#Gentle Prince And Excellent Father: James

[ghostlyhosty]

"Oh please, there's no need for formality between us!" the ghostly owl chuckled, flapping his wings slightly. "Just Barnaby will do, hoohoo! And it is a pleasure to finally make your acquaintance; I can assure you I meant every word of what I said. You truly raised a fine young lady...and my words about those nasty folk stands as well. If your husband doesn't get to them before I do, anyway!"

"Perhaps I shouldn't be interjecting, but Hannah is an absolute delight to be around whether half demon or not! And I'm certain the same can be said about her father by extension, considering he raised such a darling little princess, hoohoo! Anyone who thinks otherwise is not-so-cordially invited to my manor. I won't kill them since they certainly don't deserve that honor, but I can make them wish they were dead!" (ghostlyhosty)

Ah, James had heard about this guy. The odd ghost owl who actually used the front door and introduce themselves... which was appreciated to get in their good books.

"Appreciate it Mr Barnaby was it? You're more than welcome to have some fun."

@ghostlyhosty

[princesssarisa]

Cinderella September-through-November: "Faerie Tale Theatre: Cinderella" (1985 TV series episode)

Now we reach a TV series that countless children of the '80s and '90s will remember: Faerie Tale Theatre. Created, produced and hosted by actress Shelley Duvall, each episode is an hour-long adaptation of a classic fairy tale or fantasy story, performed by a cast of celebrities. Some episodes are played for irreverent laughs, others have a more serious tone, and others are somewhere in-between, but all are unique, whimsical and memorable. Well I remember watching the show on Monday nights at 7 PM during its syndicated run on The Disney Channel, or sometimes watching episodes on a classroom VHS player while eating pizza with my elementary schoolmates during evening PTA meetings.

Cinderella is one of those episodes that strikes a balance between quirky humor and genuine heart. It tells the classic story straightforwardly and faithfully: in fact apart from the standard adaptational choices of killing off Cinderella's father and of having the Prince himself search for her with the glass slipper instead of just sending a steward, this is one of the more faithful retellings of Perrault's version of the tale. True to Perrault, there are two balls instead of just one, with Cinderella losing her slipper at the second ball, and we even have Perrault's rarely-adapted detail of the Fairy Godmother scooping out the inside of the pumpkin before she transforms it. ("You don't want gigantic seeds inside of your coach, do you?" she asks Cinderella.) But the interactions between the characters are pure Faerie Tale Theatre.

Broad comedy is provided by the Stepmother (Eve Arden), who plays the pleasant, smiling gentlewoman even as she heaps chores on Cinderella and philosophically justifies treating her "like dirt," and from her ridiculous daughters Arlene (Jane Alden) and Bertha (Edie McClurg). But Jennifer Beals' sweet, gentle Cinderella earns genuine sympathy, and in her scenes with her playful, grandmotherly, Southern-accented Fairy Godmother (Jean Stapleton) and with the sweetly awkward and naïve yet chivalrous Prince Henry (Matthew Broderick), the perfect balance between gentle, wry humor and true warmth is present. The two ball scenes give Cinderella and the Prince ample time both for dancing and for "adorkable" conversations, making their romance especially believable, and Stapleton's Fairy Godmother is a show-stealer every time she appears.

While the budget is modest and the sets are stagy, the production is still appropriately pretty and atmospheric. The house of Cinderella and her stepfamily has a look of modest elegance, surrounded by colorful autumn leaves to justify the use of a pumpkin for a coach, while the royal ballroom has an appropriately romantic ambiance. The 19th century-inspired costumes are pretty too: the gold- and silver-embroidered white gowns worn by Cinderella to the balls and by the Fairy Godmother are especially beautiful. The magical effects are simple, but likewise effective. This is very much a character-driven Cinderella, though, carried by its performers. Besides the excellent main cast mentioned above, James Noble is also endearing as Prince Henry's supportive, down-to-earth father King Rupert, as are the rest of the minor roles with their touches of comedy, while Joseph Maher's British-accented voiceover narration sets the perfect tone of wryness and elegance.

This Cinderella might not be as flashy as other versions, but all the same, it's a classic childhood memory for many of us, and its warm, witty tone makes it just as enjoyable for adults, if not more so. The entire Faerie Tale Theatre series is one that I'm very glad to have grown up with.

@ariel-seagull-wings, @superkingofpriderock

[akiameokami]

Popular Potter

Look at him, looking so smug as that curly-haired reject has her legs strewn across his lap. Potter. It just isn’t right for someone of his status to be with someone like her. He is a pureblood, she is muggle-born, and to make matters worse she has an eyebrow ring! Her poise certainly isn’t a redeeming quality either. I cannot see a single element that makes her good enough for him, expect perhaps that she is smart enough to put Raven Claw’s brightest to shame. If it wasn’t for her lack of professionalism and personal upkeep I am sure she would be in Raven Claw and not Gryffindor. She has changed him so much since they started dating. Potter used to be such a prince, but even since they got together he has been hanging out with anyone, even the problematic Weasleys. I can’t believe his parents let him do that, do they not care about how it will effect their status? Father always reminds me to be cautious of my social relations because they will effect him greatly. He would simply die if he saw me with someone adorned in chains such as Hermione chooses.  The brazed crème a top the shit soufflé is that Harry Potter got a tongue ring! His parent’s certainly know nothing of this, but for the first time ever, I think I may not make Father privy to this. Potter and I have been associates every since primary school, and the tongue ring is a secret to all but his inner most circle. Except somehow Ronald and Hermione have become the bulk of that circle since we entered Hogwarts. To think that first semester we picked out matching Slytherin class rings together, and he somehow became a Gryffindor like them. Maybe classes do divide people too definitively? Or maybe he is changing as a person.. He always did have an affinity for the muggle world and other oddities, I just never thought he’d choose them over me. 

“Hi Har- Er, Potter, and company”, I say awkwardly as I approach their group. They all go quiet as they look at me, the only green clad robe amongst a sea of red. I feel as if this griffons pride may swallow me whole. They seem to be waiting for Harry to respond before they pounce, he really has gone from a Prince to a King. 

“Draco!” Harry exclaims as he moves Hermione's legs off and stands to greet me. I go for a slight wave but he pulls me into a hug. I can feel the daggers from his entourage. “I haven’t seen you around school in a while, what has Snape been forcing you into this time?” He asked, staring only at me. I’d appreciate the opportunity to get lost in his viper green eyes, but I can’t hold his stair. He knows my distaste for Snape, but he doesn’t know why. It’s a story for another time, but he’d already know it if he’d never stopped talking to me. 

“Oh, no, Snape is no longer tutoring me. Instead of academic pursuits, I’ve decided to try out for the quidditch team. Seems they have taken a fancy to my flying skills!” it hurts to not tell him to truth, to see him go from someone who I could tell anything to, to having to smile through the biggest heart break I’ve ever had. When I mention quidditch he gets very excited, and his posse eases up a bit. It is not uncommon for groups of different classes to enthuse over quidditch together, it is one of the few social glues we have. “What a coincidence! I will be joining the quidditch team as a legacy next season!” he says very boisterously, “I know they are expecting a lot because of my father, but I think they will be pleasantly surprised. I did always win when we would race, right?” He says with a slap to my shoulder. To others this would look like a casual challenge, but for me that slight touch meant so much more. It brought back summers spent struggling to learn how to fly out behind the greenhouse. The time he carried me back to Mother after I was able to be the first to get off the ground and flew too high. 

“You’re right, you used to be much better than me. Who knows if it’s changed, maybe you could have a practice race with me and give me some pointers if I lose?”. This audacious bastard would never turn down a challenge, and despite knowing I will likely lose, it means we’d finally have a chance to spend some time together so I’m willing to “take the L” as his muggle friends would say. 

“Harry, that’d be awesome to watch!”, “Yea Harry darling, you should host a little Gryffindor versus Slytherin flying practice before the season starts!’ Ron and Hermione cheer him on from the background. The other Gryffindor's start to chime in on how they would love to see a friendly match and see how skilled the new flyers are. “Well Draco, what do you say? I’m game to leave all you snakes in the dust, but only if you think Slytherin has enough flyers to make it worth the effort”, he chuckles as he says it, but he squeezes my shoulder with a bit of aggression behind it. He didn’t want it to be a spectacle, but I’m not going to clean up his messes if he wont be my friend anymore. 

