Dublin Day 2 - Books, Bells and Beer

"A tavern is a place where madness is sold by the bottle."  Jonathan Swift

First night in a foreign country no one sleeps well.  Our body clocks are off and we are apparently sharing a room with a bear.  Note to self - take the hotel's suggestion and use the ear plugs they provide.

We head out with our first stop of the day at Trinity College.  The college was founded in 1592 and modeled after Oxford and Cambridge.  According to Wikipedia, the ecclesiastical origins of the College are reflected in its motto, which is directly derived from Christian Scripture (1 Thessalonians 5:21), "Prove all things; hold fast that which is good."  This also happens to be my McLeod family motto.

There are many noteworthy structures on the grounds but perhaps the most impressive is the Library which is the largest research library in Ireland.  The Library holds the Book of Kells, an illuminated manuscript of the four Gospels Matthew, Mark, Luke and John.  Written on vellum it contains a masterwork of calligraphy and illustrations.  No pictures of the book can be taken so you'll have to take my word on how magnificent it is.

The Long Room of the Library is over 200 feet long and holds more than 200,000 books.  Being a book lover, I am overwhelmed when I walk into the room. I wish I could crawl into every nook and cranny to peruse all the dusty, old tomes.

It's here that I become obsessed with all things Swift.  Not the great American poet Taylor Swift but Jonathan Swift, the great satirist, essayist, poet and author of Gulliver's Travels.  One of the displays in the Long Room pointed out that Swift wrote an inflammatory response to a pamphlet written in 1714 where he called the Scots a "poor, fierce Northern people."  This inflammatory remark was considered an act of rebellion for disparaging the 1707 Union between England and Scotland.  I think this is why I feel a kinship with him - he was not only funny but a rebel rouser!

The library also holds Swift's desk mask.  We marvel over the macabre display.

Apparently Swifty, as I now fondly call him, was quite the ladies man.  He was "hanging out" (as my boys used to say) with a girl named Stella who was 15 years younger than himself.  Now I know the man is dead and all, but judging from this death mask, he was not blessed in the looks department which leaves me wondering what young Stella saw in Swifty.

A local informs us that Swift is buried in St. Patrick's Cathedral standing up!  Intrigued, we head off to have a look-see and are welcomed by St. Patrick's bells tolling loudly as we round the corner.

We locate Swift's grave but no one confirms whether he is really standing.

The cathedral is breathtakingly beautiful.

And like all good Irishmen, we end our day in a few pubs.  We order pints and toast to Swifty . . . and to standing up.  Slainte!