A resurrection

It is with pleasure that we, (his humble servants), re-introduce to the public the Reverend Doctor Jonathan Swift, author, editor, poet, politician and Dean [emeritus] of Saint Patrick's Cathedral in Dublin. You will, no doubt, have heard of him. (He is on an Irish banknote, apparently.) Herewith follows his first contribution. Editor

IT is a practice I have generally followed, to converse in equal freedom with the deserving men of both parties. Examiner XIII

Returning to the world after an absence of some three hundred years is somewhat trying to the nerves. This is doubly so when, instead of returning to the familiar surroundings of The Deanery in Dublin, I have landed instead in a sham gothic colonial bog in the wilderness of the Antipodes.

Still, I have known exile in a bog before, and this one has its compensations. There is no congregation of Irish peasants to distract me from my observations of human folly, and I have a handy amanuensis, Mr. Bickerstaff, to take my dictation. Above all, I have the consolation that people remain as foolish as they used to be.

There is the same coalition of ululating Whigs, rabble rousing Radicals and mushrooming Dissenters in this country as there was in the last. And examining the Opposition, one sees exactly the same qualities as the dear old Tories in my day; stupidity, incompetence, greed and a pennyworth of genuine good nature. It's quite like old times.

Let us, then, savour these delights together. We shall build Another England here, where ghosts are not yet dead. Who knows? I might get a bishopric this time, although not, for choice, Cloyne, which was the God-awful place that scoundrel Bolingbroke offered me last time. If we can have gay bishops, Godless bishops, and triune bishops, an invisible bishop might be quite a nice change.

Greetings, abuse, and offers of ecclesiastical preferment are entertained in the comments.