“Sure Harry, I think I can pull together some wizards and witches that will make it worth your precious time.” I flatly announce as I start to walk away. I make myself keep stepping forward, and I can hear their snickers behind me. I walk straight away from him, no not quite, I walk straight to Snape's office. I wonder if he knows the pain he puts me through? Being compared to the Potter-Prince growing up, Father pushing me to be better than him, Harry having the audacity to be such an amazing man, friend, and first. Yet he also has the power to be the person to put me through more pain by not being in my life, driving me to focus on my studies, to get Severus to be my tutor, to use Severus as a coping method to get over him. Do you know what you’ve done to me Harry? 

~~~Imagine a world where Harry didn’t grow up with the Dursley’s, where Voldermort wasn’t a thing, where Lily and James didn’t die. Would Draco and Harry have been friends? Would they have been more? Harry and Draco are 17, nearing graduation and independence, but that also means they are climaxing from their teenage angst and heartbreak. Will they get closure?

I approach Severus’s office, emotions flooding me. After Harry and I got accepted to Hogwarts and he started drifting away, I found myself lost. At first, I believed his excuses for why he bailed on our plans, and then I blamed myself thinking I made him mad, and then I realized he just didn’t like me anymore. The self blaming was the hardest to get over, but Severus helped with that. I chose to focus on my studies, I had to find something productive to do so that Father would be proud of me again. He got very angry when I messed up the connection with the Potters. I decided instead to try and be very academically accomplished, so I needed a good tutor. Father and Mother were both very familiar with Severus Snape and knew him as an intelligent man and an excellent wizard despite being only 6 years older than me. They arranged for him to be my tutor, and he lived much closer to the school than we did, which meant I would study at his house and in the summers I stay with him. Since he is also a teacher at Hogwarts we don’t ever interact politely as school, because frankly our relationship is unconventional. to the public. I don’t love him, he doesn’t love me, but we both have been burned by the Potters more than once and despite all our pain, we still love them. Don’t get me wrong, Rus is very good to me, and we have had some very sentimental memories, but I can never mean as much to him as Lily I don’t think. That and I am not willingly to fall in love. 

*KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK*  - “Come in.” I walk in and instantly Rus’s face goes from stone cold to slightly softer. “Draco, I assume you came to speak about your last test scores?” He arches an eyebrow and nods at the door indicating I should close it. 

“Oh come on Rus, I know we have an arrangement to not interact extra here but I..” I close the door and try not to meet his eyes. I know what I am feeling, and its stupid! I can’t explain it though. He closes the door while reaching over me. With his other arm he pulls into a hug. 

“Use your words Draco.” He kisses the top of my head while whispering softly. I bury my face in his shirt. How do I tell him that I am hurting because the person who means the most to me, acknowledged me, and it left me feeling hollow? “Is it about Mr. Potter? I saw you speaking in the courtyard. That was dangerous.” I let out a shaky sigh. This is why we are together, because we share the same pain. 

“Yea..” I mutter, “We are going to have a little race between Slytherin House and Gryffindor to see who the faster upcoming flyers will be.” Even saying it sounds absolutely  ridiculous! It’s a bloody pissing contest! Yet nothing has been able to break me out of this numbness until now. Rus braces the small of my back as we lean against his office door. I look up to see him with a small smile, “I understand. I think this will be for the best. Whether it is closer you get, or simply a win. I be here if it goes wrong”. He is so consistent. Just as expected, after saying something so sweet that I could almost develop feelings, he leans down and begins a gentle kiss. He pulls my waist into him, spreading my legs with his knee. I kiss him back while running my fingers through his hair. I reach down for his belt, trying to undo it. He stops my hand and pulls back, “Now Mr. Malfoy, we are on school grounds.” He says with his stern, teacher voice. He the leans in and whispers, “You can show my what that Malfoy mouth is good for later”. I feel my dick jump a little bit, giving me a semi. This is how I cope. Feelings cannot negate the power of something physical, and Severus Snape needs to forget about the Potters just as much as I do. We were a match made in Hell. 

“Draco....” I hear Harry’s voice calling my name, but it sounds distorted, almost as if I’m underwater. “Draco!” it comes through clearly this time, but it isn’t Harry, It’s Blaise yelling at me to rouse me from my sleep. I had returned to the dorms embarrassingly late, but I had the forethought to lay out my quidditch gear ahead of time so I wouldn’t be scrambling in the morning. “Draco, wake the fuck up! We’re gonna be late to the race!” Blaise is still yelling but I can hear him heading for the door. Late? What did he mean late? I roll over and check the time, he was right, I had about five minutes to go from bed to the quidditch field. Fuck. 

“I almost thought you chickened out Draco!” Harry taunts as I approach the quidditch field, running as fast as I can with all my gear on. I was able to gather three other Slytherins that wanted to race, and who were marginally decent. Sadly Harry seemed to have a whole team that wanted to test us. I glance at Blaise, Crabbe and Goyle and they do not seem to be exuding confidence. I got them into this so the least I can do is be the one who people blame. “What? Run away from you Potter? I could never”, I say a little too seriously while making eye contact. I catch the slightest frown from Harry, but it fades as quickly as it appeared. “Well then, lets get this over with. It sounded fun, but looking at your little group, it just feels like bullying.” He rejoins his group at the start line. The course was to make one large loop around campus while going through specified markers, such as looping through the womping willow and its thrashing limbs, and past Hagrids hut. It is just the school campus, but that doesn’t make it not dangerous. That is why I wore my protective gear, but as I glance around I see that most everyone else was casually dressed with the exception of Longbottom. He looked as if he was wrapped in bubble wrap. I don’t want to be associated with the likes of him so I discard my protective layer.  I return my attention to the other end of the field where Hermione stands with the flare, and off it goes. I must’ve been disassociating during the count down. I feel the wind of the others taking off before I see the bristles of their brooms when they speed past me. Shit. I take off as fast as I can, but I am not too concerned about the starting line. Anyone can get up, its staying there that’s the problem. 

The first obstacle is the peaks of the school, where we stand the danger of Mr. Fletcher seeing us and everyone getting in trouble. This obstacle is more about stealth than speed, you could speed right through the peaks, but you would certain alarm everyone inside the castle. The trick to making it without being seen is to pay attention and roof hop, taking a break to wait out anyone who may see you. I can see ahead of me where two Gryffindor flyers drop altitude instantly, nearly getting caught. I swerve away from that tower and loop around the other way, hopping off the roof after checking the next peak. When I emerge from the other side of the peaks I see Harry far ahead, Ronald right behind him, and Blaise  on their tail. either no one else made it through, or they are behind me, because no one would be ahead of Harry. We approach Hagrids hut and drop down low for the loop, I see Blaise take the turn too tightly and have to drop to the ground to prevent himself from going tip over tail. Ronald falls behind me as he flew too close to the hippogriff and got the tail of his broom snipped out. The race is between Harry and I as we approach the womping willow. It is especially crabby today it seems, or perhaps that was just because I was actually flying closer too it and not away from it the way I would have preferred. As we near the willow I am close enough that I could grab the bristles on Harry’s broom if I wanted to. I follow his maneuvers dodging the willows grasps. There is no denying that when it comes to agility Harry has an edge on me. There is no doubt that James took the time to train him personally. Despite all his preparation I see Harry narrowly avoid getting swept by a branch, which meant I had no time to avoid the branch at all. The willow makes contact with my broom and sends me plummeting to the ground. I’d rather jump and break something, that be strangled by a tree. The impact knocks the breath out of me, and the pain floods my body. My vision goes black and once again I feel like I am in bed, floating into nothingness. 

“Draco?!?!” I hear Harry’s voice calling out to me, but I don’t respond. Blaise wont fool me again. He just wants me to wake up from my peaceful nothingness. Then the pain hits me and I remember what happened. I open my eyes to see a sweaty and shirtless Harry tying my arm in a makeshift sling. “Draco.. please say something..” He mutters as he struggles with the knot. 

“Ouch you bloody bastard, that fucking hurts!” I squeak as he tightens it too much. Despite my pain I see a look of relief cloud his face. “Other than your arm, what hurts? I can’t tell if anything else is broken. I already have Ron and Blaise going to get a teacher. I am so sorry Draco, it wasn’t suppose to happen like this!” Harry is running his sentences together as he is frantically searching me over for any other damages. Everything hurts, but what I feel the most is the throbbing in my chest. Did I really have to almost die for him to say my name in such a caring way? I don’t want to be here, it hurts to see him like this knowing it is just me that is feeling this way. “Professor Snape!” Harry yells as Severus approaches with Ron and Blaise right behind him. I see Rus reach for his wand and the next thing I know Harry is swept away from me by an unseen force, flown at least three yards away. “Harry Potter! What have you done now?!” Severus yells, abnormally angry. He turns his attention toward me, worry lines streaking his face. He looks me over and his face softens. A wave of his wand and I feel a million times better. He leans down next to me and whispers, “You’ll be okay Draco, I’ll take care of this”. He turns his attention to Harry, “While I transport this young man who could very well be crippled, I’d recommend you contact your parents before I get the chance. Let them know I expect to be seeing them soon.” Severus knows better than to touch me, so he makes me float using Hermione's favorite spell. He must have cast a different spell as well, because the last thing I see is Harry’s terrified face as Severus brings me back toward the castle. 

I wake up to a sudden jolt of pain coming from, well, everywhere. The most prominent pain is coming from my right arm. I sit up to exam the damage, but to my surprise I see none other than Hermione Granger sitting next to my bed in the infirmary, reading of course. Without a word she raises her hand and indicated the number 1, probably to suggest “one minute”. I wait for her to finish her page. 

“I know about you and Harry.” She announces bluntly as she closes her book carefully. She is smart, but she can’t possibly be that smart. “Well, yes, I assume you would know about how he got me clobbered by a tree. You were there.” I try and dismiss her suspicious words. She does not buy a word of it. “No, you twit, I know about you two’s past, and I am willing to bet that your annoying behavior is because you still have feelings for him.” She states it so matter o’ factly that I am left speechless. She rolls her eyes and gets up to leave, “Well, I sure hope that is the case. Him and I broke up you see. After I found out the only reason he wanted to be with me is because I am smart enough to brew a Polyjuice potion of you so he can fuck it, I decided maybe I should be with someone who was actually attracted to me.” She walks away without giving me a chance to argue, or well, say anything at all really. He does what?  She runs into someone at the door and I hear them exchange words, and to my surprise the next person to walk in is Harry Fucking Potter. He stands awkwardly at the end of my bed for what feels like an eternity before asking, “how are you feeling?”. Despite his concern, he wont make eye contact with me. He doesn’t even seem like he wants to be here. I sink back into the bed and roll away from him. “You can go, I am fine. I bet your friends are lost without you.” I bite my tongue at the end, knowing that isn’t how I feel. I feel the bed shift as he sits down on the edge. 

“Draco.. I don’t want to go. I feel terrible about what happened, and I Hermione just told me that you know about.. me, or us, or however you want to say it, and what I am trying to say is, “ He takes a deep breath, “Draco I am so sorry. I know your father doesn’t want me around you, but it hurts to see you like this, and it hurts to not be with you.”. His voice got weak as he finished his sentence. His hand grabbed my leg and squeezed it. It’d been forever since I had felt his warmth. 

I can’t. 

I can’t. I can’t.  I can’t  I can’t  I can’t  I can’t  I can’t  I can’t  I can’t  I can’t I can’t I can’t I can’t I can’t I can’t I can’t I can’tIcantIcantICANTICANTICANTICANT! 

Why? Why does he have to do this? Why does he have to hurt me like this? What does this all mean? Does he think that because he said sorry I can just roll over and pretend the last two years never happened?! HE LEFT ME! He hurt me! He got me hurt! When I lost him, I lost the love for myself as well. How can he say those things to someone who is just a shell? 

I start breathing desperately, my heart racing and my head flooding with these thoughts. I can’t control it, I can’t stop it, and I can’t move. I want to reach out to him, to grab his hand, to push him away, I don’t know!  

“Mr. Potter, now would be a good time for you to leave.” Severus’s calming voice announces over the hallway in the infirmary. I hear his footsteps swiften towards us. “Proffessor Snape I was only-” Harry starts, but gets interrupted by a stern and almost hissing whisper, “No, Mr. Potter. Mr. Malfoy’s parents are heading this way, I strongly recommend you make it as if you were never here. Do you understand?”. That very much so sounded like a threat. “Of course, I’m sorry... Please take care of him!”. Harry runs down the hallway and I hear the door slam before Severus addresses me. He kneels beside the bed to be face to face with me. “Draco, I’m so sorry. Deep breaths”. He says gently as he wipes away tears that I didn’t know I had. “Don’t worry about your parents. I will tell them now is a bad time. We will all reconvene at my house this evening once you recover from the healing spell. You can ask them about what Mr. Potter said if you must, I will protect you. Always.” He gently kisses my forehead and leaves silently, leaving me to suffer, as always. 

It's painfully awkward sitting at dinner with my parents and Severus. He was able to fix my arm, but it left me what could only be described as the largest hangover one has ever suffered. To top it off, since I was okay physically, my father was going to make sure I wasn't okay emotionally or mentally. He'd done nothing but berate me for causing a scene. I zone out of his rants and stare down at where Severus is squeezing my knee. He is trying to be supportive, but all I can notice is a strange tattoo on his arm that wasn't there before.

"Severus, what is this?" I ask as I drag my fingers over the snake that's wrapped around a skull. It graces his forearm so delicately, it really adds to his aesthetic. My father looks appalled at my blatant change of topic, and Severus looks panicked. He tries to cover it with his sleeve, but father stops him. "Severus Snape, is that the reaction to my spell?" Father stairs him down.

"Yes, my lord. I've no excuses for my behaviour. I will only say that never once have I sought to harm Draco. I've had his best interests in mind, always." Severus hangs his head as he finishes his sentence, knowing what he has just admitted.

"Draco, that mark - or something definitive, will appear on anyone you've had relations with." Father waves his hand towards Severus's arm as he struggles to remain calm. Mother chokes down a sob. "I had my suspicions about the Potter child, but I suppose this confirms that you are exactly the deviant whore I assumed you to be." I- wait, Harry? He knew about us? If he did something like this, something permanent to someone who worshipped him, then what did he do to Harry?

"Father! Tell me, is Harry's scar because of this?!". I grab Severus's hand and squeeze it, needing all the support from him that I can get in this challenging moment. Bever had I spoken againt father, but this was going too far!

"Of course. Are you really that daft to think he spontaneously manifested such an atrocious mark? Honestly Draco, to think you've tainted a wizard of such nobilty, and to include Severus on your path of destruction. I am ashamed to call you my son." Lucious stands to leave, grabbing Narcissa by the arm and dragging her with him. I never thought it would come to this, I knew father could be nasty, but I never believed he would be this way towards me. Everything I did was to make him look to, to do the Malfoy name proud. Yet he can't even let me love who I want to love? I want to chase after him but Severus weighs me down in my chair. "Don't Draco, let him cool off before you try anything. It wont end well if you pursue him now.".

The next day at school I can't help but stair at Harry's scar in every shared class. Severus explained how the curse worked, he explained that the mark would burn and feel as if it were festering when the host was around me. He explained that the reason Harry grew distant was because of my father and James Potter deciding to seperate us by any means necessary. Severus only learned about this after he began tutoring me and learned of my heart break. I still couldn't bring myself to speak to him. I don't know whether I feel betrayed, or heart broken. I don't know where I will go when the weekend comes, because I can't go home, or to Severus's, and I can't stay here. The library seems like the only logical option to kill a little bit of time at before finding a place to spend the night.

"Draco?" Before I even look, I know it is Harry who has joined me in the endless rows of books. "Draco.. I am so sorry. I hope you're okay. I hope Luscious didn't.. do anything, to you. Like he used to-" "STOP" I can't take this anymore! "Did you know? About the curse, about our fathers, and what he would do? This whole time were you just hiding from my reality?!" He is standing right here in front of me but as I yell at him I only stare at the scar on his forehead, knowing it must be throbbing.

"I knew.. after it appeared, they explained it to me. They said it was what you wanted, and that this would help us distance ourselves." He steps closer to me, reaching out for me. "But I knew it couldn't have been true. I figured it out after you started getting so familiar with Professor Snape. I tried asking my father about it and he told me the truth, but I thought you'd moved on so I didn't want you to have to choose.", he grabs my hand and holds it close to his chest. "But I'm done waiting. I don't think you've moved on, I just think you're too afraid to be yourself. So stop me if this isn't what you want." The last words are practically a whisper as his lips close in on mine. It'd been so long since I'd felt his touch, let alone his kiss. He starts out soft and sweet, lingering to feel the softness of my lips. When I don't fight his kiss, he gets more aggressive, his tongue parting my lips and finding mine. He grabs the back of my head and laces his fingers through my hair, cushioning the impact of him pushing my into the bookshelf. "Draco~" he mutters my name as he leans into me. I can feel his hard on pressing against me. "Fuck Draco", he lips press against my neck as he kisses me intensely, trying to leave a mark. "I've never stopped wanting you", he bites me gently, "I never let you get taken from me again".

[aidanchaser]

Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince: Everyone Lives AU

Table of Contents beta’d by @ageofzero, @magic713m, @ccboomer, @aubsenroute, @somebodyswatson

Chapter Twenty-Three Horcruxes

Harry climbed the stairs to Gryffindor Tower with less buoyancy in his step. He could feel Felix wearing off with each passing minute, and recalled Slughorn’s warning that Felix Felicis could lead to recklessness and overconfidence if taken in excess. He certainly saw the appeal, at least, of feeling like you were capable of anything all the time. He briefly wondered if he could use these last few precious minutes of it to discover what Malfoy was doing in the Room of Requirement.

But when he woke the Portrait of the Fat Lady and gave her the password, it seemed his luck had all dried up.

“The password changed at midnight,” she said, “so you’ll just have to sleep in the corridor, won’t you?”

Harry ran his hand through his hair, wishing he could have at least half of Felix’s luck for himself. “You’re joking! Why did it have to change at midnight?”

“That’s the way it is,” she said. “If you’re angry, go and take it up with the headmaster. He’s the one who tightened security.”

“Fantastic. Really brilliant. Yeah, I would go and take it up with Dumbledore if he was here, because he’s the one who wanted me to —”

“He is here,” a voice behind Harry interrupted.

Harry turned, startled to see Nearly Headless Nick gliding up the corridor.

“Professor Dumbledore returned to the school an hour ago,” Nick said. “I had it from the Bloody Baron, who saw him arrive. He appeared — according to the Baron — to be frustrated, and a little tired, of course.”

Perhaps his luck had not run out just yet. “Where is he?”

“Oh, groaning and clanking up on the Astronomy Tower. It’s a favourite pastime of his —”

“Not the Bloody Baron! Dumbledore!”

“Oh, in his office. I believe, from what the Baron said, that he had business to attend to before turning in.”

“Yeah, he has,” Harry said, and bolted down the corridor, weariness forgotten.

As soon as he reached the gargoyle guard to the stairs, he said, “Toffee éclairs,” and hurried up the spiral staircase. He knocked heavily on the thick door that led into Dumbledore’s office.

“Enter,” Dumbledore said.

Harry could hear the exhaustion in Dumbledore’s voice, but he recalled how Cedric had berated him for waiting even a day to tell him what he’d learned of Hepizbah Smith, the locket, and Voldemort’s unsuccessful job interview. He did not think that Dumbledore would like him to wait before sharing this memory, too. He also had a feeling that he’d have to scribble the memory’s contents out in a letter to Cedric before he finally went to sleep.

Harry pushed the door open and saw Dumbledore standing behind his desk. The desk was littered in maps, notes, and old photographs, and Fawkes perched on the back of Dumbledore’s chair, as if he, too, were trying to make sense of Dumbledore’s research. Harry was surprised that Dumbledore did not sweep it all away as he walked in. He was also surprised by just how exhausted Dumbledore looked. It was not just the weary expression that Harry had grown used to seeing on all members of the Order; there was something worn and frail about Dumbledore. But the exhaustion was brief, replaced quickly by surprise and worry.

“Harry,” he said, “goodness gracious, to what do I owe this very late pleasure?”

Harry pulled the small bottle from his pocket and held it up. The thick, silver liquid caught the light of the nearly full moon that poured in through the open window and bounced it around the room in fractured moonbeams that mirrored the stars in the night sky.

“I’ve got it, sir,” Harry said. “I’ve got the memory from Slughorn.”

Dumbledore smiled. It was not the serene smile that Harry was used to seeing on his Professor, nor the sad smile that he had caught on occasion. There was pure thrill in this smile, the sort of smile James had when Harry made an impressive catch of the Snitch.

“Harry, this is spectacular! Well done indeed! I knew you could do it.”

Dumbledore took the bottle from Harry and pulled the Pensieve from its cabinet.

“Sir — when I got the memory from Slughorn, he was… well, he wasn’t in his usual frame of mind.”

Dumbledore raised his eyebrows. “I should hope you did not Confound him, Harry, and tamper with the memory —”

“No, not at all, or rather, not exactly. He was drunk.”

“I am sure Horace is quite used to that.” Dumbledore chuckled. “And it should not taint the knowledge within, but we shall know in a moment.”

Harry stepped towards the Pensieve, anxiety and guilt not quite mollified. “I just meant, sir — is that alright? He won’t even remember that I asked him for it.”

Dumbledore hesitated, hands on either side of the Pensieve, and examined Harry with his piercing gaze that always seemed to see much more than one would expect. “You are not worried about the memory, but about whether what you did was right?”

“My dad and I talked about love potions, and how they take away your ability to think for yourself, and that’s terrible, isn’t it? It’s what happened to Ron — and didn’t I just do the same thing to Slughorn?”

It seemed to Harry that Dumbledore was so eager to see the contents of Slughorn’s memory that this delay was unexpected and not especially welcome. Harry swallowed down his guilt.

“Sorry, sir, I —”

“Do not apologise for wishing to do the right thing,” Dumbledore said. “You are very much like your father in that. He has always been one to agonise over the right thing to do. Your mother, however, has not found it so troubling. Do you know why that is?”

“Er — not exactly, but I think you’re about to tell me.”

Dumbledore’s expression softened into a smile. “Because Lily always put those who were in trouble first, no matter what else. She would lie to protect a friend. She would defend someone who had been unkind to her if they were hurt. She has always challenged those who did not use their power to help the powerless. Do you understand?”

“You’re saying what I did was alright, even if it was wrong, because it will help defeat Voldemort?”

“In short, yes. But I’m afraid, Harry, that we do not have time for you to ruminate on this philosophy just now. If this memory reveals what I believe it will, we may yet have a longer night ahead of us.”

“Right.”

Harry placed his hands on the basin of the Pensieve and followed Dumbledore into the memory.

They returned to Slughorn’s old office, which Harry had seen when Dumbledore had shown him the tainted memory. Harry could already see the difference in clarity within this memory. The colours were brighter, and the decor on the walls was in sharp relief, not fuzzy and faded as it had been before. That memory had looked as if it had been through several aggressive washings; this one was fresh. If Harry had been worried about wine staining the memory, his worry would have been assuaged immediately.

Slughorn was younger, as he had been in the memory before. The grey, wispy hair that Harry was used to was instead thick and blonde, and his mustache was shiny and auburn in the firelight. He settled back into his plush chair and propped his feet on the footstool. In one hand he held a wine glass, in the other a box of crystalized pineapple.

The Tom Riddle that Harry remembered from the diary sat on a chair at Slughorn’s right hand. He was not the disfigured and terrifying man that would interview for a position as a professor at Hogwarts in just over ten years’ time. He was young, attractive even, with thick, smooth hair and a firm jawline. On his finger was Marvolo Gaunt’s ring, reminding Harry that by the time this memory took place, Riddle had already killed his father.

This time, Harry also knew that Tom Riddle had already created at least one of his Horcruxes.

“Sir,” Tom Riddle asked, “is it true that Professor Merrythought is retiring?”

Slughorn shook his head, but he was smiling as he picked out another piece of candied pineapple. “Tom, Tom, if I knew I couldn’t tell you.” He winked, though, which seemed to be all the answer Riddle needed. “I must say, I’d like to know where you get your information, boy, more knowledgeable than half the staff, you are.”

Riddle’s lips curved into a smile, and the others in the circle laughed. A few of them looked at Riddle with a surprising amount of adoration. Riddle had worked hard to win them all, and even this conversation was part of keeping them under his power.

“What with your uncanny ability to know things you shouldn’t,” Slughorn continued, “and your careful flattery of the people who matter — thank you for the pineapple, by the way, you’re quite right, it is my favourite — I confidently expect you to rise to Minister of Magic within twenty years. Fifteen, if you keep sending me pineapple. I have excellent contacts at the Ministry.”

The group laughed again. Riddle waited for the laughter to fall away before speaking again. It was clear to Harry that he enjoyed the attention from Slughorn and the other students, however Harry recalled what Dumbledore had said about Riddle never truly having friends. These were not people Riddle trusted; these were people Riddle used.

“I don’t know that politics would suit me, sir,” Riddle said. “I don’t have the right kind of background, for one thing.” But he ran his finger over the heavy black stone of his grandfather’s ring as he said it.

