but I soon sent the fellow about his business; for I knew
you to be _always_ a plain dressed and honest man, just as you now
appear before me."
SWIFT, ARBUTHNOT, AND PARNELL.
Swift, Arbuthnot, and Parnell, taking the advantage of a fine frosty
morning, set out together upon a walk to a little place which Lord
Bathurst had, about eleven miles from London. Swift, remarkable for
being an old traveller, and for getting possession of the best rooms and
warmest beds, pretended, when they were about half way, that he did not
like the slowness of their pace; adding, that he would walk on before
them, and acquaint his lordship with their journey. To this proposal
they readily agreed; but as soon as he was out of sight, sent off a
horseman by a private way (suspecting their friend's errand), to inform
his lordship of their apprehensions. The man arrived in time enough to
deliver his message before Swift made his appearance. His lordship then
recollecting that the dean never had the small-pox, thought of the
following stratagem. Seeing him coming up the avenue, he ran out to meet
him, and expressed his happiness at the sight of him. "But I am
mortified at one circumstance," continued his lordship, "as it must
deprive me of the pleasure of your company; there is a raging small-pox
in the house: I beg, however, that you will accept of such accommodation
as a small house at the bottom of the avenue can afford you." Swift was
forced to comply with this request: and in this solitary situation,
fearful of speaking to any person around him, he was served with dinner.
In the evening, the wits thought proper to release him, by going down to
him in a body, to inform him of the deception, and to tell him that the
first best room and bed in the house were at his service. Swift, though
he might be inwardly chagrined, deemed it prudent to join in the laugh
against himself; they adjourned to the mansion-house, and spent the
evening in a manner easily to be conceived by those who are in the
least acquainted with the brilliancy of their powers.
DEAN SWIFT AND THE PREACHER WHO STOLE HIS SERMON.
The eccentric Dean Swift, in the course of one of those journies to
Holyhead, which, it is well known, he several times performed _on foot_,
was travelling through Church Stretton, Shropshire, when he put up at
the sign of the Crown, and finding the host to be a communicative
good-humored man, inquired if there was any agreeable person in town,
with whom he might partake of a dinner (as he had desired him to provide
one), and that such a person should have nothing to pay. The landlord
immediately replied, that the curate, Mr. Jones, was a very agreeable,
companionable man, and would not, he supposed, have any objection to
spend a few hours with a gentleman of his appearance. The Dean directed
him to wait on Mr. Jones, with his compliments, and say that a traveller
would be glad to be favored with his company at the Crown, if it was
agreeable. When Mr. Jones and the Dean had dined, and the glass began
to circulate, the former made an apology for an occasional absence,
saying that at three o'clock he was to read prayers and preach at the
church. Upon this intimation, the Dean replied, that he also should
attend prayers. Service being ended, and the two gentlemen having
resumed their station at the Crown, the Dean began to compliment Mr.
Jones on his delivery of a very appropriate sermon; and remarked, that
it must have cost him (Mr. Jones) some time and attention to compose
such a one.
Mr. Jones observed, that his duty was rather _laborious_, as he served
another parish church at a distance; which, with the Sunday and weekly
service at Church Stretton, straitened him much with respect to the time
necessary for the composition of sermons; so that when the subjects
pressed, he could only devote a few days and nights to that purpose.
"Well," says the Dean, "it is well for you to have such a talent; for my
part, the very sermon you preached this afternoon, cost me some _months_
in the composing." On this observation, Mr. Jones began to look very
gloomy, and to recognize his companion. "However," rejoined the Dean,
"don't you be alarmed; you have so good a talent at delivery, that I
hereby declare, you have done more honor to my sermon this day, than I
_could_ do myself; and by way of compromising the matter, you must
accept of this half-guinea for the justice you have done in the delivery
of it."
SWIFT'S QUEER TESTIMONIAL TO HIS SERVANT.