uld 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."