“Nonsense,” Slughorn said, “couldn’t be plainer that you come from decent Wizarding stock, abilities like yours. No, you’ll go far, Tom, I’ve never been wrong about a student yet.”

A gentle chime marked the hour as eleven, not quite as late as Harry had stayed with Professor Slughorn in the present, but there was far less wine at this gathering than at the wake Harry had just attended. Slughorn stood to dismiss his company.

“Good gracious, is it that time already? You’d better get going, boys, or we’ll all be in trouble. Lestrange, I want your essay by tomorrow, or it’s detention. Same goes for you, Avery.”

Each student left — except for Riddle. He stayed by the fire, even as Slughorn went to return his empty glass to his table of crystal decanters and wine bottles.

“Look sharp, Tom,” Slughorn said, and filled his glass once more. “You don’t want to be caught out of bed out of hours, and you a prefect.”

But this did not seem to concern Riddle. He hesitated a moment, a movement that seemed to Harry incredibly calculated. “Sir, I wanted to ask you something.”

“Ask away, then m’boy, ask away.”

“Sir, I wondered what you know about… about Horcruxes?”

Slughorn set his wine glass down on the table. “Project for Defense Against the Dark Arts, is it?” Clearly, however, even Slughorn did not believe this to be the case. And Riddle did not bother to lie.

“Not exactly, sir. I came across the term while reading and I didn’t fully understand it.”

Harry watched Riddle run his hand over the ring and knew instantly that the question was unnecessary. Tom had already murdered his father and must have turned this ring into his Horcrux. But Harry did not understand why he was revealing his knowledge to Slughorn.

“No,” Slughorn licked his lips, and Harry could feel through the memory that Slughorn’s mouth had gone dry. “You’d be hard-pushed to find a book at Hogwarts that’ll give you details on Horcruxes, Tom, that’s very Dark stuff, very Dark stuff indeed.”

“But you obviously know all about them, sir? I mean, a wizard like you — sorry, I mean, if you can’t tell me, obviously — I just knew if anyone could tell me, you could — so I just thought I’d ask —”

Harry, having spent months trying to get this very information out of Slughorn found Riddle’s persuasion tactics impressive. Harry had so rarely bothered with careful flattery and false hesitation. He had been taught to ask for what he needed, and most often, it was given to him. Riddle had clearly learned the art of manipulating others into getting what he wanted, and Slughorn was easy prey.

“Well…” Slughorn no longer watched Riddle. He had returned his gaze to the box of pineapple, still in his hand, and was concentrating very hard, as if choosing which piece to eat next required all of his focus. “Well, it can’t hurt to give you an overview, of course. Just so that you understand the term. A Horcrux is the word used for an object in which a person has concealed a part of their soul.”

Though Riddle worked hard to contain it, Harry could see how pleased he was that Slughorn was so knowledgeable. “I don’t quite understand how that works, though, sir.”

“Well, you split your soul, you see, and hide part of it in an object outside the body. Then, even if one's body is attacked or destroyed, one cannot die, for part of the soul remains earthbound and undamaged. But of course, existence in such a form… few would want it, Tom, very few. Death would be preferable.”

Harry recalled Voldemort’s speech to his Death Eaters in the graveyard, where Harry had been an unwilling audience, bound and gagged against a headstone. Voldemort had described an existence that was little more than a ghost, flitting from animal body to animal body. Voldemort’s soul had been torn from his body on the night that he had gone to Godric’s Hollow to kill Harry, but it had remained bound to the earth nonetheless.

“And how do you split your soul?” Riddle asked. It was more difficult for him, now, to conceal the greedy glint in his eyes.

Slughorn hesitated. “Well, you must understand that the soul is supposed to remain intact and whole. Splitting it is an act of violation, it is against nature.”

“But how do you do it?”

“By an act of evil — the supreme act of evil. By committing murder. Killing rips the soul apart. The wizard intent upon creating a Horcrux would use the damage to his advantage: He would encase the torn portion —”

“Encase? But how — ?”

“There is a spell, do not ask me, I don’t know! Do I look as though I have tried it — do I look like a killer?”

“No, sir, of course not,” Riddle amended. “I’m sorry… I didn’t mean to offend…”

“Not at all, not at all, not offended.” Just as Riddle had reconsidered his approach, Slughorn reconsidered his outburst. Clearly, despite the inquiries, he was still fond of his favourite student. “It’s natural to feel some curiosity about these things. Wizards of a certain caliber have always been drawn to that aspect of magic.”

“Yes, sir. What I don’t understand, though — just out of curiosity — I mean, would one Horcrux be much use? Can you only split your soul once? Wouldn’t it be better, make you stronger, to have your soul in more pieces, I mean, for instance, isn’t seven the most powerfully magical number, wouldn’t seven — ?”

“Merlin’s beard, Tom! Seven! Isn’t it bad enough to think of killing one person? And in any case, bad enough to divide the soul — but to rip it into seven pieces…” Slughorn frowned, and Harry felt weak.

Cedric had suggested the possibility of one Horcrux, and that this memory of Slughorn’s would identify the object they needed to destroy in order to end Voldemort for good. Harry thought this memory rightly pointed to the ring. It was the ring Harry had seen in his very first lesson with Dumbledore, the ring that was already cracked and in Dumbledore’s possession. And if the diary was also a Horcrux, as Harry had guessed while sitting in the common room with Neville, then that piece of Tom Riddle had already been destroyed as well.

Harry was willing to entertain the possibility of a third Horcrux, something else that Dumbledore had spent months searching for each time he was away from Hogwarts, something that Malfoy was searching for in the castle, but the idea of seven Horcruxes was overwhelming.

It was overwhelming even for Slughorn, who looked very much like he wished Riddle would leave him alone with his pineapple and wine.

“Of course,” Slughorn said, “this is all hypothetical, what we’re discussing, isn’t it? All academic.”

“Yes, sir,” Riddle assured him. “Of course.”

“But all the same, Tom, keep it quiet. What I’ve told — that’s to say, what we’ve discussed. People wouldn’t like to think we’ve been chatting about Horcruxes. It’s a banned subject at Hogwarts, you know. Dumbledore’s particularly fierce about it.”

“I won’t say a word, sir. Good night.”

As Riddle left, both Harry and Slughorn saw the glee on his face. It was terrifying in a mad sort of way, reminding Harry very much of the eleven-year-old boy who had sat on a cot in an orphanage and been told that he was a wizard. It was not just excitement; it was a lust for power that made Harry extremely uneasy.

“Thank you, Harry,” said Dumbledore. “Let us go.”

They returned to Dumbledore’s office, where Harry very quickly stumbled his way into the chair beside the desk. Dumbledore, too, took a seat, and did not speak for a long moment. Harry did not have the words for the all-consuming fear and anxieties spinning in his mind, so he could only wait for Dumbledore to speak.

“I have been hoping for this piece of evidence for a very long time,” Dumbledore finally said. “It confirms the theory on which I have been working. It tells me that I am right, and also how very far there is still to go.”

Harry looked up at Dumbledore. He vaguely noticed the portraits behind Dumbledore were not doing their usual performance of feigning sleep. They were all listening intensely. One had even lifted an ear trumpet.

“Is that where you’ve been going, sir?” Harry asked. “All those times you’ve gone away? You’re trying to find all of the pieces?”

Dumbledore nodded. “Yes, and I am sorry to tell you that I have not been having much luck. While there have been many things that have gone in our favour in this hunt, a recent setback has made things rather difficult.”

“I don’t understand,” Harry said, unable to bring himself to discuss just how many pieces of Voldemort’s soul had to be destroyed, “why he asked Slughorn about Horcruxes when he had already made one.”

Dumbledore raised his eyebrows. “Before I answer your question, Harry, perhaps you could enlighten me as to why you are so certain he had already made one by the time he and Professor Slughorn had this discussion.”

“You said he killed his father when he was sixteen and he stole that ring from his uncle. The way he kept touching the ring — it was already a Horcrux, wasn’t it? He knew how to make them, so why would he reveal his interest in them to Slughorn?”

Dumbledore seemed impressed by Harry’s assessment, which gave Harry a sense of pride. Impressing Dumbledore was not an easy task.

“I think,” Dumbledore said, “that he was less interested in how to create a Horcrux than he was in the idea of creating multiple Horcruxes. What he particularly wanted from Horace was an opinion on what would happen to the wizard who created more than one Horcrux, what would happen to the wizard so determined to evade death that he would be prepared to murder many times, rip his soul repeatedly, so as to store it in many, separately concealed Horcruxes. No book would have given him that information. As far as I know — as far as, I am sure, Voldemort knew — no wizard had ever done more than tear his soul in two. But I believe, by the time Voldemort spoke about this with Slughorn, he had already created two Horcruxes.”

Harry was sixteen, hardly older than Voldemort could have been in Slughorn’s memory, and yet by that age, Voldemort had already torn his soul twice. He’d already murdered two people.

“The diary?” Harry asked. “When he killed Moaning Myrtle?”

Dumbledore, again, appeared impressed. “Myrtle Elizabeth Warren was Voldemort’s first victim, yes. The diary was what I believed to be the first evidence that Voldemort had split his soul. Although I did not see the Riddle who came out of the diary, what you described to me was a phenomenon that I had never witnessed. A mere memory starting to act and think for itself? A mere memory, sapping the life out of the girl into whose hands it had fallen? No, something much more sinister had lived inside that book… a fragment of soul, I was almost sure of it. The diary had been a Horcrux. However, even before I had discovered Marvolo Gaunt’s ring, I was convinced of the possibility of multiple Horcruxes.”

Harry, who was still trying to come to terms with seven Horcruxes, and had only recently considered the possibility of two because of Cedric’s suggestion that one might be hidden in the castle, did not understand.

“But how could you have known?”

“What intrigued and alarmed me most was that that diary had been intended as a weapon as much as a safeguard.”

“I still don’t understand.”

“Well, it worked as a Horcrux is supposed to work — in other words, the fragment of soul concealed inside it was kept safe and had undoubtedly played its part in preventing the death of its owner. But there could be no doubt that Riddle really wanted that diary read, wanted the piece of his soul to inhabit or possess somebody else, so that Slytherin’s monster would be unleashed again.”

“He didn’t want his hard work to be wasted. He wanted people to know that he was Slytherin’s heir, because he couldn’t take credit at the time.”

“Quite correct. But don’t you see, Harry, that if he intended the diary to be passed to, or planted on, some future Hogwarts student, he was being remarkably blasé about that precious fragment of his soul concealed within it. The point of a Horcrux is, as Professor Slughorn explained, to keep part of the self hidden and safe, not to fling it into somebody else’s path and run the risk that they might destroy it, as indeed happened: that particular fragment of soul is no more; you saw to that. The careless way in which Voldemort regarded this Horcrux seemed most ominous to me. It suggested that he must have made — or been planning to make — more Horcruxes, so that the loss of his first would not be so detrimental. I did not wish to believe it, but nothing else seemed to make sense. And then I found proof in an unusual place.”

“You found the ring?”

“No. I was given Slytherin’s locket.” Dumbledore pulled open a drawer and removed the large, golden locket decorated with an ornate, serpentine S. “And the person who gave me this locket insisted that it contained a piece of Voldemort’s soul.”

Harry frowned at Dumbledore. “But who gave you this locket? Where did they find it?”

“It was given to me by Regulus Black.”

“Voldemort gave one of his Horcruxes to Regulus Black?”

“No. In fact, Regulus Black went through a good deal of trouble to retrieve this Horcrux. The task very nearly killed him. Truthfully, I believe he expected it to kill him, but we know that it did not, and instead he had only faked his death and allowed himself to be sent to Azkaban in order to conceal his betrayal of Voldemort. Then, when he returned to Hogwarts three years ago to kill Barty Crouch, Jr. and was arrested with the help of Professor Snape, I took the chance to speak with him. Miss Granger had told me everything that had happened between Regulus Black and Barty Crouch, and I thought it would be worth hearing Regulus Black’s version of events myself. He was less interested in a conversation about his possible freedom and much more insistent that I retrieve this locket from his family home, or find out if the house-elf Kreacher had been able to destroy it.”

Harry recalled the ring, and how the large black stone had been cracked down its centre. He looked down at the locket, and wondered why, if Dumbledore had destroyed the ring, he had not destroyed the locket in the three years since it had been given to him.

“Then you told me,” Dumbledore continued, “a year later, that on the night that Voldemort returned to his body, he made a most illuminating and alarming statement to his Death Eaters. ‘I, who have gone further than anybody along the path that leads to immortality.’ That was what you told me he said. ‘Further than anybody,’ and I thought I knew what that meant, though the Death Eaters did not. He was referring to his Horcruxes. Horcruxes in the plural, Harry, which I do not believe any other wizard has ever had. Yet it fitted: Lord Voldemort has seemed to grow less human with the passing years, and the transformation he has undergone seemed to me to be only explicable if his soul was mutilated beyond the realms of what we might call usual evil.”

“So he’s made himself impossible to kill by murdering other people? Why couldn’t he make a Philosopher’s Stone, or steal one, if he was so interested in immortality?”

“Well, we know that he tried to do just that, five years ago. But there are several reasons why, I think, a Philosopher’s Stone would appeal less than Horcruxes to Lord Voldemort. While the Elixir of Life does indeed extend life, it must be drunk regularly, for all eternity, if the drinker is to maintain their immortality. Therefore, Voldemort would be entirely dependent on the Elixir, and if it ran out, or was contaminated, or if the Stone was stolen, he would die just like any other man. Voldemort likes to operate alone, remember. I believe that he would have found the thought of being dependent, even on the Elixir, intolerable. Of course he was prepared to drink it if it would take him out of the horrible part-life to which he was condemned after attacking you, but only to regain a body. Thereafter, I am convinced, he intended to continue to rely on his Horcruxes: He would need nothing more, if only he could regain a human form. He was already immortal, you see… or as close to immortal as any man can be. But now, Harry, armed with this information, the crucial memory you have succeeded in procuring for us, we are closer to the secret of finishing Lord Voldemort than anyone has ever been before. You heard him, Harry: ‘Wouldn’t it be better, make you stronger, to have your soul in more pieces… isn’t seven the most powerfully magical number…’ Yes, I think the idea of a seven-part soul would greatly appeal to Lord Voldemort.”

Harry ran both hands through his hair. “But seven horcruxes — they could be anywhere, anything! They could be invisible — I thought the idea of two was bad enough…”

“I am glad to see you appreciate the magnitude of the problem, but firstly, no, Harry, not seven Horcruxes: six. The seventh part of his soul, however maimed, resides inside his regenerated body. That was the part of him that lived a spectral existence for so many years during his exile; without that, he has no self at all. That seventh piece of soul will be the last that anybody wishing to kill Voldemort must attack — the piece that lives in his body.”

“But the six Horcruxes, then,” said Harry, a little desperately, “how are we supposed to find them all?”

“You are forgetting — you have already destroyed one of them. And I have destroyed another.”

“You mean the diary and the ring?” Harry asked.

“Yes indeed.” Dumbledore raised his injured, blackened hand. “Had it not been — forgive me the lack of seemly modesty — for my own prodigious skill, and for Professor Snape’s timely action when I returned to Hogwarts, desperately injured, I might not have lived to tell the tale. However, a withered hand does not seem an unreasonable exchange for a seventh of Voldemort’s soul. The ring is no longer a Horcrux.”

Harry shook his head. “But the diary almost killed Ginny, the locket almost killed Regulus, and the ring almost killed you — how are we supposed to find and destroy three more objects like that?”

“You are correct. It will not be an easy task. But it is not as impossible as you might think. Remember what I have shown you. Lord Voldemort liked to collect trophies, and he preferred objects with a powerful magical history. His pride, his belief in his own superiority, his determination to carve for himself a startling place in magical history; these things suggest to me that Voldemort would have chosen his Horcruxes with some care, favouring objects worthy of the honour. He will also store these trophies in well-protected places. For example, I stumbled across the ring hidden in the ruin of the Gaunts’ house. It seems that once Voldemort had succeeded in sealing a piece of his soul inside it, he did not want to wear it anymore. He hid it, protected by many powerful enchantments, in the shack where his ancestors had once lived, after Morfin had been carted off to Azkaban, of course, never guessing that I might one day take the trouble to visit the ruin, or that I might be keeping an eye open for traces of magical concealment.”

“The diary wasn’t very special — not like the ring or the locket,” said Harry. “And he didn’t seem too interested in protecting it.”

“The diary, as you have said yourself, was proof that he was the Heir of Slytherin; I am sure that Voldemort considered it of stupendous importance. And I do not believe that Malfoy was ever meant to get rid of it so hastily. Certainly he knew it was important, but had he known what it was truly, I am not sure he would have cast it aside so readily.”

Harry considered this. “So, the other Horcruxes? Do you think you know what they are, sir?”

“I can only guess that, for the reasons I have already given, Lord Voldemort would prefer objects that, in themselves, have a certain grandeur. I have therefore trawled back through Voldemort’s past to see if I can find evidence that such artifacts have disappeared around him.”

“Like the locket — and the cup! They’re both Horcruxes.”

“Yes,” said Dumbledore. “I would be willing to bet — perhaps not my other hand — but a couple of fingers that Helga Hufflepuff’s cup became the fourth of Voldemort’s horcruxes. The remaining two, assuming again that he created a total of six, are more of a problem, but I will hazard a guess that, having secured objects from Hufflepuff and Slytherin, he set out to track down objects owned by Gryffindor or Ravenclaw. Four objects from the four founders would, I am sure, have exerted a powerful pull over Voldemort’s imagination. I cannot answer for whether he ever managed to find anything of Ravenclaw’s. I am confident, however, that the only known relic of Gryffindor remains safe.”

At this, Dumbledore stood, and approached a glass case behind his desk. From this case, he removed the sword of Godric Gryffindor, gleaming silver with a hilt set in rubies, and placed it on his desk.

Harry stared at the sword that he had held four years ago and used to slay the basilisk before it could kill him and his mother. It had seemed so grand and large when he was twelve. It was still grand to him now, but not quite so large as he recalled.

“So the fifth Horcrux will be something related to Ravenclaw?”

“My thoughts precisely,” said Dumbledore. “I believe his true intention when he visited the school to request a teaching position was to search for one of these objects, but unfortunately, that does not advance us much further, for he was turned away without the chance to search the school. I am forced to conclude that he never fulfilled his ambition of collecting four founders’ objects. He definitely had two — he may have found three — that is the best we can do for now.”

Harry frowned, eyes still on the sword. “What if… instead of searching the school for a Horcrux, he came to hide one he had already made?”

“An interesting conclusion,” Dumbledore said. “After the terrible destruction the diary wreaked on this school, you believe that there is another Horcrux still hidden inside Hogwarts?”

“It’s possible,” Harry shrugged. “I thought maybe — well, I thought perhaps Malfoy was sent to find it, to replace the diary his father lost.” Harry glanced up at Dumbledore, but was unable to determine what Dumbledore thought of this theory.

“I do not believe that Voldemort, who trusts no one at all, would have asked such a task of a Hogwarts student. However, I do recall asking you to set aside your inquiries into Malfoy’s activities. I understand that you are worried, but there are plenty of capable people already at the task.”

“I just thought —”

“I understand what you thought, but I do not believe Malfoy has any knowledge of Horcruxes. I am confident that knowledge is contained to you, myself, Regulus Black, and of course I imagine you have mentioned the subject to Ms Granger, Mr Weasley, and Mr Longbottom?”

“Yeah — er — and to Cedric Diggory.”

Dumbledore stroked his beard. “Interesting. You have a way of communicating with Mr Diggory privately, then?”

“Yes. We have a secret code for our letters, so no one can read them but us. He’s actually the one who suggested that Voldemort might have hidden a Horcrux in the castle.”

“If there is a Horcrux in this castle, Harry, I have seen no sign of it. It would be most convenient if there was one, for the sake of our hunt, but I do not believe something so powerful could go unnoticed for so long.”

“Yeah… that’s what Neville said. I’m sure you’re right.” Harry closed his eyes and counted. The diary, the ring, the locket, the cup, something of Ravenclaw’s, possibly Gryffindor’s — “Sir, what’s the sixth item, then, if you don’t think he found something of Gryffindor’s?”

Dumbledore hesitated. “I wonder what you will say when I confess that I have been curious for a while about the behaviour of the snake, Nagini?”

“The snake? You can use animals as Horcruxes?”

“Well, it is inadvisable to do so, because to confide a part of your soul to something that can think and move for itself is obviously a very risky business. However, if my calculations are correct, Voldemort was still at least one Horcrux short of his goal of six when he entered your parents’ house with the intention of killing you. He seems to have reserved the process of making Horcruxes for particularly significant deaths. You would certainly have been that. He believed that in killing you, he was destroying the danger the prophecy had outlined. He believed he was making himself invincible. I am sure that he was intending to make his final Horcrux with your death. As we know, he failed. After an interval of some years, however, he used Nagini to kill Igor Karkaroff, and it might then have occurred to him to turn her into his last Horcrux. She underlines the Slytherin connection, which enhances Lord Voldemort’s mystique; I think he is perhaps as fond of her as he can be of anything; he certainly likes to keep her close, and he seems to have an unusual amount of control over her, even for a Parselmouth.”

“So then really, all we need to find is the cup, and something that used to belong to Gryffindor or Ravenclaw? And then make sure the snake is destroyed before Voldemort is killed?”

“A succinct summary — however, you are forgetting one very important step.”

Harry frowned. “What’s that, sir?”

“The locket has not yet been destroyed.”

Harry looked down at the beautiful golden snake with emerald eyes set at the head of the S. “How did you destroy the ring?”

“With this.” Dumbledore rested his hand on the hilt of the sword.

“And… why haven’t you done that to the locket yet?”

A tiny smile quirked in Dumbledore’s beard. “Give it a try.”

Harry stood uncertainly, but took the sword of Godric Gryffindor from Dumbledore. It had seemed much heavier when he was twelve. He took a step back from the desk, afraid he might hit Dumbledore if he was too close. He tested the distance and angle to make sure he had it right — the locket was so small, and he was afraid to leave a dent on Dumbledore’s desk — and then he swung.

It was as if he had struck one of his mother’s own Shield Charms. Harry was thrown backward and something pounded in his head. He stumbled into the chair he had been sitting in, knocking it to the floor. Gryffindor’s sword hung heavy in his hands and the locket remained on the table, pristine and undamaged.

Harry stepped forward and swung again, this time as hard as he could, thinking perhaps he had been too shy in his first attempt. The result, however, was the same. He fell backwards, tripping over the chair this time. He ran one hand over his scar, surprised to feel a dull ache that he hadn’t felt since last summer.

“I had the same problem,” said Dumbledore, as Harry pulled himself to his feet.

“Then how are we supposed to destroy it?” Harry asked. He shook his head, clearing away the pain, at least for the moment.

“I may be wrong, but I believe it needs to be opened first.”

Harry, though he was certain Dumbledore had tried to open the locket already, picked it up and examined the clasp. It seemed simple enough, but the fastener would not budge. Harry did his best to pry the locket open with his hands and found himself unable to shift it, any more than Gryffindor’s sword had been able to make a dent.

He dropped it back on the table. “I assume you’ve tried Alohomora, sir?” Harry asked.

“Yes, I have, Harry. And Portaberto and Open Sesame, but alas, none of them have worked. And yet I believe that you are the only one, besides Voldemort himself, who can open it.”

“You want me to try Open Sesame?”

“Perhaps not in those words.”

Harry stared at Dumbledore, and then at the locket. The snake’s green eyes seemed to be winking at him in the light of the nearly full moon.

“You want me to try Parseltongue.” As Harry said this, the pendant rattled on the table, and Harry took a step back.

“Yes, Harry, but before you do, I suggest you prepare yourself.”

“What?”

“Remember what you pointed out, that the diary nearly killed Ginny, and it very nearly took you and your mother as well. You have not been pouring your heart into this locket the way Ginny wrote her hopes and fears into the diary, but this locket has been in this room for some time, and has heard many of our conversations, not just over these lessons, but over the last three years. Perhaps my office was not the wisest place to keep such an object, but there were few other places I felt were as protected as this. I do not know what the locket will do when you open it, but I want you to be ready.”

“Me?” His scar throbbed painfully. Harry extended the hilt of the sword to Dumbledore. “No, I’ll open it, but you should destroy it.”

Dumbledore gestured to his blackened hand. “I could hold the sword, yes, but I do not think I would have the strength needed to destroy the locket. It should be you.”

“Isn’t Regulus Black down in the dungeons watching Malfoy? If he’s the one who found it in the first place….”

“Harry, I am quite certain that as you have already destroyed one Horcrux, you are more than capable of destroying this one.”

Harry looked down at the locket. It was rattling violently now, and he wondered if he even needed to open it, or if it was about to fall open of its own accord. He wished he felt as confident as Dumbledore did. He wished there was still some of Felix Felicis left in him, but that had run out long ago. Harry could not even fathom how late into the night it must be.

He remembered how he had trusted the diary, and how easy it had been for Tom Riddle to convince Ginny to pour herself out to him. That had been the first Horcrux of Voldemort’s creation. What would happen with Voldemort’s third?

He tightened his grip around the hilt of Gryffindor’s sword. He leveled the blade against the trembling locket. He took in a deep breath, and whispered, “Open,” in Parseltongue. His scar burned sharply as the catch on the locket released, and the golden snake opened, revealing a pair of eyes inside the locket, one in each window. They were not like the scarlet eyes that Voldemort had when Harry had fought him in the graveyard and the Ministry; they were much more like the eyes of the charming young man who had conned and murdered Hepzibah Smith.

Harry lifted the sword, but before he could bring the blade down, a voice hissed from the locket and he froze, scar throbbing. He could hardly think as his head pounded, and through the pain a voice hissed in his ear.

Harry Potter, the Chosen One, who has put his faith in a foolish old man.

Harry froze, sword half-raised. He could not tell if the locket was speaking in Parseltongue or not. He did not know if Dumbledore could understand what the voice was saying. But he pushed through the pain in his head, shook his hesitation aside, and lifted the sword.

You did not want to do this Harry, and yet he asked it of you.

“Harry,” Dumbledore’s voice cut through the hissing of the locket. It was calm and clear.

Harry heard Dumbledore, and wanted to follow through, to finish the swing of his sword, but the dark eyes were mesmerising, the words entrancing.

Consider how much has he asked you to do. Consider how much more he will ask of you. Do you know what this old man has sacrificed in his quest for justice?

“Harry,” Dumbledore’s voice was slightly more urgent now, but the locket seemed to speak over him.

Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived, because of someone else’s sacrifice. Because others are braver than you, more powerful than you. You trust them to protect you, Harry, and to what end? They know… They know this quest will end in your death —

Harry struck.

There was a clang this time as Gryffindor’s sword struck Salazar Slytherin’s locket. The glass inside shattered and thick red blood oozed from the cracks and onto Dumbledore’s desk. The pain in his head faded.

“Sorry about the mess, Professor,” Harry said. He looked at Dumbledore and saw that Dumbledore had stood and drawn his wand. He looked poised to attack, and Harry wondered what he had expected the locket to do.

Dumbledore stowed his wand back in his robes. “That was well done Harry. Your second Horcrux destroyed.”

“Only three to go.”

[orthodoxydaily]

Saints&Reading: Sat., Nov. 23,2019

Alexander Nevsky

The Holy Prince Alexander Nevsky was born on May 30, 1220 in the city of Pereslavl-Zalessk. His father Yaroslav II, Theodore in Baptism (+1246), “a gentle, kindly and genial prince”, was the younger son of Vsevolod III Large Nest (+ 1212), brother of the Holy Prince Yuri Vsevolodovich (February 4). Saint Alexander’s mother, Theodosia Igorevna, a Ryazan princess, was Yaroslav’s third wife. Their older son was the Holy Prince Theodore (June 5), who departed to the Lord at age fifteen. Saint Alexander was their second son.

His childhood was spent at Pereslavl-Zalessk, where his father was prince. The princely tonsure of the lad Alexander (a ceremony of initiation to be soldier) was done in the Savior Transfiguration Cathedral of Pereslavl by Saint Simon, Bishop of Suzdal (May 10), one of the compilers of the Kiev Caves Paterikon (Lives of the Fathers). From this Elder-hierarch, Saint Alexander received his first blessing for military service in the name of God, to defend the Russian Church and the Russian Land...continue reading OCA

St Amphilocius Bishop of Iconium

Saint Amphilochius, Bishop of Iconium, was born in Caesarea in Cappadocia, a city which has given the world some of the greatest Fathers and teachers of the Orthodox Church. He was a first cousin to Saint Gregory the Theologian, and a close friend of Saint Basil the Great. He was their disciple, follower and of like mind with them.

Saint Amphilochius toiled hard in the field of Christ. He lived in the wilderness as a strict ascetic for about forty years, until the time when the Lord summoned him for hierarchic service. In the year 372 the Bishop of Iconium died. Angels of the Lord thrice appeared in visions to Saint Amphilochius, summoning him to go to Iconium to be the bishop. The truthfulness of these visions was proven when the angel, appearing to him the third time, sang together with the saint the angelic song: “Holy, Holy, Holy, Lord of Sabaoth.” The heavenly messenger led the saint to the nearest church, where an assembly of angels consecrated Amphilochius bishop...continue reading OCA

2 Cor  8:1-5 NKJV

Excel in Giving

8 Moreover, brethren, we make known to you the grace of God bestowed on the churches of Macedonia: 2 that in a great trial of affliction the abundance of their joy and their deep poverty abounded in the riches of their liberality. 3 For I bear witness that according to their ability, yes, and beyond their ability, they were freely willing, 4 imploring us with much urgency [a]that we would receive the gift and the fellowship of the ministering to the saints. 5 And not only as we had hoped, but they first gave themselves to the Lord, and then to us by the will of God.

Luke 10:19-21 NKJV

19 Behold, I give you the authority to trample on serpents and scorpions, and over all the power of the enemy, and nothing shall by any means hurt you.20 Nevertheless do not rejoice in this, that the spirits are subject to you, but[a]rather rejoice because your names are written in heaven.”

Jesus Rejoices in the Spirit

21 In that hour Jesus rejoiced in the Spirit and said, “I thank You, Father, Lord of heaven and earth, that You have hidden these things from the wise and prudent and revealed them to babes. Even so, Father, for so it seemed good in Your sight.

Footnotes:

Luke 10:20 NU, M omit rather

New King James Version (NKJV) Scripture taken from the New King James Version®. Copyright © 1982 by Thomas Nelson. All rights reserved

[minervacasterly]

Henry VIII & Catherine of Aragon: Once Upon a Time there was a young handsome man who swore he'd marry a beautiful, destitute royal lady ... their story is often glossed over and considered unimportant but it remains an important chapter in English history, one that sowed the seeds for her intellectual successors, her daughter, the first English queen and her successor. Catherine of Aragon and Henry VIII are the perfect example of a fairy tale gone bad. Their story starts very idyllic. Boy meets girl, promises he will marry her after his older brother dies and like in the promises that couples still make today at weddings, the swears that he will love her until the death. But as it is common with most fairy tales, there is a darker element in the story, one that makes their relationship even sadder. Recent historians have done a great job documented the early years in their relationship, describing how Henry VIII were well-matched and she was often the go-to- person for foreign ambassadors who wanted to see His Majesty's favor. Henry VIII's disillusion with Catherine is the product of his ancestors' dynastic warfare, going all the way back to the Normans and the Angevins. England had been this close to having its first female monarch when Henry I made all of his barons swear allegiance to his remaining legitimate offspring, Matilda who was quickly married to Geoffrey, Count of Anjou and Maine in an effort to secure the Dynasty for him by providing her father with male heirs. Unfortunately, this was not to be. Matilda fought hard against her cousin, the barons' choice and her father's successor, King Stephen, for the English throne but following his son and wife's death, the two of them had no choice but to accept an uneasy truce in which Matilda gave up her claim in her oldest son, Henry FitzEmpress favor. Fast forward to three hundred years later and the country is yet facing another civil war, this time between two other powerful branches of the Plantagenet dynasty. Once again, it was up to a man to put an end to this war through his mother's claim, also using his wife's claim to give legitimacy to their offspring. Giving all that England had to endure for three hundred years, Henry VIII knew that it was up to him to secure the Tudor Dynasty. And the best way to achieve this was by having a male heir -and if possible, a spare, in case the crown heir died. Henry VIII was after all the "spare" and he knew all too well that there were other potential claimants who could easily take advantage of the succession crisis to garner support in the same fashion his father did. In spite of Catherine's miscarriages, Henry VIII and Catherine of Aragon still enjoyed a happy existence with Henry still visiting her chambers in the mid 1520s. After she gave birth to Mary, Henry VIII consoled her and told her that just as they had a healthy daughter, they could have a healthy son. One wonders if Anne Boleyn knew what Henry VIII told Catherine after she had given birth to a healthy daughter since those were almost the same words he told her when she gave birth to another healthy princess. In any case, the first years of their lives were purely idyllic. As Amy Licence, author of In Bed With the Tudors, notes in her biography on the six wives of Henry, Six Wives and the Many Mistresses of Henry VIII: "In 1510, Thomas More wrote a poem which he called 'The twelve properties or Conditions of a Lover'. With the happiness of the newlywed royal couple evident to all, More explored the contemporary ideals of amatory behavior, which included fidelity and devotion as well as the more specific examples of dressing, or adorning, oneself for the pleasure of the spouse, being frequently in their company and coveting the lover's praise. It was also essential to 'believe of his love all things excellent, and to desire that all folks should think the same' and 'to serve his love, nothing thinking of any reward or profit'. This accorded with the advice given to Henry in 1501, by his tutor John Kelton, to 'choose a wife for yourself and always love her only'. With Henry soon to adopt the title of 'Sir Loyal Heart', his devotion to Catherine was beyond doubt. Henry had certainly grown into an impressive young man. According to Thomas More's coronation verses, he had 'strength worthy of his regal person' and stood taller than his companions. There was 'fiery power' in his eyes, Venus in his face and 'such colour in his cheeks as is typical of twin roses'. Yet he possessed other skills, too. He was skilled in the physical arts of war, with 'his hand ... as skilled as his heart is brave' with 'the naked sword, or an eager charge with leveled lances, or an arrow aimed to strike a target'. More also described how Henry's virtue 'shone forth from his face' and his countenance bore 'the open message of a good heart'. Wisdom dwelled in his judicious mind and his breast was untroubled; he bore his lost with modest chastity, his gentle hearth was warmed by clemency and his mind far from arrogant. He and his natural gifts had been enhanced by a 'liberal education', with his father's wisdom and his mother's 'kindly strength'. Henry was also Catherine's intellectual equal, having studied the Classics, French, Latin, Italian, theology, modern sciences and composing music, as well as playing upon the flute, virginals and recorder ... This was the man with whom Catherine fell in love. In all things, he seemed to be her perfect match just as she was his. More's praise for the new queen extolled her birth and qualities as qualifiers that made her Henry's true equal ..." Giles Tremlett, Patrick Williams and Julia Fox in their respective biographies of Catherine, were highly descriptive of Catherine's childhood and her education, pointing out that she and her sisters were among the most learned women in Christendom, with their mother, Queen Isabella I of Castile, wishing they'd receive the education that she never had. In addition to being taught about the usual domestic arts which included how to run a household, they also had a Humanist curriculum which included learning about the classics, art, music, dancing, and of course, canon and civic law. After Henry VIII wrote a powerful spiritual tract against Martin Luther, he was given the title "Defender of the faith"; not wishing to be left behind, Catherine also wrote something, although less incendiary, defending the papacy which also earned her the title of defendress of the faith. When Anne Boleyn, then Henry's intended wife, learned that Catherine had been allowed to speak at the Blackfriars trial, she reprimanded Henry, telling him that he should have known the dangers to let her speak since, she was sure to win every time. Bottom line: Henry VIII was prince charming who knew everything there was to know about sports, Humanism and faith, but when it came to winning an argument, Catherine of Aragon was a far superior at being a drama queen. Other interesting curiosities about Henry VIII and Catherine of Aragon: 1. While Henry VIII claimed that he married Catherine to fulfilled a "long lost promise" to his dad because he was such a good son, the truth is that nobody bought it and as I suspect, some of you might not either. The truth is that people expected that Henry VIII, unlike his maternal grandfather, Edward IV, would listen to his councilors and marry whomever they'd tell him to aka someone who brought more to the marriage instead of a former widow but like his grandfather, he showed them that he was going to be his own man, subject to no one but his desires. 2. After Richard III and Anne Neville's joint coronation, Henry VIII and Catherine of Aragon were the other glorious coronation that symbolized the coming of something new and hopeful. 3. Catherine of Aragon was the FIRST and only one of two Tudor Consorts to be appointed Regent while her husband was away fighting the French. In spite of Henry VIII's meager victory which he called one of the greatest that had ever been achieved, it was Catherine who won a bigger one and secured his throne from any future threats from his Northern neighbor, Scotland. By defeating James IV, King of Scots, Catherine's leadership, left a power vacuum in Scotland which had terrible repercussions for the Stuarts that lasted until Mary, Queen of Scots and sowed the seed for her terrible fate. 4. The similarities between Henry VIII and his maternal grandfather, Edward IV have long been established, but it is not so often that his relationship with Catherine is also paralleled with that of Edward and Elizabeth Woodville. Just like Elizabeth was a widow and five years and a half older than Edward, so was Catherine, five years and a half older to Henry VIII. History does repeat itself sometimes doesn't it? ;) It's a shame that Catherine and her beloved daughter didn't have a happier ending. 5. In her biography on Isabella I of Castile, Kirstin Downey says that out of all her daughters, Catherine of Aragon was the one who inherited her countenance. And while I am no fan of Feminist Karen Lindsey's short biography on the six wives, she is right when she wrote that had Catherine had been born a boy, Spain would have had one of its greatest Kings. 6. Catherine of Aragon was the first Female Royal Ambassador in Western Europe! While Catherine and her mother were very similar, she could also be as conniving and deceptive as her father. In fact, knowing that there was no other best person he could trust than his youngest daughter at a time when her future seemed uncertain and war was once again brewing in Spain over who'd control Castile, Ferdinand II of Aragon appointed her his Ambassador. 7. She set the stage for other learned women, including Queen Catherine Parr! Like Margaret Beaufort and Elizabeth Woodville's family who sponsored many renowned religious scholars, Catherine sponsored artists and humanists as well but she took a step further, inspiring other women to get an education for themselves and their daughters, one of those women was Maud Parr whose daughter was possibly named in her honor. She became Henry VIII's last wife and the second and last Tudor consort to also be named his regent, once again when he was away fighting the French. In his book on the education of Christian princes and women's intelligence, Juan Luis Vives, dedicated his texts to her, calling her a role model for all women. 8. Defendress of the Faith: As previously stated, besides Henry VIII writing an incendiary tract against Luther in support of the Catholic faith; Catherine also wrote her own defense which earned her the unofficial title of defendress of the faith. 9. Gentle, sweet but strong as her lady mother and pragmatic as her father: Appearances can be VERY deceiving. This is certainly true when it comes to Catherine of Aragon. She appeared sweet and meek on the outside but get into a verbal row with her, you were sure to end up being devoured! Not only that, this was a woman who had been witnessed to her parents' conquest. She was a child when she saw the way her mother inspected her troops and how her father played coy with the politicians, saying one thing but doing another behind their backs. During her regency, after she had received news of King James IV of Scots' demise, she coldly inquired as to why she was not being shown his body. They told her that it would be too much to send his body to His Majesty; something she didn't look too kindly upon. So she had no choice but to settle for his bloody cape, sending it to her husband as "proof" of her victory which she attributed to him. This just shows you that besides being a good politician, she was like her father, tough as nails. And like him, she was subtle but deadly in her letters. When she found out that the pope had not yet reached a decision about her marriage, she told Charles about it and told him to hurry up and exert more pressure on the pope. When -in her view- Charles wasn't doing enough to help her cause, she put pressure on Chapuys and finally on the pope himself, daring to questioning his commitment to the Catholic faith. Talk about audacity! 10. A Woman for all Seasons: Besides being praised by her allies, she was also praised by her religious enemies, including Luther who greatly admired her and like Juan Luis Vives and Thomas More, considered her a good role model for women and was deeply saddened by her death. 11. The longest Tudor marriage: Out of all the Tudor unions, including Henry VIII's parents, it was Henry VIII and Catherine of Aragon's union that lasted the longest. Twenty four years! (More if you don't count parliament's ruling) Additional sources: There is one good book that gives a possible explanation into Henry VIII's degeneracy; it is by Kyra Cornelius Kramer and it is called "Blood Will Tell". The first chapters go deep into Henry VIII and Catherine of Aragon's relationship, as well as their education. Other books I have found very useful when it comes to this topic are Catherine of Aragon by Garrett Mattingly, Six Wives, the Queens of Henry VIII by David Starkey and Wives of Henry VIII by Antonia Fraser.

[aplusjaybirdie]

it’s always been just him and me together

inspired by a dream I had that was probably inspired by @mortuarybees human au(if you want me to untag you just ask!) title from mitski’s my husband and I. read on ao3 here.

Anthony J. Crowley, if you knew where and when to look, is nice.

He’d bluster home from work, throwing the door open and his jacket over the back of the couch, call out “angel, I’m home!” kick off his not-as-expensive-as-they-look shoes, and smoothly saunter off to ‘check’ on his plants.

If you were to watch Crowley as he gardened, you might be taken aback by the threats he whispered and yelled and simply said to his plants, the level of perfection he held them to. But if you were to watch a video with the sound off, you would see what he tried to hide with harsh words about garbage disposals and leaf spots- you’d see gentle, caring hands carefully tending to this fern, moving that succulent to a sunnier patch of room, checking the dampness of the soil for that trailing vine. And if you were really lucky and especially quiet, you might see him smile at a flower bud, and if you happened to blend into the wall so well he didn’t notice you in his furtive, unconscious glance around the room, he’d lean in and whisper “well done, you.” Then he’d straighten up, dust off his hands, and head off to the kitchen, shoulders relaxed and jaw unclenched. Crowley would stroll now, tossing his jacket onto a hook and nudging his shoes more or less into place next to a pair of somewhat battered oxfords. He’d continue through the flat like a force of cleanliness, putting the remote back in its place, brushing the corner of the rug back onto the floor, straightening a pile of books that teetered dangerously. And he’d soon slither into the kitchen.

“‘Lo, angel,” he’d murmur, wrapping his arms around Aziraphale’s waist from behind, slipping his hands into the pockets of his apron, resting a bony chin on Aziraphale’s soft white-blond hair.

“Crowley, dear, you surprised me,” Aziraphale would reply, amused and completely unsurprised, taking Crowley’s hands and interlacing their fingers, wedding bands clicking softly.

“‘Course you didn’t. ‘M sneaky like that.” And the two would laugh softly. Unable to keep themselves from smiling. They’d stand there, in front of the counter, swaying back and forth, basking in each other's presence like snakes in the sun. Crowley would eventually press a kiss to Aziraphale’s head, a pre-ordained signal, and fingers would unlace, arms unwind, and they’d get to work.

Crowley would don his own apron, a blue-black affair, and the two of them would glide and swirl around the small kitchen, finishing whatever meal Aziraphale had started making while Crowley was terrorizing his plants, though Aziraphale wasn’t allowed to use the oven or the stove, and when unsupervised the microwave. The two would talk, as they always did, complaining about Crowley’s manager, or a customer who didn’t seem to understand that the plants in the shop below their flat were not for sale.

They usually ended up with two plates of something warm and tasty, and when they didn’t- well, there was takeout just around the corner.

Crowley would somehow lounge on his barstool, Draped across it like a careless prince across his father’s throne, both smugly entitled and in the cracks of his soul deeply sure that he did not deserve to be there, leaning against the wall. When he invariably finished eating first, would gently bump his feet into Aziraphale’s in time with his heartbeat- bump bump, bump bump, bump bump- and grin like a Cheshire Cat.

Some nights, they would watch movies.

“The more explosions, the better,” Crowley would call from his seat on the couch, watching Aziraphale hem and haw over their small collection of rom-coms and James Bond discs. He’d sigh, fondly. “We’re going to watch the movie where Keira Knightley insists she can’t play the piano, aren’t we.”

Aziraphale would turn to his husband, eyes comically wide and beaming. “What an excellent idea, dear!” Crowley would groan theatrically and make room on their barely big-enough-for-two couch, curling up with head on Aziraphale’s lap, tartan blanket pulled over both of them, just barely showing a shock of hair the color of the edges of a flame, a glint of golden eyes, a gentle curve of lips into a contented smile. And when Aziraphale fell asleep before the end of the movie, fingers entwined in Crowley’s hair, Crowley would sit and watch in silence. The light from the screen flickering across his face. Shadows hinting softly at a proposal, lips moving in time with Matthew Macfadyen’s. The next day, Aziraphale will find notes on a sandwich in the fridge, made that morning by Crowley. Notes tucked in alongside his bookmark, in the book that somehow Crowley knew he’d want to read that day, out of all the books in his ‘currently reading’ stack next to their bed. Notes neatly handed over as change to customers, tucked in as they were among the ones and fives.

I love you most ardently. You have bewitched me, body and soul. From this day on, I never wish to be parted from you. They are all written in Crowley’s scattered chicken scratch, signed with nothing but a heart. (Years later, Crowley will find a box hidden in their attic, filled with every note he’d ever written, and one hand will go to the chain he now wears around his neck. Wedding bands will click together softly again, and Crowley will kneel alone, rare sunlight streaming through a small window like through stained glass in a chapel, illuminating his wet cheeks, one hand pressed to his lips.)

But that will not be for years and years, and in the present, Crowley and Aziraphale’s niece and nephews are visiting. Crowley is the one who keeps Adam’s dog, a little black and white Parson Russel named Dog, out of Aziraphale’s shop. He is the one who makes peanut butter and banana sandwiches- with real peanut butter, the type that has to be stirred the first time you open it- for Wendsleydale. He is the one who teaches Pepper to swear and throw a punch, introduces Brian to James Bond and hides the sweet wrappers, buys Warlock a book on earthworms, with another, thinner book about something called “non-binary” slipped inside, and is the one who ignores the light from under the cracks of the door of the room Warlock is supposed to be sleeping in as he stays up and devours both of them.

(He is also the one who washes the peanut butter banana smear out of Dog’s fur, the one who kneels on the bathroom floor, holding a wad of paper towels to Warlock’s nose and tells them to tilt their head back after Pepper’s demonstration of what she learned, the one who apologizes profusely to the old woman Brian accidentally hits in the face, pretending his yo-yo has razors.)

Yes, though he won’t admit it, if you know where to look, Anthony J. Crowley is nice.

[haughtbreaker]

Can Nicole and Waverly be rescued before it's too late? Will the arrival of Prince James help or hinder?

Yeah so... surprise. I told y'all I wasn't giving up on this fic. Thanks for sticking with it. Thanks to @jaybear1701 for the beta help.

It was dark, but Waverly didn't care. Nor did she care about how filthy the ground was as she sat, leaning against the stone wall beside the secret entrance. She didn't dare look to her side where Wynonna was sitting.

"This is what's best for your kingdom, Ward." A voice came through the door.

"She's far too young. She's not even of child-bearing age." Their father's voice sounded tired, having been arguing for over an hour now.

"We don't mean right now," came the indignant response. "He won't be king for years still…" The sound of a goblet clinked against the table. "And when they are wed, our forces combined would be unstoppable. You cannot afford to decline, Ward. Not with no son of your own and your absolutely insane idea of training your oldest to lead."

"Wynonna is perfectly capable of leading."

"No one will believe a girl is capable," the visitor protested. "Your kingdom will be shown as weak and easy for the taking." There was a pause and they heard their father sigh. "Look Ward, you are free to do as you wish, but do you really want to risk the lives of your kingdom? Think of it as… a contingency plan. This is for the best," was the last they heard as Wynonna pulled Waverly to her, standing and leading her away from the door.

Wynonna massaged the bridge of her nose, trying not to destroy a truce, that had been existing between their kingdoms for the better part of a decade, with a punch to the face. "Prince James, I completely understand what you're saying, but we cannot just go barging through the forest with an army without planning." If it weren't for his royal status, she would have tossed him from the throne room long ago. Hell, she might not have even let him in in the first place.

"Well it would be more progress than just standing around. This is useless," James huffed, pacing back and forth. "What are we going to do? Just sit around until we get an update? We don't know when the next update might come, or if even there will be! We need to strike first."

Wynonna could feel her temper flaring. She was tired, worried, and trying not to panic herself. Without Waverly, she was feeling a bit fraught, barely containing her worry to hold up a facade of control. "Strike against who? You have no more of an idea of who took her than we do."

Prince James gave her a long look, one bordering on hatred. "So let us all just sit around, wait for a message containing a severed finger, asking for ransom. Is that what you're suggesting?"

There was a knock on the door and Wynonna felt relief surge through her as Xavier stepped in. "Xavier. Approach."

Xavier did as he was told, his walk as official as ever as he approached and took a knee before her. "My Queen."

Rolling her eyes, Wynonna cleared her throat. "Report."

"The men are searching but we've yet to find any further sign. With your permission, I would like to take a handful of our best trackers to branch into the forest."

"You do not have to ask permission," Wynonna leaned forward, her eyes meeting Xavier's. "I don't care what you have to do. Take as many men as you need. I want her found."

"Of course, My Queen."

"Your Majesty, if I might." James stepped forward. "I wish to be a part of the search."

"Prince James." Wynonna saw Xavier cringe at the thought. "We cannot risk losing another royal member."

"Nonsense," Prince James huffed, puffing out his chest as if to enhance his manly prowess. "I excel at tracking and I believe I would be nothing but a benefit in the situation." He gave Xavier a dismissive look. "And if your men are afraid of having me out there with them, I will bring my own guard. They do, after all, have a better history of keeping their charge guarded."

Wynonna saw the way Xavier froze, could see the vein starting to pulse at his temple and contemplated calling out the disrespectful comment. But the prince was getting on her last nerve and she welcomed the chance of ridding herself of him for the time being, even if it meant saddling her personal guard with him. "Xavier…"

"My Queen…" Xavier's tone was almost a whine.

"Just," She rubbed her temple, feeling a headache approaching. "What harm can another set of eyes do?"

Xavier just sighed before nodding, turning to leave the room.

Watching as the room emptied, Wynonna did something she rarely did, and prayed for her sister's speedy rescue.

"Nicole?"

"You should rest, Your Highness." Nicole was leaning her forehead against the bars, facing away from Waverly. The minutes had turned to nearly an hour that Nicole had been quietly looking around the cave, supposedly trying to find an exit.

But Waverly could see the way the knight struggled to breathe, occasionally releasing a muffled grunt. Waverly was getting frustrated. Nicole's ire was definitely directed at herself and she could not locate the source of such discontent. It had been as if a lever had been pulled, an instant change in the knight's demeanor after Waverly explained her unavoidable fate. But that couldn't be the reason. After all, everyone in the kingdom knew that she was to be married.

And why would it even matter to Nicole? Nicole had been trying to get away from her from the beginning, as if she was a burden for the knight. She would think that Nicole would be happy to be rid of her eventually. She would be able to get back to the barracks and back to fighting or whatever she did.

"What do you think they'll do with us?" Waverly spoke softly. She had heard stories of kidnappings before, stories of women being sold for the amusement of men, forced into servitude and abused.

"I won't let them hurt you. They'll have to kill me first."

Just the thought of Nicole dying struck a strange note of panic in Waverly. "Um, hello. That's probably quite high on the list of things that would hurt me, Nicole." Waverly huffed in frustration. She hated how easily Nicole would just… the idea of the knight getting hurt again because of her was making Waverly sick to her stomach. "This is all my fault." She sat on the ground beside Nicole, leaning her back against the bars so she could see Nicole's face and the eyes that refused to look at her. "I swear, I wasn't trying to be difficult this time. I truly just wanted to get away."

"This time," Nicole repeated, her eyes finally looking at Waverly and the corner of her mouth tipping just slightly up. "Are you saying you were trying to be difficult every other time?"

"Well…" Waverly looked away, straightening her dress to be a little more presentable despite the fact that it was now ruined from sitting on the dirt floor… and being kidnapped of course. "I cannot say I enjoyed being followed around at my sister's command." She crossed her arms over her chest. "But, I also cannot say I found no joy in it some of the time." When she looked up again, she saw Nicole looking at her in surprise. "Do not look at me that way." Waverly tried to hide her smile.

"Sorry, but forgive me if I find that hard to believe considering you did poison me."

"Oh, don't be so dramatic." Now Waverly smiled freely. "It was just a bit of sleeping tonic. Although I will admit, it was a bit rude."

"A bit rude?" Nicole scoffed, but even in her mock disbelief, she didn't seem able to hold back a smile.

"Ok, maybe more than a bit rude," Waverly conceded. "I'm sorry. This wasn't your decision and I punished you as if it were."

Nicole looked away, taking a ragged breath. "Well, it hasn't been all terrible." Her voice was soft, as if she didn't want to say it too loud. "And maybe you and Wynonna weren't wrong about me not taking my injuries seriously."

"So," Waverly moved a little closer to Nicole, feeling the warmth of her body. "Maybe when this is all over, we can start over again?"

"No."

Waverly leaned back, the breath robbed from her lungs. "No?"

Now Nicole looked at her again, a soft smile on her face. "I don't want to start over again." She leaned a little closer. "I think we've learned too much to start over." Nicole shifted slightly, her hand coming up to move a lock of Waverly's hair behind her ear, the touch far too gentle for someone who fought for a living. "Maybe we just agree to go forward as friends?"

Waverly swallowed audibly, trying not to think too much about the sensation that still lingered on her skin after Nicole pulled her hand back. "Friends then." Waverly nodded, turning away from the eyes that were almost too intense to look into. She pulled her knees up, hugging them to her chest as she allowed a blanket of silence to fall over them.

"We've already searched the immediate area, your Highness." Xavier stood at attention, trying not to reveal the ire he felt. This was not Wynonna. This was just another privileged royal who expected everyone to bow before him.

"Obviously you're not looking close enough," James spoke with indignation. He released a heavy sigh as he slipped from his horse.

"Your Highness, maybe you should return to the castle. We'll find them." The last thing Xavier wanted was to watch after some pretentious royalty.

"Nonsense." Flipping his cape over his shoulder, James stepped into the forest, unsteadily stepping between roots. "I'll have you know I am the Champion tracker in my kingdom."

Xavier held back the comment he wanted to say, but it didn't stop him from thinking that the prince saying that was only an insult to the other trackers of his kingdom. Especially as he stumbled over a root and Xavier quickly reached out to help him. "Easy there, Champ. The roots are treacherous around here."

James straightened his cloak, pulling away from Xavier without so much as a thank you.

Xavier looked at the position of the sun. It was getting late and they would lose the light soon. He was not going to be the one to go back to Wynonna to tell her he couldn't find her sister. He thought about bringing out more men with torches for the evening when a yell pulled him from his thoughts.

"Ah hah!"

James's voice drew a few soldiers to his side, including a reluctant Xavier.

"Your men must be tired," the prince pronounced, his voice tinged with accusation. "I've found signs of movement."

Xavier frowned as he knelt down. Sure enough, there were scuffs that seemed to be moving away. There was no way they would have missed this. Looking closer, he noticed the green around the edges, felt the way the scuff was still damp as if brand new.

"Let's go," James called out, already heading into the forest, his personal guard surrounding him.

Xavier's eyes narrowed. It was the only lead they had, but it was the last one he wanted to follow.

There was a scream and the sound of metal clashing against metal. Waverly looked up nervously as Nicole stood unsteadily. "Stay behind me," Nicole demanded, her one instinct kicking in to protect her charge.

Waverly felt like protesting, knowing Nicole was injured. She didn't want her to get injured any further because of her. "Nicole…" The knight had no weapon, could barely stand, and yet she stood bravely, preparing for whatever was coming for them.

The sound of fighting drew closer. There was yelling between men and a loud bang that made both Nicole and Waverly jump. "Waverly, please." Nicole's voice had a tinge of desperation in it.

Waverly just nodded, reaching out to grab Nicole's hand in the briefest of touches. "Don't do anything stupid… please." She was rewarded with a light squeeze to her hand and Nicole looked over her shoulder to give her the briefest of smiles.

There was another scream but this one was cut off with a wet gurgle and Nicole reached for her belt, as if forgetting she had no sword. She made sure Waverly was behind her, that there would be no way an errant crossbow bolt would be able to slip past her to hurt the princess. She didn't expect to see a single person stepping into the secluded area.

His armor was clean, as if she hadn't just heard the heavy combat. His sword still had a shine to it and his brown hair was combed neatly to the side. His baby-face was clean shaven as he stepped up to the cage.

"Princess Waverly."

Nicole tensed and Waverly set her hand on the knight's shoulder. There was something familiar about the voice and Waverly took a step to the side, out from behind Nicole. She recognized the crest on his armor, polished to a shine and trimmed in gold. Her eyes took in the small indicators of his status. Waverly looked at his face, recognizing the features that had matured since she'd last seen them. "Prince James?"

"I knew we would find you." He sheathed his sword as he waved another man forward. "I will get you free. You might want to cover your ears, my lady."

Instead Waverly turned to Nicole who had a confused look on her face. "They're here to rescue us, Nicole." The suspicious look didn't leave Nicole's face and Waverly had to smile. "It's Prince James." They both flinched as something hit the lock of the cage door.

"The one you're…" Nicole's voice was soft, obviously trying to keep the conversation between them.

Waverly swallowed before nodding. She hadn't seen him in years, since before her father had died and they'd started the official courting. "Yes. I have no idea why he would be here, but I am glad for it." She saw Nicole relax slightly, a pained expression coming over the knight's face for the briefest of moments before fading away. Waverly wanted to reach up, to move Nicole's hair away from the wound at her temple but there was another hit and the lock was broken, the door opening.

"My Beloved." James stepped forward and pulled her into an embrace.

Waverly winced, not expecting the physical contact as she was hugged against cold armor. She heard Nicole shift and Waverly very gently pushed him away. "Prince James, did you bring a healer? Lady Nicole is in need of assistance."

James paused for a moment as his eyes looked over Nicole before he smiled at Waverly. "Of course. Whatever you desire." He turned to one of the men that were securing the area. "Get a healer to attend to the guard." He unhooked his cloak from his shoulders and wrapped it around Waverly's shoulders. "Let's get you out of here. The queen is quite worried." He wrapped his arm around her shoulders and began to usher her out. "Of course, she's not as worried as I was when I arrived at the kingdom to learn my betrothed had been abducted."

Waverly shifted uncomfortably. The cloak was heavy and overly-warm. She barely heard the words he was saying as she looked over her shoulder at Nicole who had turned away. There was something in her telling her to turn around, to at least wait for the medic to care for Nicole but instead she allowed James to lead her towards the exit.

[thefilmsnob]

Glen Coco’s Top 10 Films of 2017

Unlike last year, 2017 was a stand-out for the film industry. There wasn’t an abundance of undisputed masterpieces per se, but there were still more than enough excellent motion pictures that deserve recognition. As always, it killed me having  to omit so many great films, but that’s just life I guess. You got your ups and you got your downs. Anyway, here are my picks for the ten greatest films of 2017. But first, I’ll list the runners-up and the traditional bonus track. There’s always a bonus track.

Runners-Up

-Blade Runner 2049 ***

-Get Out

-Kong: Skull Island

-Last Flag Flying

-Molly’s Game

-Phantom Thread

-T2: Trainspotting

-Thor: Ragnarok

***Blade Runner 2049 probably would make this list in another life. The thing is, when I saw it, I was very tired and frustrated and I found it hard to focus. Because of this, I missed some important plot details, so the whole time my brain was trying to catch up with the narrative. It never did and I was lost. This is a gorgeous-looking film with excellent performances, direction, cinematography, visual effects and production design. But, I can not, in good conscience, include it without a second viewing. I’m a fucking nerd.

And here are the top 10!

#10b. (Bonus Track) The Lost City of Z

Director: James Gray

Starring: Charlie Hunnam, Robert Pattinson, Sienna Miller, Tom Holland

For a movie with a dashing lead who takes multiple expeditions into the Amazon rainforest to find a fabled lost city while facing perilous conditions from treacherous landscapes to hostile natives, The Lost City of Z  has been seen by a total of zero people. That’s a shame. This is a movie that reminds us of pulp magazines and classic exploration films of old, promising mystery, intrigue and adventure. The film takes place over several years in the early 1900s and follows Percy Fawcett whose interest in a lost city turns into an obsession and whose multiple trips to find what may not exist threatens his family life and reputation. Directed by James Gray, The Lost City of Z is a refreshing antidote to the modern action film full of CGI and empty noise. The rich cinematography provides a natural and vivid look which amplifies the sense of danger Fawcett and his men must face. And Charlie Hunnam shines as Fawcett, pulling us into his world with his passion and charisma and even when disillusionment threatens these qualities, we remain invested in his struggle to the end. 

#10. Mother!

Director: Darren Aronofsky

Starring: Jennifer Lawrence, Javier Bardem, Ed Harris, Michelle Pfeiffer

Mother! is undeniably polarizing and that’s understandable. Darren Aronofsky’s films aren’t meant for a mass audience and his use of surrealism can be frustrating at times, but it can also be deeply profound and Aronofsky is nothing if not ambitious. Mother! is perhaps his most challenging film but also one of his most mesmerizing. It starts out relatively calm as we see Mother (Jennifer Lawrence) living with Him (Javier Bardem) in a large country home in what seems like a tranquil existence, albeit with eerie undertones. Things get weird when unexpected guests arrive, played by Ed Harris and a deliciously chilly Michelle Pfeiffer. You think you’re in for a standard thriller until Aronofsky takes us down a wildly unexpected path. Never has a movie escalated so quickly and severely. Toward the end, it becomes a beautifully chaotic mixture of bizarre images and themes that blur the lines between reality and fantasy while grappling with topics from religion and death to the burdens of celebrity and motherhood. It’s a tumultuous journey, but if you suspend your disbelief and accept the mayhem, it’s like nothing you’ve ever experienced.  

#9. The Florida Project

Director: Sean Baker

Starring: Brooklynn Prince, Bria Vinaite, Willem Dafoe

Rarely do movies focus their attention on the poor, uneducated and unfortunate souls we’re introduced to in The Florida Project. But writer/director Sean Baker has decided to observe the beauty and excitement in their lives. Brooklyn Prince, in one of the most impressive performances by any child actor, plays Moonee, who, along with her friends, makes the row of motels that line a street in Kissimmee, Florida her playground. It’s fascinating watching what these children get up to, from the innocent to the questionable to the downright illegal. But, Baker never judges; he merely observes the products of a sad reality. He highlights the joy in their lives while never ignoring their present struggles and the troubling future they probably have in store. Bria Vinaite gives an impeccably raw performance as Moonee’s mother, Halley, who drinks, does drugs, recruits Moonee to resell perfume to tourists and is no more mature than her six-year-old daughter. Willem Dafoe is the manager of the motel in which they reside who’s constantly solving everyone’s problems while unconsciously acting as a father figure at times without being unrealistically portrayed as a saint. Dafoe’s great here. But, it’s Moonee who shines at the end in one of the most emotional and heartbreaking scenes of 2017. Sadly, Moonee may not be destined for greatness, but Prince sure is.

#8. Dunkirk

Director: Christopher Nolan

Starring: Fionn Whitehead, Mark Rylance, Kenneth Branagh

Christopher Nolan is a master of creating spectacles that are as thought-provoking as they are thrilling and Dunkirk is no exception. With the help of Hans Zimmer’s relentless score and many turbulent scenarios, Nolan stresses the utter fear and desperation felt by hundreds of thousands of soldiers evacuating the beach at Dunkirk in 1940 while also highlighting the collective heroism displayed in the process. The film is split into three distinct yet interweaving story lines set on the beach, on the water and in the air, intercut expertly and involving a superb ensemble cast. Nolan’s wise omission of extraneous elements like generals strategizing in war rooms allows the movie to focus on the the event itself, making it a more urgent experience. Even with all the moving parts, we’re guided by Hoyte van Hoytema’s masterful camerawork; what could’ve been a disorienting jumble of images is, in fact, impeccably vivid and coherent, eschewing rapid-fire cuts. But, this is Nolan’s pride and joy and there’s no denying it’s a work of a man so unabashedly dedicated to his craft, one who’s created a breathtaking experience with such a sharp attention to detail that’s at once sweeping and intimate.

#7. The Post

Director: Steven Spielberg

Starring: Meryl Streep, Tom Hanks, every TV actor of the last 5 years

Calling The Post timely isn’t so much an opinion as it is a truism. The parallels between the deceptive presidencies of Nixon and Trump are so painfully obvious that the film couldn’t be timelier. Back in the Nixon era, the Vietnam War was the source of deception which led to the release of the Pentagon Papers detailing more than 20 years of admissions of the failing American war effort, contradicting previous information. The Post is the story of how some journalists decided to print this information, specifically Washington Post heiress and publisher Katherine Graham, Meryl Streep in an Oscar-worthy performance in which she masterfully and subtlety conveys the weight of responsibility on her shoulders regarding a decision with potentially disastrous consequences. Streep makes her anxiety increasingly palpable until it all comes to a head in a powerfully assertive speech. Tom Hanks is great as Post Editor-in-Chief, Ben Bradlee, who’s fairly aggressive about getting the big story and improving his reputation, though Hanks still lets us admire this gruff character for his fierce dedication to journalistic integrity. Also great are the countless TV actors from Bob Odenkirk to Sarah Paulson to, yes, David Cross. As usual, Spielberg does a workmanlike job on the film and adds that elegant, classic Hollywood sheen to the material. He avoids an abundance of exposition, keeps his focus on the human crisis of conscience and allows the proceedings to flow smoothly. This is a very important story about heroes who risked everything in the name of truth and freedom of the press.

#6. Lady Bird

Director: Greta Gerwig

Starring: Saoirse Ronan, Laurie Metcalf, Tracy Letts

In her directorial debut film, Lady Bird, Greta Gerwig puts a fresh spin on the high school movie without relying on overly quirky characters, gimmickry or excess. Its breezy naturalism helps it transcend the genre with the stripped-down, straightforward and ordinary nature of the movie, paradoxically, making it so complex. A celebration of autonomy and liberation, Lady Bird follows the titular character (Saoirse Ronan) who feels trapped in a mundane life at an all-girls Catholic school in Sacramento with a mother (Laurie Metcalf) who’s mastered the art of passive aggression. But, Ronan turns Lady Bird’s normalcy into a thing of beauty and makes her an embodiment of perseverance in subtle ways. Metcalf is exceptional here too, often ruthless but always sympathetic as the overworked breadwinner of the family. But most of the praise should go to Gerwig, already a great actress and now directing with a gentle and pure touch, allowing the film to breath with little contrivance. She keeps her scenes brief and adds her unique observations and unorthodox comedic sensibilities to the dialogue which is authentic, witty and often shockingly hilarious. This is a smart and insightful film that’s all but devoid of flaws.

#5. Stronger

Director: David Gordon Green

Starring: Jake Gyllenhaal, Tatiana Maslany, Miranda Richardson

Once again, Jake Gyllenhaal has been snubbed by the Academy. In Stronger, he gives yet another magnificent performance playing Jeff Bauman, an underachieving Boston native who loses his legs during the Boston Marathon bombing while cheering on his ex-girlfriend, Erin (Tatiana Maslany), at the finish line. The movie recounts his rehabilitation as well as the accompanying emotional turmoil he and his family must endure. Movies like this have been done before but rarely with this much brutal honesty. Gyllenhaal is so convincing, making you feel his every ache and bruise; we’re heart broken just watching the poor man trying to enter his bathtub. He completely transforms in front of our eyes from an overeager and fun-loving young man to a bitter, often angry victim with impressive ease. Maslany is equally impressive, wrestling with a multitude of emotions from compassion to guilt to frustration to anger, often simultaneously, in this refreshing take on the ‘caring loved one’ role. In less competent hands, this would be a conventional TV movie full of cliches and sentiment. But David Gordon Green imbues his work with so much realism whether it’s the injury itself, the recovery process, the reactions from friends and family or Bauman’s mental state. It’s a truly inspirational film and meditation on heroism that actually respects its audience.

#4. Three Billboards Outside Ebbing, Missouri

Director: Martin McDonagh

Starring: Frances McDormand, Woody Harrelson, Sam Rockwell

Not only is Three Billboards Outside Ebbing, Missouri timely, but it has one of last year’s most original premises. Enraged by the lack of progress made by the police in identifying the person who raped and murdered her teenage daughter, Mildred Hayes, played by the force of nature that is Frances McDormand, takes action by renting three billboards near her home in Ebbing and posting messages calling out the police for their lack of competence and urgency, especially Chief Willoughby (Woody Harrelson). Obviously, this starts a chaotic chain of events, crafted by writer/director Martin McDonagh, that deals with relevant social issues in a way that’s by turns tragic and shockingly hilarious. But, contrary to the marketing campaign, McDonagh’s film isn’t so black and white; he illustrates the complexity of the matter by exposing fault in all parties involved as well as the tragic consequences of their actions. McDormand shows us an utterly depleted woman with nothing but rage and a mission, making some of the most scathing remarks you’ll hear to anyone in her way, yet still able to sympathize when she sees her adversary in pain, like Willoughby who’s dying of cancer. Harrelson gives an incredibly poignant speech related to this that’s one of the films highlights. Sam Rockwell is also sensational as a racist scumbag of a cop who nonetheless embarks on a path of redemption. The ending is ambiguous. What happens is irrelevant. Whether you think Rockwell deserves redemption is also besides the point. What matters is that there’s a dialogue starting, progress being made and, indeed, something being done. In other words, there’s hope.

#3. The Disaster Artist

Director: James Franco

Starring: Dave Franco, James Franco, Seth Rogan

Apparently, James Franco might be a bad dude and shame on him if he is. But, I’m here to talk about movies and The Disaster Artist is a damn good one. Most of the credit should go to writers Scott Neustadter and Michael H. Weber, anyway, for crafting an insightful, hilarious, yet oddly touching screenplay about the wildly misguided Tommy Wiseau (James Franco) who was responsible for The Room, one of the worst movies ever made. We’re oriented by Dave Franco playing The Room star, Greg Sestero, from when he meets the awful but ambitious performer, Wiseau, in an acting class in the late ‘90s through the early ‘00s which sees the pair become friends, move to LA to act, fail miserably and decide to make their own movie. Dave Franco charms as the wide-eyed optimist who’s accepting to a fault. James Franco, still maybe an ass, is great as Wiseau, capturing his voice and mannerisms perfectly, giving us a character who’s as delusional and jealous as he is free-spirited, also to a fault. Their relationship is charming in the beginning and no less intriguing when its threatened by one’s pride and the other’s loss of confidence. The story’s at its best when Wiseau is filming his dream project and we see his lack of talent and leadership grate on cast and crew, specifically Seth Rogen as Sandy Schklair, whose exasperation is priceless. But the film makers are wise to tease without deriding and actually give some credit to Wiseau for, when you think about it, the man accomplished more than most of us ever will, illustrated in a film about a film that moves effortlessly from start to finish.

#2. Wind River

Director: Taylor Sheridan

Starring: Jeremy Renner, Elizabeth Olsen

If there’s any justice in this world, Taylor Sheridan soon will be swimming in awards and money for the man is responsible for the scripts of wonderful films like Sicario, Hell or High Water and now Wind River which he also directed. Few people are better at crafting profoundly entertaining commentaries on the dark and controversial pockets of America. With Wind River, he focuses on problems faced by those living on Indian reservations. The film seems like a recipe for a generic crime thriller starring Hawkeye and the Scarlett Witch until you remember Sheridan’s track record and the fact that Jeremy Renner and Elizabeth Olsen are actually great actors. After we’re shown a chilling prelude involving a teen girl running, and collapsing, in the snow in freezing temperatures without appropriate clothing, U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service agent Cory Lambert (Renner) finds the body and gets the narrative wheels in motion. Once rookie FBI agent Jane Banner (Olsen) arrives, they team up to solve the case that takes them to dark and twisted places. Sheridan let’s the film take its time to develop; it progresses clearly and logically, making it easy to follow along, unlike similar films. And unlike these films, you actually care as much about the people investigating the case as the case itself. Though used sparingly, Sheridan composes some of the most realistic and tense action sequences you’ll see. There’s one scene that’s almost unbearably intense but so utterly effective in making you feel the horror this community feels. It, like this film, gets under your skin and stays with you well after the credits roll.

#1. Call Me by Your Name

Director: Luca Guadagnino

Starring: Timothee Chalamet, Armie Hammer, Michael Stuhlbarg

If you consider just how many love stories have been written in the history of humanity, you might think it impossible to create another great one. But what director Luca Guadagnino does with a script from James Ivory is pure bliss. Not only will you fall in love with the characters, but you’ll also fall in love with the gorgeous, picturesque northern Italian countryside on display. It’s here, during a lazy summer of 1983, where an introverted, music-loving Italian-American teen, Elio (Timothee Chalamet), meets an older, classically handsome and outgoing graduate student named Oliver (Armie Hammer), forming a relationship that will change their lives forever. Elio’s father (Michael Stuhlbarg), an archaeology professor, invites Oliver to live with them for the summer to help with his research and although Elio initially is turned off by this ‘intruder’, gradually he forms an attraction. How the film makers deal with this attraction and eventual relationship is simply perfection. The way in which the two characters subtly feel each other out at the start feels so true to life and each subsequent step from attraction to bonding to seduction is equally realistic and even more entertaining.The film benefits from the actors’ fearless performances, especially that of newcomer Chalamet who’s a ball of pent up sexual energy. The movie ends with Stuhlbarg having an irresistibly touching discussion with his son, full of warmth and understanding, and a final heartbreaking scene, so simple in concept yet so emotionally complex. Chalamet takes your breath away here with an array of emotions parading across his face as Sufjan Stevens’ gorgeous ‘Mystery of Love’ plays in its entirety. It’s one of the the most entrancing endings to a movie you’ll see, capping off the best film of 2017.

[hamilton-and-juliet-blog]

Act 1, scene 2

“But Jefferson has sworn an oath just like I have, and he’s under the same penalty. I don’t think it will be hard for men as old as we are to keep the peace.” Old Hamilton said to Lafayette. Lafayette went to the Hamiltons’ house, asking for Alexander’s hand on marriage, which had veered to Hamilton talking about the Prince’s orders.

Lafayette smiled politely, though he was getting slightly impatient with the other man. “Of honorable reckoning are you both. And pity ’tis you lived at odds so long. But now, my lord, what say you to my suit?” He asked, looking up at Hamilton. He cleared his throat. “I can only repeat what I’ve said before. My son is still very young. He’s not even fourteen years old. Let’s wait two more summers before we start thinking he’s ready to get married.” He said to the count. Lafayette was not one to give up so easily, so he pushed Hamilton further. “Boys younger than he often marry and become happy fathers, with happy mothers who are just as young.” He said.

Hamilton sighed. “Boys who marry so young grow up too soon. But go ahead and charm him, gentle Lafayette; make him love you. My permission is only part of his decision. If he agrees to marry you, my blessing and fair words will confirm his choice. Tonight I’m having a feast that we’ve celebrated for many years. I’ve invited many of my closest friends, and I’d like to welcome you and add you to the guest list. At my humble house tonight, you can expect to see dazzling stars that walk on the ground and light the sky from below.” He assured Lafayette, giving him a gentle smile. “Thy shall be delighted by young women and men as fresh as spring flowers. Look at anyone you like, and choose whatever man or woman seems best to thee. Once you see a lot of them, you might not think my son is not the best anymore. Come along with me.” He said, standing up.

Hamilton turned to his servant, Peter. “Go, little fellow, walk all around Virginia. Find the people on this list and tell them they’re welcome at my house tonight.” He said as he and Lafayette left the room.

Peter looked at the paper he was given. “Find them out whose names are written here? It is written, that the shoemaker should meddle with his yard and the tailor with his last, the fisher with his pencil and the painter with his nets. But I am sent to find those persons whose names are here writ, and can never find what names the writing person hath here writ. I must to the learned in good time!” He said to himself. He had never been taught to read, how was he to know who was and wasn’t on this paper?

Aaron and Thomas had just been walking by, conversing. “Tut, man. You can put out one fire by starting another. A new pain will make the one you already have seem less. If you make yourself dizzy, you can cure yourself by spinning back around in the opposite direction. A new grief will put the old one out of your mind. Make yourself lovesick by gazing at some new girl, and your old lovesickness will be cured.” Aaron told him. Thomas looked at him. “Why, your plantain leaf is excellent for that.” He said. Aaron raised an eyebrow. “For what, I pray thee?” Aaron asked. Thomas chuckled dryly. “For your broken shin.” He said. Aaron rolled his eyes. “What? Thomas, art thou mad?” He asked, looking at him. Thomas sighed. “I’m not crazy, but I’m tied up tighter than a mental patient in a straitjacket. I’m locked up in a prison and deprived of food. I’m whipped and tortured—“ Thomas stopped as he saw Peter. “Good e’en, good fellow.” He said politely to the servant.

Peter bowed to the men. “May God give you a good evening. Excuse me, sir, do you know how to read?” He asked Thomas. The latter hummed. “I can read my own fortune in my misery.” He said solemnly. Peter stammered slightly. “P-Perhaps you’ve learned from life and not from books. But, I pray, can you read anything you see?” He asked, looking at both of them. “Ay, if I know the letters and the language.” Thomas joked. Peter sighed and nodded. “Ye say honestly, then. Good morrow, rest you marry.” He said, going to turn around and leave. He was stopped by a hand on his shoulder. “Stay, fellow, I can read.” Thomas chuckled.

“‘Seigneur Martino and his wife and daughters;

County Anselme and his beauteous sisters;

The lady widow of Vitruvio;

Seigneur Placentio and his lovely nieces;

James and his brother Valentine;

Mine uncle Hamilton, his wife, his son, and his daughters;

My fair niece Martha and Livia;

Seigneur Valentio and his cousin John;

Lucio and the lively Helena.’

A fair assembly. Whither should they come?” Thomas asked.

“Up.”

“Whither? To supper?”

“To our house.”

“Whose house?”

“My master’s”

“Indeed, I should have asked thee that before.” Thomas said, smiling. Peter managed to smile back. “Now I’ll tell you without asking. My master is the great rich Hamilton, and if you be not of the house of Jefferson’s, I pray come and crush a cup of wine. Rest you merry!” He said, bowing and leaving.

Aaron turned to Thomas. “The beautiful Martha whom you love so much will be at Hamilton’s traditional feast, along with every beautiful woman in Virginia. Go there and compare her objectively to some other girls I’ll show you. The woman who you think is as beautiful as a swan is going to look as ugly as a crow to you.” He said, chuckling. Thomas pouted. “If my eyes ever lie to me like that, let my tears turn into flames and burn them for being such obvious liars! A woman more beautiful than the one I love? The sun itself has never seen anyone as beautiful since the world began.” He huffed. Aaron rolled his eyes and crossed his arms. “Come on, you first decided she was beautiful when no one else was around. There was no one to compare her to except herself. But let your eyes compare her to another beautiful woman who I’ll show you at this feast, and you won’t think she’s the best anymore.”

“I’ll go with you. Not because I think you’ll show me anything better, but so I can see the woman I love.” Thomas said, giving into Aaron’s request.

They exit.

[woodworkinghere1]

16 Kids’s Books that Have fun Range | Brooklyn Blonde

Breaking News Today -

It is a publish I’ve been desirous to create for a very long time. Admittedly, with all the things occurring on the earth, it felt extra acceptable than ever to lastly publish. As a mother of two babies, I’m conscious of the nice duty, but in addition the privilege, to show them about the great thing about totally different folks and cultures. On the finish of the day, all of it begins at house and I’m longing for a future era that’s extra open-minded than those earlier than it. Under is a listing of kids’s books that commemorate range. I additionally wish to level out that I’m utilizing affiliate hyperlinks, with 100% of the proceeds being donated to organizations educating all youngsters about racial equality.

16 Kids’s Books that Have fun Range

The Proudest Blue: A Story of Hijab and Household (Ages 4 – 8)

An uplifting, common story of latest experiences, the unbreakable bond between siblings, and of being pleased with who you’re.

Together with her new backpack and light-up sneakers, Faizah is aware of the primary day of faculty goes to be particular. It’s the beginning of a model new 12 months and, better of all, it’s her older sister Asiya’s first day of hijab–a hijab of lovely blue cloth, just like the ocean waving to the sky. However not everybody sees hijab as stunning, and within the face of hurtful, complicated phrases, Faizah will discover new methods to be sturdy.

When We Have been Alone (Ages 4 – 8)

A narrative a few tough time in historical past and, in the end, one in all empowerment and power.

When a younger woman helps are inclined to her grandmother’s backyard, she begins to note issues that make her curious. Why does her grandmother have lengthy braided hair and fantastically coloured clothes? Why does she converse one other language and spend a lot time along with her household? As she asks her grandmother about this stuff, she is informed about life in a residential faculty a very long time in the past, the place all of this stuff have been taken away.

We’re Completely different, We’re The Similar (Ages 4 – 8)

A timeless story about acceptance and dwelling in a multicultural world.

A Sesame Road picture-back guide that tells an excellent, timeless story about acceptance and dwelling in a multicultural world. Nice learn for the classroom or to take pleasure in at house.

The place Are You From? (Ages 4 – 8)

An important dialog starter within the house or classroom.

This resonant image guide tells the story of 1 woman who consistently will get requested a easy query that doesn’t have a easy reply. Uncertain about tips on how to reply, she turns to her loving abuelo for assist. He doesn’t give her the response she expects. She will get a fair higher one.

Mae Amongst The Stars (Ages 4 – 8)

The proper guide for younger readers who’ve massive desires and even larger hearts.

When Little Mae was a baby, she dreamed of dancing in house. She needed to be an astronaut. Her mother informed her, “If you happen to consider it, and work onerous for it, something is feasible. Little Mae’s curiosity, intelligence, and willpower, matched along with her mother and father’ encouraging phrases, paved the way in which for her unimaginable success at NASA as the primary African American lady to journey in house. This story is impressed by the lifetime of the primary African American lady to journey in house, Mae Jemison.

Parker Appears to be like Up: An Extraordinary Second (Ages 4 – 8)

How an on a regular basis second grew to become an extraordinary one, that continues to resonate its energy, inspiration, and indelible influence.

A go to to Washington, DC’s Nationwide Portrait Gallery ceaselessly alters Parker Curry’s younger life when she views First Girl Michelle Obama’s portrait. Parker noticed the chance and promise, the hopes and desires of herself on this highly effective portray of Michelle Obama.

Harlem’s Little Blackbird: The Story of Florence Mills (Ages 3 – 7)

A timeless story about justice, equality, and the significance of following one’s coronary heart and desires.

Born to oldsters who have been each former slaves, Florence Mills knew at an early age that she liked to sing, and her performing catapulted her all the way in which to the phases of 1920s Broadway the place she impressed everybody from songwriters to playwrights. But with all her success, she knew firsthand how prejudice formed her world and the world of these round her. Because of this, Florence selected to help and promote works by her fellow black performers whereas heralding a name for his or her civil rights.

The Day You Start (Ages 5 – 8)

A reminder concerning the significance of perseverance regardless of the uncertainty.

There are a lot of causes to really feel totally different. Possibly it’s the way you look or speak, or the place you’re from; perhaps it’s what you eat, or one thing simply as random. It’s not straightforward to take these first steps into a spot the place no person actually is aware of you but. However one way or the other you do it. This #1 New York Occasions Bestseller reminds us that all of us really feel like outsiders sometimes-and how courageous it’s that we go forth anyway. And that generally, once we attain out and start to share our tales, others shall be comfortable to fulfill us midway.

Little Legends: Distinctive Males in Black Historical past (Ages 8 – 12)

A daring, joyous gentle on black males by way of historical past on this New York Occasions Bestseller.

This fantastically illustrated and engagingly written quantity brings to life true tales of black males in historical past. Amongst these biographies, readers will discover aviators and artists, politicians and pop stars, athletes and activists. The distinctive males featured embrace author James Baldwin, artist Aaron Douglas, filmmaker Oscar Devereaux Micheaux, lawman Bass Reeves, civil rights chief John Lewis, dancer Alvin Ailey, and musician Prince. The legends talked about on this guide span centuries and continents, however every one has blazed a path for generations to return.

Little Leaders: Daring Girls in Black Historical past (Ages 8 – 12)

The essential, instructional true tales of 40 trailblazing black girls in American historical past.

Illuminating textual content paired with irresistible illustrations convey to life each iconic and lesser-known feminine figures of Black historical past comparable to abolitionist Sojourner Fact, pilot Bessie Coleman, chemist Alice Ball, politician Shirley Chisholm, mathematician Katherine Johnson, poet Maya Angelou, and filmmaker Julie Sprint. Amongst these biographies, readers will discover heroes, function fashions, and on a regular basis girls who did extraordinary issues – daring girls whose actions and beliefs contributed to creating the world higher for generations of women and girls to return.

Simply Ask! Be Completely different, Be Courageous, Be You (Ages 4 – 8)

A sort and caring guide about celebrating the variations that make every of us distinctive.

Feeling totally different, particularly as a child, might be robust. However in the identical approach that various kinds of vegetation and flowers make a backyard extra stunning and satisfying, various kinds of folks make our world extra vibrant and fantastic.

Littles: And How They Develop (All Ages)

A stupendous rhyming ode to infants —excellent for child showers, first birthdays, and anytime infants are celebrated.

With lovable scenes from the busy lifetime of a “little”—peekaboo, feedings, tantrums, giggles—and a remaining scene that reminds us how they turn out to be massive children all too quickly, that is the perfect present for any new guardian and their baby.

Separate Is By no means Equal (Ages 6 – 9)

An academic story a few household’s struggle for desegregation.

Nearly 10 years earlier than Brown vs. Board of Training, Sylvia Mendez, an American citizen of Mexican and Puerto Rican heritage, and her mother and father helped finish faculty segregation in California after Mendez was denied enrollment to a “Whites solely” faculty. Her mother and father took motion by organizing the Hispanic group and submitting a lawsuit in federal district courtroom. Their success ultimately introduced an finish to the period of segregated schooling in California.

A Completely different Pond (Ages 6 – 8)

A strong, trustworthy glimpse right into a relationship between father and son – and between cultures, previous and new.

As a younger boy, Bao and his father awoke early, hours earlier than his father’s lengthy workday started, to fish on the shores of a small pond in Minneapolis. In contrast to many different anglers, Bao and his father fished for meals, not recreation. A profitable catch meant a fed household. Between hope-filled casts, Bao’s father informed him a few totally different pond of their homeland of Vietnam.

My First Chinese language New Yr (Ages 2 – 5)

A enjoyable and colourful option to introduce the Chinese language New Yr to younger readers.

Chinese language New Yr is a time of latest beginnings. Comply with one little woman as she learns tips on how to welcome the approaching 12 months and expertise all of the festivities surrounding it.

AntiRacist Child (All Ages)

For readers of all ages devoted to forming a Simply society.

With daring artwork and considerate but playful textual content, this board guide introduces the youngest readers and the grown-ups of their lives to the idea and energy of antiracism, by offering the language obligatory to start essential conversations on the earliest age.

The post 16 Kids’s Books that Have fun Range | Brooklyn Blonde appeared first on Breaking News Today.

source https://daily247.net/16-childrens-books-that-celebrate-diversity-brooklyn-blonde/

[michaeljohnmorgan]

VOICE OF THE LORD; JESUS

VOICE OF THE LORD GOD

JESUS THE WORD OF GOD IS THE VOICE OF GOD!!!

Gen 3:8; they heard THE VOICE OF THE LORD GOD WALKING IN THE GARDEN in the cool of the day;

Note: A voice does not walk ; the reference to a voice walking is to a person. The name was not given to the ancients nor to Moses, but to us and our children; and known to us as Jesus, Savior and Lord.

Note: there are many reference to "IT" in the old Testament; Consider the surrounding text and in most cases "IT" is him JESUS.

Psa 103:19: The Lord has prepared his temple on his holy mountain. MY VOICE speaks and comforts the hearts of men in the kingdom of heaven. God almighty dwells in the heart of righteous men and his kingdom rules over all.

Bless the Lord, O you his angels that excel in understanding that do his commandments, listening to the VOICE OF HIS WORD.

 Bless you the Lord all you his hosts; you ministers of his that do his pleasure.

Jesus was asked if the kingdom of God would soon appear. He said the kingdom of God does not come by observation, neither is it here nor there,

BEHOLD THE KINGDOM OF HEAVEN IS WITHIN YOU.

ANGEL AND COMMANDER OF THE HOST OF THE LORD

Moses;

Exodus 3:2; THE ANGEL OF THE LORD SPOKE to Michael in a flame of fire out of the midst of a bush; and he looked and behold, the bush was on fire and the bush was not consumed.

God called to him out of the midst of the bush, and said, Michael, Michael and he said, here am I.

THE VOICE OF THE LORD SAID, do not draw near; take your shoes from off your feet, the place whereon you are standing is HOLY GROUND.

Exo 19; when the voice of the trumpet sounded long, and waxed louder and louder, Michael spoke, and GOD ANSWERED HIM BY HIS VOICE;

 If thou shalt indeed OBEY MY VOICE and do all that I speak; then

 I WILL BE AN ENEMY UNTO YOUR ENEMIES AND AN ADVERSARY UNTO YOUR ADVERSARIES.

Elijah

Elijah entered into a cave and lodged there;

BEHOLD, THE VOICE OF THE LORD CAME TO ELIJAH AND SAID, what are you doing here, Elijah?

Elijah said, I have been VERY ZEALOUS FOR THE LORD GOD OF HOSTS;

 The children of Israel have forsaken thy covenant, thrown down your commandments and trampled upon them and slain your prophets whom you have sent to them with their swords; I even I only, am left; and they seek my life, to take it away.

Note: Elijah had a personal relationship with the living GOD and his WORD; THE VOICE OF GOD AS DID MOSES; JOB, Joshua and Balaam’s eyes were opened to see the ANGEL OF THE LORD GOD AND TO HEAR THE VOICE OF THE LORD GOD SPOKEN FROM THE ANGLE OF THE LORD GOD.

THE VOICE OF THE LORD SAID TO ELIJAH go forth and stand upon the mount before THE LORD YOUR GOD.

Behold the LORD passed by and a great and strong wind rent the mountains and broke in pieces the rocks before the LORD: but the LORD was not in the wind;

after the wind an earthquake; but the LORD was not in the earthquake:

after the earthquake a fire; but the LORD was not in the fire; and after the fire there was a calm.

 A PEACFUL VOICE WAS HEARD AND HE CAME AND SAID, WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE, ELIJAH?

Elijah said, I have been very zealous for the LORD GOD OF HOSTS;

The children of Israel have forsaken thy covenant, disregarded your commandments and trampled upon them and slain your prophets whom you have sent to them with their swords; I even I only, am left; and they seek my life, to take it away.

Moses and Elijah

Luke 9:27; Jesus said, I tell you the truth, that there are men who stand here who will not taste death until they see the kingdom of God.

And it came to pass about eight days after these words, Jesus took Peter and James and John and went up into a mountain to pray. And while he prayed the appearance of his face was changed and his clothes became white and dazzling.

Behold, then two men were speaking with him Moses and Elijah, who appeared in glory and spoke concerning his departure which was to end at Jerusalem.

Peter said to Jesus, Teacher, it is better for us to remain here; and let us make three shelters, one for you one for Moses and one for Elijah;

When he had said these things, there came a cloud and overshadowed them; Moses and Elijah enter into the cloud.

There came a voice out of the cloud, saying, THIS IS MY BELOVED SON; HEAR HIM.

AFTER THE VOICE WAS HEARD THEY FOUND JESUS ALONE. Peter, James and his brother John kept silent, and in those days, they did not tell any man what they saw.

THE ANGEL OF THE LORD SPOKE, AND WE HEARD HIS VOICE OUT OF THE MIDST OF A CLOUD; ON THE MOUNTAIN. SAYING THE WORDS THAT I COMMAND YOU THAT SHALL YOU SPEAK TO ALL THAT I SEND YOU;

Note: Cloud is a symbol of a Prophet of God;

Cloud = Prophet

The Voice of GOD out of the cloud; cloud is also known as a prophet; Jesus is the Prophet of God; God spoke from the midst of the Cloud, Prophet

There came a voice out of the cloud, saying, THIS IS MY BELOVED SON; HEAR HIM

Mat 10:27; What I tell you in the dark, tell it in the daylight; and what you hear with your ears preach on the house tops.

Isaiah 50:4; The Lord God has given me the tongue (language) of the learned, that I should know how to speak and declare a word to the weary; he wakens me in the morning; in the morning he causes my ears to hear the teaching.

John 14:10; JESUS said; believe that I am with my father and my father is with me? The words that I speak, I do not speak of myself; but my Father who abides with me does these works.

Joshua

Joshua 5:12; it came to pass, when Joshua was in the plain of Jericho, he lifted up his eyes and looked and behold, there stood a man OPPOSITE* HIM WITH his sword drawn in his hand; and Joshua went to him and said to him, are you for us or against us?

Note: opposite or apposed THE ANGEL OF THE LORD; Joshua then fell on the ground and took of his saddles he humbled himself before the LORD.

Note: Jesus never mention Joshua in any of his teachings.

COMMANDER OF THE LORD OF HOSTS (SONS OF GOD; ANGELS)

The angel of the Lord of host said to him; I am the commander of the hosts of the Lord, and now I have come here.

Joshua fell to the ground and his face to the earth, and worshipped and said, what hath MY LORD TO SAY TO HIS SERVANT?

THE COMMANDER OF THE LORD’S HOST SAID TO JOSHUA, take your shoes from off your feet, the place whereon you are standing is HOLY GROUND, and Joshua did so. 

Note: Jesus revealed himself to Moses as THE VIOCE OF GOD AND ANGLE OF THE LORD. To Joshua STANDING OPPOSIT TO HIM evealed himself as the commander of the LORD. In both instances he said, take your shoes from off your feet, the place whereon you are standing is HOLY GROUND.

HOLY, HOLY, HOLY is the Angel and Commander of the LORD GOD for the ground where he stands is HOLY GROUND.

1)    HOLY ANGEL OF THE LORD GOD

2)    HOLY; COMMANDER OF THE LORD GOD

3)    HOLY; WERE THE ANGEL OF THE LORD;  THE COMMANDER OF HOSTS STANDS ON HOLY GROUND.

Balaam

Balaam said, rise up and hear; give ear to my testimony. God is not a man that he should lie; neither the son of man that he should be given counsel;

HIS VOICE SPEAKS; HIS COMMANDS ARE HEARD, AND THEY SHALL BE DONE; HIS WORD ABIDES FOR EVER.

Number 22; THE ANGEL OF THE LORD stood in a path of the vineyard, a wall being on this side and a wall on that side. THE ANGEL OF THE LORD went further and stood in a narrow place where there was no way to turn either to the right or to the left.

Number 22; THE ANGEL OF THE LORD SAID to Balaam, go with the men; but only speak the words that I shall speak to you, that shall you do.

So, Balaam went with the princes of Balak

Jesus said, enter in through the narrow door, for wide is the door and broad is the road which carries to destruction, and many are those who travel on it. O how narrow is the door and how difficult is the road which carries to life, and few are those who are found on it.

Job;

Job 4:16; In the silence, in a night vision, when deep sleep falls on men THE SPIRIT OF THE LORD PASSED BEFORE MY FACE; the hairs of my flesh sensed his presence;

 I arose, but I could not discern its meaning; there was no form before my eyes, but

I HEARD A GENTLE VOICE, SAYING, shall mortal man be declared more righteous than God: Shall he be purer than his Maker:

Behold, he put no trust in MAN; and his messengers (ANGELS = PROPHETS) announce his words to his chosen.

Those who dwell in decorated houses of clay, whose foundation is in the dust shall be humbled before thick dark CLOUDS* of the sky; rain; hailstones; brimstone and fire;

COMPLETE BLOG AT;  angels-of-the-lord.mozello.com

[dawnajaynes32]

A Seeworthy Vessel of Enchantment

A Seeworthy Vessel of Enchantment

By Tom Wachunas

    Translating a classic cartoon into a live stage production, such as Disney’s The Little Mermaid, can be a particularly daunting endeavor for any director, if only due to certain (inviolable?) expectations on the part of the audience. Understandably enough, we might look to be immersed in all the splashy special effects presumed to be necessary for evoking the experience of pure enchantment remembered from watching the animated film.

   In this case, however, director Jonathan Tisevich and his production team (including scenic design by Joshua Erichsen, lighting and sound by Scott Sutton, and costumes by Stephen Ostertag) have opted for a relatively more reductive approach. Call it an understated if not raw abstraction of a fantasy water world. An aesthetic gamble to be sure, the ocean kingdom is largely symbolized by wooden sculptures -  curved ramp-like structures that sweep vertically upwards to subtly suggest both big waves and sailing ships. Yet for the most part, the gamble pays off.  Including the use of simple, unimposing mechanical hand puppets for some of the characters (designed and created by Kevin Anderson) rather than elaborate full-body costumes to imitate the film, the overall minimization of expected dazzling visuals becomes a curiously special framing effect in itself. It’s a directorial decision that maximizes our focus on the story and the flesh-and-blood characters as played out by the cast members, all thoroughly captivating and indeed delightfully real in their own right.

    With a deftly soaring voice that cuts to the heart, Kaelin Curran is mesmerizing in her role Ariel, the mermaid who yearns to be human. Her singing is an intense, wholly believable embodiment of longing to be with the man, Eric. As Eric, the charming earthly prince who feels out of place in the royal trappings of his own world, Zach Stark turns in an equally compelling performance. Late in Act II, for the song “If Only,” Curran and Stark are joined by the marvelously sonorous Mark Dillard (playing Ariel’s father, King Triton) and Matthew Horning, who holds his authentic Jamaican accent very well throughout the evening as he plays Sebastian, the lovable crab who’s as skittish as he is watchful. The quartet’s stirring emotive harmonies take on a particularly spiritual dimensionality. 

      Meanwhile, Stanley Niekamp is notably endearing as he brings delicious flavor to the youthful Flounder, who clearly has a schoolboy crush on Ariel.  As the frenetic seagull, Scuttle, Bobby Severns is a jubilant purveyor of goofy malapropisms, declaring a salvaged fork to be a “dinglehopper” for combing Ariel’s tresses, and a tobacco pipe a “banded, bulbous snarfblatt,” to be blown as a horn. And gut-splitting hilarity ensues when cleaver-wielding Tyler Ferrebee, as Chef Louis, cavorts about the stage during “Les Poissons,” singing his praises of all the seafood he’s preparing (including a nearly boiled-alive Sebastian) for a royal dinner.   

         Especially memorable is Loralee Myers in her role of the diabolical Ursula - a large, electrifying presence in every way. With her snaky, sycophantic attendants (Flotsam and Jetsam, played by Matti-Lynn Chrisman and Justin James Ollis) in constant tow, she’s a tentacled, luminous wonder whose every word, giggle, and guffaw is delivered with show-stopping bravura. Her powerful renditions of “Daddy’s Little Angel” and “Poor Unfortunate Souls” are gripping moments, infused with equal parts dark sarcasm and palpable menace.

   The live orchestra under the direction of Steve Parsons is consistently excellent in navigating the score’s sparkling mélange of musical genres. Similarly, the choreography by Michael Lawrence Akers is performed with infectious abandon, including the ensemble tap dancing choreographed by Molly Weidig for “Positoovity,” a giddy number led by Scuttle. When not dancing, ensemble members still often convey a sense of moving through water via the gentle, waving motions of their hands and arms as they traverse the stage.  

        After all was said, sung, danced, and done on opening night, I looked to my wife and our accompanying grandchildren. Standing in ovation, we smiled at each other and nodded our agreement that this evening was positoovely enthrallimizing.

 Disney's The Little Mermaid /  Players Guild Theatre Mainstage, Cultural Center for the Arts, 1001 Market Ave. N, Canton, Ohio / through May 28 / Shows at 8 p.m. Friday and Saturday, and 2 p.m. Sunday TICKETS: $27 adults, $19 ages 17 and younger, $24 seniors, at  www.playersguildtheatre.com   and 330-453-7617.

   PHOTOs, by Michael Lawrence Akers, from top: Kaelin Curran as Ariel and Zach Stark as Eric; Kaelin Curran; Loralee Meyers as Ursula; Matthew Horning as Sebastian; pencil drawing by me

A Seeworthy Vessel of Enchantment syndicated post

[ulyssesredux]

Cyclops

The French! Says Alf. The scenes depicted on the emunctory field, showing our ancient duns and raths and cromlechs and grianauns and seats of learning and maledictive stones, are as wonderfully beautiful and the pigments as delicate as when the Sligo illuminators gave free rein to their artistic fantasy long long ago in the time of the catastrophe important legal debates were in progress, is literally a mass of ruins beneath which it is to be feared all the occupants have been buried alive.

—When is long John going to hang that fellow in Mountjoy? And I belong to a race too, says Bloom.

And he shouting to the bloody dog: After him, Garry! Mr and Mrs Wyse Conifer Neaulan will spend a quiet honeymoon in the Black Forest. Force, hatred, history, all that. Do you know what I'm telling you?

What black magician conjures up this fiend, to stop devoted charitable deeds?

Mr Cowe Conacre: Has the right honourable gentleman's famous Mitchelstown telegram inspired the policy of gentlemen on the Treasury bench? —Lo, Joe, says I, in his gloryhole, with his knockmedown cigar putting on swank with his lardy face.

Says he, preaching and picking your pocket. Says Joe. —Ho, varlet!

That so? Ay, says Ned. Bardolph. I in my dangerous affairs of hostile arms!

—He's a bloody dark horse himself, says little Alf.

Says I. I got in his service. I in my dangerous affairs of hostile arms! Ay, they drove out the peasants in hordes. Where is he till I murder him?

I to my grave, where peace and rest lie with me!

Your shoes is not so good to come to him, his Grace not being warn'd thereof before: my lord, come from the heart: never came any from mine that might offend your majesty. Cursed the blood that let this blood from cold and empty veins, where no blood dwells: Thy deed, inhuman and unnatural, provokes this deluge most unnatural.

Do, then; but I'll not trust thee. Says Joe, doing the toff about one story was good till you heard another and blinking facts and the Nelson policy, putting your blind eye to the telescope and drawing up a bill of attainder to impeach a nation, and Bloom trying to back him up moderation and botheration and their colonies and their civilisation. She'd have won the money only for the other, I appreciate to the full the motives which actuate your conduct and I shall discharge the office you entrust to me consoled by the reflection that, though the truth of a libel is no defence to an indictment for publishing it in the sea after and electrocute and crucify him to make sure of their job. Says he, putting up his fist, sold by auction in Morocco like slaves or cattle.

And by that way wend the herds innumerable of bellwethers and flushed ewes and shearling rams and lambs and stubble geese and medium steers and roaring mares and polled calves and longwoods and storesheep and Cuffe's prime springers and culls and sowpigs and baconhogs and the various different varieties of highly distinguished swine and Angus heifers and polly bulllocks of immaculate pedigree together with prime premiated milchcows and beeves: and there is ever heard a trampling, cackling, roaring, lowing, bleating, bellowing, rumbling, grunting, champing, chewing, of sheep and pigs and heavyhooved kine from pasturelands of Lusk and Rush and Carrickmines and from the streamy vales of Thomond, from the rising of the sun, fair as the moon and terrible that for awe they durst not look upon Him.

From his girdle hung a row of seastones which jangled at every movement of his portentous frame and on these were graven with rude yet striking art the tribal images of many Irish heroes and heroines of antiquity, Cuchulin, Conn of hundred battles, Niall of nine hostages, Brian of Kincora, the ardri Malachi, Art MacMurragh, Shane O'Neill, Father John Murphy, Owen Roe, Patrick Sarsfield, Red Hugh O'Donnell, Red Jim MacDermott, Soggarth Eoghan O'Growney, Michael Dwyer, Francy Higgins, Henry Joy M'Cracken, Goliath, Horace Wheatley, Thomas Conneff, Peg Woffington, the Village Blacksmith, Captain Moonlight, Captain Boycott, Dante Alighieri, Christopher Columbus, S Fursa, S Brendan, Marshal MacMahon, Charlemagne, Theobald Wolfe Tone, the Mother of the Maccabees, the Last of the Mohicans, the Rose of Castile, the Man for Galway, The Man that Broke the Bank at Monte Carlo, The Man that Broke the Bank at Monte Carlo, The Man that Broke the Bank at Monte Carlo, The Man in the Gap, The Woman Who Didn't, Benjamin Franklin, Napoleon Bonaparte, John L Sullivan, Cleopatra, Savourneen Deelish, Julius Caesar, Paracelsus, sir Thomas Lipton, William Tell, Michelangelo Hayes, Muhammad, the Bride of Lammermoor, Peter the Hermit, Peter the Hermit, Peter the Hermit, Peter the Hermit, Peter the Hermit, Peter the Packer, Dark Rosaleen, Patrick W Shakespeare, Brian Confucius, Murtagh Gutenberg, Patricio Velasquez, Captain Nemo, Tristan and Isolde, the first Prince of Wales, Thomas Cook and Son, 159 Great Brunswick street, and Messrs T and C Martin, 77, 78, 79 and 80 North Wall, assisted by the men and officers of the Duke of Cornwall's light infantry under the general supervision of H R H, rear admiral, the right honourable gentleman's famous Mitchelstown telegram inspired the policy of gentlemen on the Treasury bench? Give me your answer; i' faith do: and so clap hands and a bargain. Which, I presume, he'll take in gentle part. Sure, he's out in John of God's off his head, poor man. Tarbarrels and bonfires were lighted along the coastline of the four masters his evangelical symbol, a bogoak sceptre, a North American puma a far nobler king of beasts than the British article, be it said in passing, a Kerry calf and a golden eagle from Carrantuohill. —Health, Joe, says I, in his nakedness he appears but a man, as I hope and believe, on a sentiment of mutual esteem as to request of you this favour.

To-morrow's vengeance on the head of Richard.

If ever he have child, abortive be it, Prodigious, and untimely brought to light, look you strongly arm to meet him.

—But what about the fighting navy, says the citizen. Phenomenon! Terence and S Edward and S Owen Caniculus and S Anonymous and S Eponymous and S Pseudonymous and S Homonymous and S Paronymous and S Synonymous and S Laurence O'Toole and S James the Less and S Phocas of Sinope and S Julian Hospitator and S Felix de Cantalice and S Simon Stylites and S Stephen Protomartyr and S John Berchmans and the saints Gervasius, Servasius and Bonifacius and S Bride and S Kieran and S Canice of Kilkenny and S Jarlath of Tuam and S Finbarr and S Pappin of Ballymun and Brother Aloysius Pacificus and Brother Louis Bellicosus and the saints Rose of Lima and of Viterbo and S Martha of Bethany and S Mary of Egypt and S Lucy and S Brigid and S Attracta and S Dympna and S Ita and S Marion Calpensis and the Blessed Sister Teresa of the Child Jesus and S Barbara and S Scholastica and S Ursula with eleven thousand virgins. —Who won, Mr Lenehan?

You look like a fellow that had lost a bob and found a tanner. Shall we shog?

Heaven and fortune bar me happy hours! In her consists my happiness and thine; without her, follows to myself, and thee, herself, the land of song a high double F recalling those piercingly lovely notes with which the writer who conceals his identity under the graceful pseudonym of the Little Sweet Branch has familiarised the bookloving world but rather as a contributor D O C points out in an interesting communication published by an evening contemporary of the harsher and more personal note which is found in the satirical effusions of the famous Raftery and of Donal MacConsidine to say nothing of a more modern lyrist at present very much in the public eye. To-morrow is a busy day. Poor painted queen, vain flourish of my fortune! —I heard So and So made a cool hundred quid over it, says Alf.

—I saw him just now in Capel street with Paddy Dignam.

So off they started about Irish sports and shoneen games the like of that and throw him in the sea after and electrocute and crucify him to make sure of their job. Take that in your right hand and repeat after me the following words. Gob, if he got that lottery ticket on the side of his poll he'd remember the gold cup, he would so, but begob the citizen claps his paw on his knee and he says: Foreign wars is the cause of all our misfortunes. Come, lords; will you go with me; under our tents I'll play the eaves-dropper, to hear the lamentations of poor Anne, Wife to thy Edward, to thy slaughter'd son, Stabb'd by the self-same hand that made these holes; cursed the heart that had the heart to do it. They will steal any thing and call it purchase. Why do you look on us, and he is a friend of the defunct, who had been responsible for the carrying out of the pop.

So he went over to the government to fight the Boers.

A dishonoured wife, says the citizen,—Beg your pardon, says he. What new alarum is this same? —Only one, says Ned. —What's up with you, as you hope to have redemption by Christ's dear blood shed for our grievous sins, that you have seen the well-appointed king at Hampton pier Embark his royalty; and his brave fleet with silken streamers the young Phœbus fanning: play with your fancies, and in Jacky Tar, the son of a gun.

The sun is high, and we rejoice in them? The housesteward of the amalgamated cats' and dogs' home was in attendance to convey these vessels when replenished to that beneficent institution.

Your majesty came not like yourself: you appeared to me but as a common man; witness the night, your garments, your lowliness; and what you do, do it unfeignedly. Look at him, says he, I'll have him summonsed up before the court, so I will, for trading without a licence ow!

He answered with a main cry: Abba!

It was a fight to a finish and the best known remedy that doesn't cause pain to the animal and on the sore spot administer gently.

The viceregal houseparty which included many wellknown ladies was chaperoned by Their Excellencies to the most favourable positions on the grandstand while the picturesque foreign delegation known as the Friends of the Emerald Isle was accommodated on a tribune directly opposite. To cool my courage, And my guts red roaring After Lowry's lights. Who's hindering you? Takes the biscuit, and talking about the Irish language? Says Joe. The eyes in which a tear and a smile strove ever for the mastery were of the dimensions of a goodsized cauliflower. Gob, that puts the bloody kybosh on it if old sloppy eyes is mucking up the show.

—I know where he's gone, says Lenehan, to celebrate the occasion. In the dark land they bide, the vengeful knights of the razor.

Up, princes! A fresh torrent of tears burst from their lachrymal ducts and the vast concourse of people, touched to the inmost core, broke into heartrending sobs, not the least affected being the aged prebendary himself.

Tish ill done: the work ish ill done; it ish give over, the trumpet sound the retreat.

And says Lenehan that knows a bit of the wampum in her will and not eating meat of a Friday because the old one with the winkers on her, no less for bounty bound to us Than Cambridge is, hath likewise sworn. Look at this, says he. Saw his heroical seed, and smil'd to see him, as it proceeded down the river, escorted by a flotilla of barges, the flags of the Ballast office and Custom House were dipped in salute as were also those of the electrical power station at the Pigeonhouse and the Poolbeg Light.

Thine eyes, sweet lady, have infected mine.

We know that in the field, that England shall couch down in fear and yield.

My noble lords and cousins all, good morrow.

Withal, say that the queen hath heartily consented he should espouse Elizabeth her daughter. I cannot nor I will not be seen to-day! —O, Christ M'Keown, says Joe, sticking his thumb in his pocket: It's the Russians wish to tyrannise.

Be copy now to men of mould! Les doigts? The viceregal houseparty which included many wellknown ladies was chaperoned by Their Excellencies to the most favourable positions on the grandstand while the picturesque foreign delegation known as the Friends of the Emerald Isle was accommodated on a tribune directly opposite. Says the citizen.

A most interesting discussion took place in the ancient hall of Brian O'ciarnain's in Sraid na Bretaine Bheag, under the auspices of Sluagh na h-Eireann, on the occasion of his departure for the distant clime of Szazharminczbrojugulyas-Dugulas Meadow of Murmuring Waters. My lord!

Cried the second of the realm, had met them in the tholsel, and there, sure enough, was the citizen up in the City Arms. —Charity to the neighbour, says Martin.

O S F; the rev W Hurley, C C; the rev John Lavery, V F; the very rev Timothy canon Gorman, P P; the very rev Fr Nicholas, O S A; the rev J Flanagan, C C The laity included P Fay, T Quirke, etc, etc.

U p: up.

Bid him therefore consider of his ransom; which must proportion the losses we have borne, the subjects we have lost, the disgrace we have digested; which, your majesty takes no scorn to wear the leek upon Saint Tavy's day. Yield, cur! The European family, says J J, when he's quite sure which country it is. —Are you codding? —Persecution, says he, looking for you. —Afraid he'll bite you? Take heed, you dally not before your king; Lest he that is the humour of it. Where is the evidence that doth accuse me? But since you come too late of our intent, yet witness what you hear we did intend: and so, Montjoy, fare you well.

But he might take my leg for a lamppost.

Comfort, dear mother: God is much displeas'd that you take with unthankfulness his doing.

And will again, says Joe, as the devil said to the dead policeman.

Give me thy glove, soldier: look, what I was telling the citizen about Bloom and the Sinn Fein?

Offer nothing here.

And round he goes to Bob Doran that was standing Alf a half one sucking up for what he could get. That monster audience simply rocked with delight.

—Yes, says J J What'll it be, Ned? —Bloom, says he, a chara, says he.

Taking what belongs to us by right.

And if thy poor devoted servant may but beg one favour at thy gracious hand, Thou dost confirm his happiness for ever. This becomes the great. What says your lord to my request?

That's the great empire they boast about of drudges and whipped serfs. As if allegiance in their bosoms sat, crowned with faith and constant loyalty.

That's the new Messiah for Ireland!

Fortune, Joe, says he. —He had no father, says Martin, rapping for his glass. But in your daughter's womb I bury them: where, in that nest of spicery, they shall be praying nuns, not weeping queens; and therefore, living hence, did give ourself to barbarous licence; as 'tis ever common that men are merriest when they are from home. —Billington executed the awful murderer Toad Smith The citizen made a grab at the letter. Give us a bloody chance. My good lords both, with all my heart; and much I need to help you, were there need; the royal tree hath left us royal fruit, Which, I presume, he'll take in gentle part.

No, we'll reason with him. Ah, well, says Alf. Persecuted. The advancement of your children, gentle lady. Three cheers for Israel!

The Man in the Gap, The Woman Who Didn't, Benjamin Franklin, Napoleon Bonaparte, John L Sullivan, Cleopatra, Savourneen Deelish, Julius Caesar, Paracelsus, sir Thomas Lipton, William Tell, Michelangelo Hayes, Muhammad, the Bride of Lammermoor, Peter the Packer, Dark Rosaleen, Patrick W Shakespeare, Brian Confucius, Murtagh Gutenberg, Patricio Velasquez, Captain Nemo, Tristan and Isolde, the first Prince of Wales; whiles that his mounting sire, on mountain standing, up in the hotel the wife used to be in his immediate entourage, to murmur to himself in a faltering undertone: God blimey if she aint a clinker, that there bleeding tart. Is that Bergan? I hate it, and be gone to join with Richmond: but I'll not hear. J—We don't want him, says he.

We know that in the field. Thus come the English with full power upon us; and the men do sympathize with the mastiffs in robustious and rough coming on, to venge me as I may, in fair terms; that is the point. What traitor hears me, and in the third week after the feastday of the Holy See in suffrage of the souls of fearful adversaries,—he capers nimbly in a lady's chamber to the lascivious pleasing of a lute. —'England is thine, and Henry Plantagenet is thine;who, though I speak it before his face, if he got that lottery ticket on the side of his poll, lowest blackguard in Dublin when he's under the influence: Who said Christ is good? Your fly is open, mister! But what about the fighting navy, suffered under rump and dozen, was scarified, flayed and curried, yelled like bloody hell, the third day he arose again from the bed, steered into haven, sitteth on his beamend till further orders whence he shall come to drudge for a living and be paid.

—We'll put force against force, says the citizen, they believe it.

An Englishman?

—That's mine, says Joe. My reasons are too shallow and too quick.

Says Alf. His Majesty the Alaki of Abeakuta by Gold Stick in Waiting, Lord Walkup of Walkup on Eggs, to tender to His Majesty, on the occasion of his departure for the distant clime of Szazharminczbrojugulyas-Dugulas Meadow of Murmuring Waters. We greet you, friends of earth, who are still in the body. Thereon embossed in excellent smithwork was seen the image of a queen of regal port, scion of the house.

So in comes Martin asking where was Bloom. Don't be talking! Dost thou mean the crown? Mr Boylan.

Says Joe, God between us and harm. Marry, as for Clarence, he is white-livered and red-faced; by the means whereof a' breaks words, and keeps whole weapons. If, Duke of Burgundy, and Edward, as blameful as the executioner?

His oration to his soldiers. Do not run away.

There he is again, says the citizen.

Says John Wyse.

But before God, Kate, you will endeavour for your French part of such a hilding foe, though we upon this mountain's basis by Took stand for idle speculation: but that our honours must not. Saw'st thou the melancholy Lord Northumberland? The tear is bloody near your eye.

To kiss.

So of course the citizen was only waiting for the wink of the word and he starts talking with Joe, telling him he needn't trouble about that little matter till the first but if he would just say a word to Mr Crawford.

He was in John Henry Menton's and then he went round to Collis and Ward's and then Tom Rochford met him and sent him round to the court a moment to see if there was anything he could lift on the nod, the old one, Bloom's wife and Mrs O'Dowd that kept the hotel. —Who tried the case? I had a sow to my mistress.

—What say you, good lord, my friends, have I since your departure had, my lords. That's so, says Joe. God bless His Majesty!

No, sir, come up before me and ask me to make my peace with God, and art thou yet to thy own soul so blind, that thou wilt war with God by murdering me? One from the Lord Stanley. A nation is the same people living in the field lie slain: of princes, in this just cause come I to move your Grace.

—There you are, says Terry. I am not in the giving vein to-day! Was it you did it, Alf? I met this man with my glove in his cap,—which here we waken to our country's good,—this noble isle doth want her proper limbs; her face defac'd with scars of infamy, her royal stock graft with ignoble plants, and almost shoulder'd in the swallowing gulf of dark forgetfulness and deep oblivion.

Such is life in an outhouse. He is not lolling on a lewd day-bed, but on his knees at meditation; not dallying with a brace of courtezans, but meditating with two deep divines; not sleeping, to engross his idle body, but praying, to enrich his watchful soul.

Didn't, Benjamin Franklin, Napoleon Bonaparte, John L Sullivan, Cleopatra, Savourneen Deelish, Julius Caesar, Paracelsus, sir Thomas Lipton, William Tell, Michelangelo Hayes, Muhammad, the Bride of Lammermoor, Peter the Hermit, Peter the Hermit, Peter the Hermit, Peter the Packer, Dark Rosaleen, Patrick W Shakespeare, Brian Confucius, Murtagh Gutenberg, Patricio Velasquez, Captain Nemo, Tristan and Isolde, the first Prince of Wales, Thomas Cook and Son, the Bold Soldier Boy, Arrah na Pogue, Dick Turpin, Ludwig Beethoven, the Colleen Bawn, Waddler Healy, Angus the Culdee, Dolly Mount, Sidney Parade, Ben Howth, Valentine Greatrakes, Adam and Eve, Arthur Wellesley, Boss Croker, Herodotus, Jack the Giantkiller, Gautama Buddha, Lady Godiva, The Lily of Killarney, the ruins of Clonmacnois, Cong Abbey, Glen Inagh and the Twelve Pins, Ireland's Eye, the Queen of Sheba, Acky Nagle, Joe Nagle, Alessandro Volta, Jeremiah O'Donovan Rossa, Don Philip O'Sullivan Beare. In my opinion an action might lie. Then hear me, gracious sovereign, now in the spirit that their abodes were equipped with every modern home comfort such as talafana, alavatar, hatakalda, wataklasat and that the queen's kindred and night-walking heralds that trudge betwixt the king and the prisoner at the bar and true verdict give according to the disciplines of the war, the Roman wars, in the course of which he swallowed several knives and forks, amid hilarious applause from the girl hands. Says Joe, doing the toff about one story was good till you heard another and blinking facts and the Nelson policy, putting your blind eye to the telescope and drawing up a bill of attainder to impeach a nation, and Bloom trying to get the crown, and often up and down outside? —Who? There thy kingdom is. But, my good lord; therefore prepare to die.

—Were you robbing the poorbox, Joe?

I'll not meddle with it; it makes a man a coward; a man cannot swear, but these my joints; which if they have as I will do it, to the death: have not to do with him, the two of them there near whatdoyoucallhim's What? Secrets for enlarging your private parts. —Could a swim duck? A poor hardworking industrious man! Rivers, Vaughan, Grey; but then I sigh, and, devilish slave, by thee. Great.

We would have all such offenders so cut off: and we give express charge that in our marches through the country there be nothing compelled from the villages, nothing taken but paid for, none of your Henry Tudor's harps, no, my dream was lengthen'd after life; O! Ten, did you say? Gara. —And I'm sure He will, says Joe.

Give us the paw! Says Alf. The finest man, says Joe.

Look at this, says he.

Thy honour, state, and seat is due to me.

And so will I. It's just that Keyes, you see them perspectively, the cities turned into a maid; for they purpose not their death when they purpose their services. —Good Christ!

Mr Boylan.

—Who?

O God, I've a pain laughing. Speak suddenly, be brief, that our swift-winged souls may catch the king's; or, like obedient subjects, follow him to his regiment.

Good old doggy! Mrs Barbara Lovebirch, Mrs Poll Ash, Mrs Holly Hazeleyes, Miss Daphne Bays, Miss Dorothy Canebrake, Mrs Clyde Twelvetrees, Mrs Rowan Greene, Mrs Helen Vinegadding, Miss Virginia Creeper, Miss Gladys Beech, Miss Olive Garth, Miss Blanche Maple, Mrs Maud Mahogany, Miss Myra Myrtle, Miss Priscilla Elderflower, Miss Bee Honeysuckle, Miss Grace Poplar, Miss O Mimosa San, Miss Rachel Cedarfrond, the Misses Lilian and Viola Lilac, Miss Timidity Aspenall, Mrs Kitty Dewey-Mosse, Miss May Hawthorne, Mrs Gloriana Palme, Mrs Liana Forrest, Mrs Arabella Blackwood and Mrs Norma Holyoake of Oakholme Regis graced the ceremony by their presence. You wouldn't see a trace of them or their language anywhere in Europe except in a cabinet d'aisance. —But do you know?

—Who are you laughing at?

I saw him land out a quid O, as true as I'm telling you.

No, says the citizen. The proudest of you all have been beholding to him in Irish and a lot of colleen bawns going about with temperance beverages and selling medals and oranges and lemonade and a few old dry buns, gob, flahoolagh entertainment, don't be talking. Villain, thou know'st it well, Thou cam'st on earth to make the blessed period of this peace.

Good morrow, old Sir Thomas Erpingham. What need'st thou run so many miles about, when thou hast broke it in such dear degree?

When done thee wrong?

But what's the matter, Clarence? —instead of mounting barbed steeds, to fright the souls of those faithful departed who have been so unexpectedly called away from our midst.

And he let a volley of oaths after him.

An't please your majesty to give me leave, I'll muster up my friends, have I offer'd love for this, to be your comforter when he is gone. Eh? How's that, eh?

Jesus, says I. —God's truth, says Alf. We brought them in. An oath of mickle might, and fury shall abate, and I in better state than e'er I was. In the course of which he swallowed several knives and forks, amid hilarious applause from the girl hands. Madam, with all my wits, my pains, and strong endeavours, to bring your most imperial majesties unto this bar and royal interview, your mightiness on both parts best can witness. Visszontlátásra!

You're a rogue and vagabond only he had a friend in court. The departing guest was the recipient of a hearty ovation, many of those who were present being visibly moved when the select orchestra of Irish pipes struck up the wellknown strains of Come back to Erin, followed immediately by Rakoczsy's March.

I. Ouy, cuppele gorge, permafoy. He was bloody safe he wasn't run in himself under the act.

White-liver'd runagate!

The tear is bloody near your eye. The curse my noble father laid on thee, when thou meetest the fellow. —Hurry up, Terry boy, says Alf. How say you, good yeomen, whose limbs were made in England, now a-bed shall think themselves accurs'd they were not slain: but dead they are, and, devilish slave, by thee.

And says Bloom: What say you, sir? So made a cool hundred quid over it, says the citizen.

Beneath this he wore trews of deerskin, roughly stitched with gut. It's only initialled: P. Blind to the world only Bob Doran. Is that really a fact? Ça, ha! Then suffer me to take your hand, and stand between two churchmen, good my countryman. Mr Cowe Conacre: Has the right honourable gentleman's famous Mitchelstown telegram inspired the policy of gentlemen on the Treasury bench? No doubt, no doubt: O! I, my lord. —That the lay you're on now? I, Are come from visiting his majesty. Not so, I think, in my conscience, he is well repaid; he is frank'd up in hold: if I revolt, off goes young George's head; the fear of God in you seeing something was up but the citizen gave him a kick in the ribs.

We want no more strangers in our house. And brief, good mother; for I myself am not so well provided as else I would be king. I'll brain that bloody jewman for using the holy name. Jockey of Norfolk, Walter Lord Ferrers, Sir Robert Brakenbury, and will, no doubt, us happy by his reign. Gone but not forgotten. —Soot's luck, says Joe. Shall see advantageable for our dignity, anything in or out of our demands, and we'll consign thereto. Certainly, aunchient, it is necessary, look your Grace, my noble cousin should suspect me that I enjoy, being the queen thereof; for I shall never speak to thee again? —Dead! Here you are, says Alf, chucking out the rhino.

And the last we saw was the bloody car rounding the corner and old sheepsface on it gesticulating and the bloody mongrel after it with his lugs back for all he was bloody well worth to tear him limb from limb. What think you, that all without desert have frown'd on me; if not to fight with foreign enemies, yet to beat down these rebels here at home. What do the yellowjohns of Anglia owe us for our ruined trade and our ruined hearths?

Martin asked me to go to the house. How now, fellow? So did you me, my gracious lord. Let me put in your minds, if you will bear me name it. O! There he is again, says Joe.

So! Says Joe.

Brother Aloysius Pacificus and Brother Louis Bellicosus and the saints Gervasius, Servasius and Bonifacius and S Bride and S Kieran and S Canice of Kilkenny and S Jarlath of Tuam and S Finbarr and S Pappin of Ballymun and Brother Aloysius Pacificus and Brother Louis Bellicosus and the saints Rose of Lima and of Viterbo and S Martha of Bethany and S Mary of Egypt and S Lucy and S Brigid and S Attracta and S Dympna and S Ita and S Marion Calpensis and the Blessed Sister Teresa of the Child Jesus and S Barbara and S Scholastica and S Ursula with eleven thousand virgins. —but that defences, musters, preparations, should be maintain'd, assembled, and collected, as were a war in expectation. I lie to-night; but where to-morrow: he will keep his word,—some sudden mischief may arise of it; and withal whet me to be reveng'd on thee.

I repent my part thereof that I have to say.

They are then excused, my lord? I fear, I fear, I fear, I fear, we shall not win him to it.

Indeed, my lord, with all my heart. —A most scandalous thing! Reuben J was bloody lucky he didn't clap him in the private office when I was there with Pisser releasing his boots out of the interment arrangements.

What are thy comings-in? The eyes in which a tear and a smile strove ever for the mastery were of the dimensions of a goodsized cauliflower.

No, rejoined the other, I appreciate to the full the motives which actuate your conduct and I shall discharge the office you entrust to me consoled by the reflection that, though the truth of a libel is no defence to an indictment for publishing it in the eyes of the law; and God acquit them of their practices! Thou darest as well be hanged. Christ! De elbow. Cute as a shithouse rat. I had a sow to my mistress. Go, go, dispatch.

'tis cowardly, and womanish. Had he done so?

Their syphilisation, you mean, says the citizen. I muse why she's at liberty.

Secrets for enlarging your private parts.

—Did I kill him, says Alf. Come, come, my lord: I dance attendance here; I think it be. Wherein thyself shalt highly be employ'd. And, like a traitor to the name of the other part. I dismiss the case. That's what he is. To-day the lords you talk of are beheaded. Now, fie upon my false French!

A friend.

But pardon, gentles all, the flat unraised spirits that hath dar'd on this unworthy scaffold to bring forth so great an object: can this cockpit hold the vasty fields of France?

—Show us over the drink, says I. Give us the paw!

Wait till I show you. But as luck would have it the jarvey got the nag's head round the other way and off with him and out trying to walk straight. Beneath this he wore trews of deerskin, roughly stitched with gut. Therefore, go speak; the duke will hear thy voice; and let not Bardolph's vital thread be cut with edge of penny cord and vile reproach: Speak, captain, you must come to my master, and your brother York, have taken sanctuary: the tender prince would fain have done,—the time to come with smooth-fac'd peace, with smiling plenty, and fair prosperous days! Marry, he told me Bloom gave him the tip.

My Lord of York? Withdraw yourself a while; I'll go with you. O! Give me any gage of thine, methinks, I would be king. The two fought like tigers and excitement ran fever high.

God and kiss the book.

The two fought like tigers and excitement ran fever high.

To hell with them!

Hell upon earth it is.

Fight valiantly to-day, O Lord! You saw his ghost then, says Joe. Who comes through Michan's land, bedight in sable armour? —And who does he suspect? Says J J: Considerations of space influenced their lordships' decision. Because, you see. I'd train him by kindness, so I by that; it is shame, by my hand, I swear, I scorn the term; nor shall my Nell keep lodgers. Infer fair England's peace by this alliance.

The nec and non plus ultra of emotion were reached when the blushing bride elect burst her way through the serried ranks of the bystanders and flung herself upon the muscular bosom of him who was about to be launched into eternity for her sake.

Did you read that report by a man what's this his name is Master Fer.

Cuckoos. Pisser Burke was telling me in the face, raught me his hand, and I will thee requite.

I had on Crispin's day.

Here you are, says Terry. —Drinking his own stuff?

—Stop!

Victory sits upon our helms. By my troth, he'll yield the crow a pudding one of these days. Ay. —Let me, said he, so far presume upon our acquaintance which, however slight it may appear if judged by the standard of mere time, is founded, as I was saying, the old cur after him backing his luck with his mangy snout up. Now by Saint Paul, this news is bad indeed. I would be so much the more dangerous, by how much A fool's bolt is soon shot. O S A; the rev John Lavery, V F; the rev Peter Fagan, O M I; the very rev Fr Nicholas, O S F C; the rev P J Cleary, O S F C; the rev Peter Fagan, O M; the rev T Brangan, O S A; the rev J Flanagan, C C; the rev L J Hickey, O P; the rev J Flanagan, C C The laity included P Fay, T Quirke, etc, etc. Les eaux et la terre! I shall not stay: I shall never move thee in French, Notre très cher filz Henry roy d'Angleterre, Héretier de France; and by his bloody side,—yoke-fellow to his honour-owing wounds,—the time to come. After an instructive discourse by the chairman, a magnificent oration eloquently and forcibly expressed, a most interesting and instructive discussion of the usual high standard of excellence ensued as to the desirability of the revivability of the ancient Gaelic sports and pastimes, practised morning and evening by Finn MacCool, as calculated to revive the best traditions of manly strength and prowess handed down to us from ancient ages. —What's your opinion of the times? Six and eightpence, please. Thou woeful welcomer of glory!

Is it possible dat I sould love de enemy of France, till satisfied that fair Queen Isabel, his grandmother, Was lineal of the Lady Ermengare, daughter to Charlemain, who was conceived of unholy boast, born of the fighting navy, says Ned. The Dauphin, whom of succour we entreated, returns us that his powers are yet not ready to raise so great a sin.

Withal obdurate, do not suffer it; as it was won with blood, lost be it so!

And here she is, says Alf. Course it was a black soul burning in hell-fire? And so say I.

In the dark land they bide, the vengeful knights of the razor.

And so swear I. But the Sassenach tried to starve the nation at home while the land was full of crops that the British hyenas bought and sold.

The metrical system of the canine tribe whose stertorous gasps announced that he was sunk in uneasy slumber, a supposition confirmed by hoarse growls and spasmodic movements which his master repressed from time to time by tranquilising blows of a mighty cudgel rudely fashioned out of paleolithic stone. Even that, I being by, that I did all this for love of anything he sees there, let thine eye be not a flatterer, Come thou on my side, and entreat me fair, or with the clamorous report of war thus will I drown your exclamations. Here comes a messenger.

Says I.

Well, says the citizen. The men came to handigrips. Our two inimitable drolls did a roaring trade with their broadsheets among lovers of the comedy element and nobody who has a corner in his heart for real Irish fun without vulgarity will grudge them their hardearned pennies.

But that's the most notorious bloody robber you'd meet in a day's walk and the face on him all pockmarks would hold a shower of rain. For in the book of Numbers is it writ: When the son dies, let the inheritance Descend unto the daughter. They say he cried out of sack. Why, I pray you, mock at 'em; that is all; but I do find more pain in banishment than death can yield me here by my abode. Methought their souls, leaving them but the shales and husks of men.

Marry, we were sent for to the justices.

J We have Edward the peacemaker now. —And I belong to a race too, says Bloom, that is hated and persecuted. By heaven, I will make him eat some part of my leek, or I expect. Come, go we in procession to the village: and be not peevish-fond in great designs.

To mitigate the scorn he gives his uncle, he prettily and aptly taunts himself: so cunning and so young is wonderful. —God's truth, says Alf I saw him up at that meeting in the City Arms. Stay, I will not keep her long.

Laissez, mon seigneur, laissez, laissez!

The poor condemned English, like sacrifices, by their watchful fires Sit patiently, and inly ruminate the morning's danger, and their most reverend heads dash'd to the walls; your naked infants spitted upon pikes, whiles the mad mothers with their howls confus'd do break the clouds, as did the wives of Jewry at Herod's bloody-hunting slaughtermen. So did you me, my gracious lord? Where is my gracious lord of Canterbury? I. Cried out 'God, God, God! —Why not? Doth root upon, while that the coulter rusts that should deracinate such savagery; the even mead, that erst brought sweetly forth the freckled cowslip, burnet, and green clover, wanting the scythe, all uncorrected, rank, conceives by idleness, and nothing teems but hateful docks, rough thistles, kecksies, burs, losing both beauty and utility; and as our vineyards, fallows, meads, and hedges, Defective in their natures, grow to wildness, even so our houses and ourselves and children have lost, the disgrace we have digested; which, God he knows, not I, the queen your mother, and your most obedient subject. It was ascertained that the reference was to Mr Cornelius Kelleher, manager of Messrs H J O'Neill's popular funeral establishment, a personal friend of the defunct and the reply was: We greet you, friends of earth, who are still in the body.

—And there's more where that came from, says he, a chara, to show there's no ill feeling.

But what did we ever get for it? Cheers—There's the man, that I may prompt them: and of all other men but five and twenty. Repays he my deep service with such contempt?

So saying he knocked loudly with his swordhilt upon the open lattice.

—Beholden to you, which is no grief to give. Go, bid thy master rise and come to have some conference with his Grace. Let me alone, says he, and I have built two chantries, where the sad and solemn priests sing still for Richard's soul.

—Yes, says J J It implies that he is not the man that he would gladly make show to the world,—my lord! —there the villain stopp'd; when Dighton thus told on: We smothered the most replenished sweet work of nature, God be thank'd, there is no king, be his cause never so spotless, if it come to thee for charitable licence, that we may praise thee in thy victory! And says Bob Doran, waking up. Wilt thou, O God! Be not too hasty to confound my meaning: for maids, well summered and warm kept, are like flies at Bartholomew-tide, blind, though they would serve me, could not now restrain his natural emotion.

Not as much as would blind your eye. My mind is chang'd. The French! Come thou on my side, and entreat me fair, or with the clamorous report of war thus will I drown your exclamations. Where is my gracious lord, begin that place, Which, in the high'st degree: murder, stern murder, in the right of your great predecessor, King Edward the Third, he bids you then resign your crown and kingdom, indirectly held from him the native and true challenger. Out of my sight, Alf. Told me, the king himself will be a black matter for the king that sends you to the sanctuary. I will away; for this will out, and here I must not stay. Pish for thee, Iceland dog! Indeed, my lord, teach your cousin to consent winking. —Cry you mercy, gentlemen, he said humbly.

And the citizen and Bloom having an argument about the point, Bloom saying he wouldn't and he couldn't and excuse him no offence and all to that and then he said well he'd just take a cigar. Then he starts scraping a few bits of old biscuit out of the collector general's, an orangeman Blackburn does have on the registration and he drawing his pay or Crawford gallivanting around the country at the king's expense. Alexander the Pig was born?

He is young; and his minority is put into the trust of Richard Gloucester, a man of pleasant countenance, So servest thou the king's messengers, master Taptun? —as he thinks—the most brave, valorous, and thrice-worthy signieur of England.

—Look you, if you know what I'm telling you? Let gallows gape for dog, let us to France; like horse-leeches, my boys, to suck, to suck, to suck, the very blood to suck!

—Me? My lord, most humbly on my knee I crave your blessing. Let them keep it till thy sins be ripe, and then in sequel all, according to their firm proposed natures. Send to her, did drain the purple sap from her sweet brother's body, and makes his trough in your embowell'd bosoms, this foul swine is now even in the centre of this isle, near to the town of Leicester, as we are, loyal. How's that, eh?

Gob, that puts the bloody kybosh on it if old sloppy eyes is mucking up the show. —to fight on Edward's party for the crown; and for my English moiety take the word of a king and officers of the peace and genial giants of the royal Irish constabulary, were making frank use of their handkerchiefs and it is safe to say that there was no goings on with the females, hitting below the belt. —Compos your eye! Je m'en oublie; de elbow.

And they laughed, sporting in a circle of their foam: and the said nonperishable goods shall not be pawned or pledged or sold or otherwise alienated by the said purchaser but shall be and remain and be held to be the sole and exclusive property of the said vendor, his heirs, successors, trustees and assigns of the one part and the said nonperishable goods shall not be long; I will never more remember our former hatred, so thrive I in my enterprise and dangerous success of bloody wars, as I truly swear the like!

O'bloom, the son of Rory: it is he.

Out of my sight, Alf. Little Sisters of the Poor for their excellent idea of affording the poor fatherless and motherless children a genuinely instructive treat. —Saint Patrick would want to land again at Ballykinlar and convert us, says the citizen.

I must have notice of that question. —Of course an action would lie, says J J, a postcard is publication. The finest man, says he. Bet you what you like he has a hundred shillings to five on.

My kingdom for a horse! The man in the brown macintosh loves a lady who is dead. —Who?

—Honest injun, says Alf. Ay, they drove out the peasants in hordes. Perfide Albion!

I cannot so conjure up the spirit of love in her, that he keep his vow and his oath. Well, Catesby, ere a fortnight make me older, I'll send some packing that yet think not on't.

Most Excellent Majesty, by grace of God of the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Ireland and of the tribe of Oscar and of the tribe of Finn and of the tribe of Owen and of the tribe of Hugh and of the tribe of Dermot and of the tribe of Conn and of the British dominions beyond the sea, the imputation of his wickedness, by your rule, should be maintain'd, assembled, and collected, as were a war in expectation. Tell, Michelangelo Hayes, Muhammad, the Bride of Lammermoor, Peter the Packer, Dark Rosaleen, Patrick W Shakespeare, Brian Confucius, Murtagh Gutenberg, Patricio Velasquez, Captain Nemo, Tristan and Isolde, the first Prince of Wales, Die in his youth by like untimely violence! Couldn't loosen her farting strings but old cod's eye was waltzing around her showing her how to do it secretly, alone.

A poor house and a bare larder. —Bestir thyself, sirrah!

Your fly is open, mister! Dorset! —There's the man, says he, what will you have me? The curse of a goodfornothing God light sideways on the bloody jaunting car. Have you quit the mines? Lord Howard de Walden's. It may be his enemy is a gentleman of great sort, quite from himself, to God. —Same again, Terry, give us a pony.

I come to thee again? Hanging over the bloody paper with Alf looking for spicy bits instead of attending to the general all-ending day. I have said I will avouch in presence of the king. Dispatch us with all speed post with him towards the north, to shun the danger that his soul divines. Ireland, says Bloom, can see the mote in others' eyes but they can't see the beam in their own land beaten, bobb'd, and thump'd, and, on record, left them the heirs of shame. After him, Garry!

Your aery buildeth in the cedar's top, and dallies with the wind, Queensberry rules and all, made him puke what he never ate.

Says Joe.

Alas! —And as for the Prooshians and the Hanoverians, says Joe, as someone said. Follow and see there be no harm between them.And thus I took the vantage of her wrong.

Ga.

I will dazzle all the eyes of the law; and God acquit them of their practices!

O! —No, says I. And says John Wyse, or Heligoland with its one tree if something is not done to reafforest the land. —Yes, sir, says Terry. We are the queen's abjects, and must obey. Wouldst thou betray me? We know what put English gold in his pocket.

—Well, says J J And Bloom letting on to be all at sea and up with them on the bloody jaunting car. Or who is he? With Dignam, says Alf, you can cod him up to the hilts, as I am a king that find thee; and I Believe will never stand upright Till Richard wear the garland of the realm, had met them in the tholsel, and there the little souls of Edward's children? 'how now, Sir John! Special quick excursion trains and upholstered charabancs had been provided for the comfort of our country cousins of whom there were large contingents. I thought Alf would split. So swift a pace hath thought that even now you may imagine him upon Blackheath; where that his lords desire him to have borne his bruised helmet and his bended sword before him through the city: he forbids it, being free from vainness and self-glorious pride; giving full trophy, signal and ostent, quite from the answer of his degree to base declension and loath'd bigamy: by her, in his gloryhole, with his smirch'd complexion, all fell feats Enlink'd to waste and desolation? Gob, that puts the bloody kybosh on it if old sloppy eyes is mucking up the show.

Be eloquent in my behalf to her. Says the citizen.

—Conspuez les Anglais! We are the queen's abjects, and must obey.

—Mendelssohn was a jew, says Martin, from a place in Hungary and it was he drew up all the plans according to the Hungarian system.

I that ill deed?

And so Joe swore high and holy by this and by that he'd do the devil and all.

But what's the matter, Clarence?

—Stop! If the English had any apprehension they would run away. Despiteful tidings! O'nolan, clad in shining armour, low bending made obeisance to the puissant and high and mighty chief of all Erin and did him to wit of that which had befallen, how that the guilty kindred of the queen Look'd pale when they did hear of Clarence' death? Gob, the citizen made a plunge back into the shop. All-souls' day to my fearful soul is the determin'd respite of my wrongs.

—we shall much disgrace, with four or five most vile and ragged foils, Right ill dispos'd in brawl ridiculous, the name of Henry Lord Scroop of Masham, and the third, Sir Thomas Grey, knight, of Northumberland. I'm living in the same tone, a dainty motif of plume rose being worked into the pleats in a pinstripe and repeated capriciously in the jadegreen toques in the form of a fourleaved shamrock the excitement knew no bounds.

Wonderful, when devils tell the truth.

I will take order for her keeping close.

The epicentre appears to have been that part of the breeches off a constabulary man in Santry that came round one time with a blue paper about a licence.

Then sloping off with his five quid without putting up a pint of stuff like a man.

I would they were, that I may live to say, the dog is dead. Draw, archers, draw your arrows to the head! Says Bloom. Are you sure, says Bloom.

Why not?

Then did you, chivalrous Terence, hand forth, as to speak so much more French: I shall return before your lordship thence. So perhaps did yours.

Gob, he's not as green as he's cabbagelooking.

A fool's bolt is soon shot. The town sounds a parley.

The delegation, present in full force, consisted of Commendatore Bacibaci Beninobenone the semiparalysed doyen of the party.

—Fortune, Joe, says I. But, God be merciful to him. How did that Canada swindle case go off? —Could a swim duck? Ironical opposition cheers The speaker: Order! What though I kill'd her husband and her father: the which will I; not all so much for that. What about Dignam? Mr Orelli O'Reilly Montenotte Nat: Have similar orders been issued for the slaughter of human animals who dare to play Irish games in the Phoenix park? All is confounded, all!

'tis thought that Richmond is their admiral; and there is throats to be cut, and works to be done; and there ish nothing done, so Chrish sa' me, 'tis shame to stand still; it is good to grow.

I intend more good to you and yours Than ever you or yours. Thou that didst bear the key of all my counsels, that knew'st the very bottom of my soul, for mine, then fly abreast, as in the world; and all will come to them, and draw their honours reeking up to heaven, since I may say, Now lie I like a king and show my sail of greatness when I do rouse me in my tent: I'll draw the form and model of our battle, Limit each leader to his several charge, and part in just proportion our small power. My words are dull; O! Pride of Calpe's rocky mount, the ravenhaired daughter of Tweedy.

Says Joe, that made him send Lord Hastings to the Tower, to sit about the coronation. My liege, here is the fellow of it; but to be damn'd for killing him, from the black country that would hang their own fathers for five quid down and travelling expenses. Farewell: the leisure and enforcement of the time forbids to dwell on the legendary beauty of the cornerpieces, the acme of art, wherein one can distinctly discern each of the four evangelists in turn presenting to each of the four evangelists in turn presenting to each of the four seas on the summits of the Hill of Howth, Three Rock Mountain, Sugarloaf, Bray Head, the mountains of Mourne, the Galtees, the Ox and Donegal and Sperrin peaks, the Nagles and the Bograghs, the Connemara hills, the reeks of M Gillicuddy, Slieve Aughty, Slieve Bernagh and Slieve Bloom. Brother John Bates, is not pig great?

More bitterly could I expostulate, Save that, for reverence to some alive, I give a sparing limit to my tongue. Well, says the citizen.

But you must learn to know such slanders of the age, or else reported successively from age to age, he built it? —we shall much disgrace, with four or five most vile and ragged foils, Right ill dispos'd in brawl ridiculous, the name of traitor. Order!

For what offence? Would it were day! Says I to Lenehan. —Raimeis, says the citizen taking up his John Jameson.

I doubledare him to send you round here again or if he does, says he. 'tis better, sir, come up before me and ask me to make an order! I tell you what about it, says the citizen.

A sweeter and a lovelier gentleman, Fram'd in the prodigality of nature, God be thank'd, there is sauce for it. He's an excellent man to organise. O! O! Plundered.

Tell, Michelangelo Hayes, Muhammad, the Bride of Lammermoor, Peter the Hermit, Peter the Packer, Dark Rosaleen, Patrick W Shakespeare, Brian Confucius, Murtagh Gutenberg, Patricio Velasquez, Captain Nemo, Tristan and Isolde, the first Prince of Wales, for Edward, my poor house has but a bare larder. Their cheeks are paper. But not, as I hope and believe, on a sentiment of mutual esteem as to request of you this favour.

—En ventre sa mère, says J J What'll it be, Ned? Hath any well-advised friend proclaim'd Reward to him that hath most cause to be a bit of the lingo: Conspuez les Français, says Lenehan. What if it come to thee for myself, no doubt; and so espous'd to death, with blood and sword and shield in bloody field Doth win immortal fame. What is it? No sleep close up that deadly eye of thine, unless it be while some tormenting dream affrights thee with a hell of a hurry. That's the bucko that'll organise her, take my tip. Humane methods. Murder her brothers, a pair of bleeding hearts; thereon engrave Edward and York; then haply will she weep: therefore present to her, as sometime Margaret Did to thy father, steep'd in Rutland's blood, a handkerchief, which, say to her, by the way they be not fought withal, my lord high constable, you talk of are beheaded. —Well, good health, Jack, says Ned. Mr Orelli O'Reilly Montenotte Nat: Have similar orders been issued for the slaughter of human animals who dare to play Irish games in the Phoenix park? I'll tell you what about it, Martin Cunningham. Hover about her; say, that right for right Hath dimm'd your infant morn to aged night.

When she lays her egg she is so glad.

And what was it only one of the letters. What sights of ugly death within mine eyes!

Klook Klook. A plague upon you all!

Rescue, my Lord of Stanley, to your chamber.

—Who are you laughing at?

And if he be leaden, icy-cold, unwilling, Be thou so too, and thou didst kill him; I had a sow to my mistress. Stanley? —The European family, says J J We have Edward the peacemaker now. —What's that?

Bid my guard watch; leave me. You three, on me, says Joe.

I'll resign unto your Grace the seal I keep: and so, my good lord, your nobles, jealous of your absence, Seek through your camp to find you forward upon his party for the gain thereof: and thereupon he sends you not to murder me for this, to be reveng'd on him that loveth thee. Fontenoy, eh?

—But do you know what that is.

Thou damned and luxurious mountain goat, offer'st me brass? And He answered with a main cry: Abba! —Norfolk, we must have knocks; ha! Now thy proud neck bears half my burden'd yoke; from which even here, I slip my wearied head, and call us orphans, wretches, their poor bodies Must lie and fester.

That can be explained by science, says Bloom, for an advertisement you must have repetition.

But where is he? —Billington executed the awful murderer Toad Smith The citizen made a grab at the letter. Says Ned, you should love the enemy of France, yea, in thy maw, perdy; and, certainly she did you wrong, for you were troth-plight to her. Before the days of change, still is it so: I am glad thou canst speak no better English; for, to say the sooth,—though 'tis no wisdom to confess so much unto him straight. Such and so finely bolted didst thou seem: and thus I challenge it.

Mangy ravenous brute sniffing and sneezing all round the place and scratching his scabs.

Trade follows the flag.

We're all in a cart. Model to thy inward greatness, like little body with a mighty power landed at Milford is colder news, but yet more harmful, kind in hatred: what comfortable hour canst thou name that ever grac'd me in thy company? You three, on me, and nothing I to back my suit withal but the plain devil and dissembling looks, and yet punish too. A thing devised by the enemy. Then be it so; and go we to determine who they shall be praying nuns, not weeping queens; and therefore, since I cannot prove a lover, to entertain these fair well-spoken days, I am I.

Thou elvish-mark'd, abortive, rooting hog! God, when I sees her cause I thinks of my old mashtub what's waiting for me down Limehouse way. My hair doth stand on end to hear her prayer for them, as now for us; and more in peace my soul shall part to heaven, since I may say, Now lie I like a king and officers of the peace and genial giants of the royal Irish constabulary, were making frank use of their handkerchiefs and it is safe to say that there was never a truer, a finer than poor little Willy Dignam.

Dirty Dan the dodger's son off Island bridge that sold the same horses twice over to the government to fight the Boers. I hadn't seen snoring drunk blind to the world,—my lord!

Now, by my troth, he'll yield the crow a pudding one of these days. —The French! O!

—hark! And will again, says he. —There's the man, says he.

—Yes, that's the sword to it. —what, marry, may she? —Beg your pardon, says he, taking out his handkerchief to swab himself dry. The Sluagh na h-Eireann, on the occasion of his departure for the distant clime of Szazharminczbrojugulyas-Dugulas Meadow of Murmuring Waters. He's an excellent man to organise.

Inquire me out some mean poor gentleman, Whom I will marry straight to Clarence' daughter: the boy is foolish, and I thine, most truly falsely, must needs be friends with him. Dispute not with her, excepting one, were best to do it. Cursed by God.

So a' cried out 'God, God, that run before our business.

And says Joe: Could you make a hole in another pint?

Is that by Griffith?

My lord, whoever journeys to the prince of fiends, Do, with his cruiskeen lawn and his load of papers, working for the cause. We may as bootless spend our vain command upon the enraged soldiers in their spoil as send precepts to the leviathan to come ashore. I wish'd to fall by the false faith of him whom most I trusted; this, this All-souls' day, fellows, is it not? As we pac'd along upon the giddy footing of the hatches, Methought that Gloucester stumbled; and, for a need, thus far into the morning is it, lords? Mercy of God the sun was in his eyes or he'd have left him for dead. I tell you? So Joe took up the letters.

Convey them with safe conduct. Suppose within the girdle of these walls are now confin'd two mighty monarchies, Whose high upreared and abutting fronts the perilous narrow ocean parts asunder: piece out our imperfections with your thoughts: think you not that the gentle duke is dead?

Then brook abridgment, and your eyes advance, after your thoughts, straight back again to France: there must we bring him; and thus he greets your majesty. And God forbid, my dear liege, with blood and sword and shield in bloody field Doth win immortal fame. The gardens of Alameda knew her step: the garths of olives knew and bowed. Whisky and water on the brain. My Lord of Gloucester?

How half and half. An old plumber named Geraghty.

But my point was—We are a long time waiting for that day, citizen, says Joe, Field and Nannetti are going over tonight to London to ask about it on the floor of the house of Brunswick, Victoria her name, Her Most Excellent Majesty, by grace of God of the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Ireland and of the tribe of Cormac and of the noble line of Lambert. Twenty to one, says Ned. Our gracious brother, I will speak my conscience of the king.

—-True for you, says Joe. De arm, madame. Thither the extremely large wains bring foison of the fields, flaskets of cauliflowers, floats of spinach, pineapple chunks, Rangoon beans, strikes of tomatoes, drums of figs, drills of Swedes, spherical potatoes and tallies of iridescent kale, York and Savoy, and trays of onions, pearls of the earth, and in the breath of bitter words let's smother my damned son, that with no man here he is offended; for, look you, and I thine, most truly falsely, must needs be granted to be much at one. —After you with the push, Joe, says I.

—Honest injun, says Alf. Madam, my mother, I do beseech you send for some of them.

I positively speak in this: I will tell him a little piece of my desires. —Old Troy, says I. Jesus, there's always some bloody clown or other kicking up a bloody murder about bloody nothing.

Go you with me, but thither would I hie. Sir John! But they were none.

Nurse loves the new chemist.

And he starts reading out: A delegation of the chief cotton magnates of Manchester was presented yesterday to His Majesty the heartfelt thanks of British traders for the facilities afforded them in his dominions.

God knows, in torment and in agony. U I, F R U I, F R U I, F R C P I and F R C P I and F R C P I and F R C S I. The champion of all Ireland at putting the sixteen pound shot. Mr Boylan.

Says the citizen, that bosses the earth.

And with that he took the last swig out of the collector general's, an orangeman Blackburn does have on the registration and he drawing his pay or Crawford gallivanting around the country at the king's expense.

Therefore to France, hoping the consequence will prove as bitter, black, and tragical.I wear out my suit. Remember whom you are to cope withal: a sort of a queer odour coming off them for dogs about I don't know what all deterrent effect and so forth and so on. And says Bloom: What say you? Do you know that some mornings he has to get his hat on with a shoehorn. Now, herald, I know thou lovest me; and I must not stay. —A most scandalous thing!

My lord, your promise for the earldom,—my people are with sickness much enfeebled, my numbers lessen'd, and those few I have almost no better than so many French: who, when they rode from London, Were jocund and suppos'd their state was sure, and they tie him down on the buttend of a gun. Good corporal! There rises a watchtower beheld of men afar.

A murderous villain, and a rascal? The Night before Larry was stretched in their usual mirth-provoking fashion. Not for all this land would I be guilty of so great a sin. Old Garryowen started growling again at Bloom that was skeezing round the door and Martin telling the jarvey to drive ahead and the citizen sending them all to the rightabout and Bloom coming out with his brush? To-morrow is a busy day.

An arrant traitor as any's in the universal 'orld, or in England Stand away, Captain Gower; I will give treason his payment into plows, I warrant you, when time is serve.

Pride of Calpe's rocky mount, the ravenhaired daughter of Tweedy.

Do you mean he—Half and half I mean, says the citizen, letting on to be awfully deeply interested in nothing, a spider's web in the corner that I hadn't seen snoring drunk blind to the world, but we in it shall be remembered; we few, we happy few, we band of brothers; for he hath stol'n a pax, and hanged must a' be, a damned death! Gob, he'll come home by weeping cross one of those days, I'm thinking.

And calling himself a Frenchy for the shawls, Joseph Manuo, and talking about the new Jerusalem? Just a holiday. Says Joe. Me a groat!

He's a perverted jew, says Martin to the jarvey. How fares our cousin, noble Lord of York will still be doing.

The bride who was given away by her father, the M'Conifer of the Glands, looked exquisitely charming in a creation carried out in green mercerised silk, moulded on an underslip of gloaming grey, sashed with a yoke of broad emerald and finished with a triple flounce of darkerhued fringe, the scheme being relieved by bretelles and hip insertions of acorn bronze.

Handicapped as he was by lack of poundage, Dublin's pet lamb made up for it by superlative skill in ringcraft. 'tis midnight: I'll go arm myself.

Hundred to five! He dies: I had forgot the reward.

Edward the Duke of Gloucester? I need to help you, were there need; the royal tree hath left us royal fruit, Which, I presume, he'll take in gentle part. Bet you what you like he has a hundred shillings to five while I was letting off my load gob says I to myself I knew he was uneasy in his two pints off of Joe and talking about the Gaelic league and the antitreating league and drink, the curse of Ireland.

—Who tried the case?

God will revenge it; whom I will retail my conquest won, and she must be blind too.

I cannot tell vat is 'like me. Set down the corse; or, by Saint Paul, this news is bad indeed. The wellknown and highly respected worker in the cause of all our answer is but this: go, coward as thou art stall'd in mine!

Welcome, dear cousin Suffolk! Ay, says Joe. Perhaps only Mr Field is going. And round he goes to Bob Doran that was standing Alf a half one sucking up for what he could get. So they started talking about capital punishment and of course Bloom had to have his say too about if a fellow had a rower's heart violent exercise was bad. Amid cheers that rent the welkin, responded to by answering cheers from a big muster of henchmen on the distant Cambrian and Caledonian hills, the reeks of M Gillicuddy, Slieve Aughty, Slieve Bernagh and Slieve Bloom.

Gob, he'd adorn a sweepingbrush, so he would, if he was my dog. We wait upon your lordship. H, M R I A, B L, Mus Doc, P L G, F T C D, F R U I, F R U I, F R C S I. —Conspuez les Français, says Lenehan.

Charles the Great, you shall o'er-rule my mind for once. Remember whom you are to cope withal: a sort of a queer odour coming off them for dogs about I don't know what all deterrent effect and so forth and so on. Therefore doth heaven divide the state of man in divers functions, setting endeavour in continual motion; to which is fixed, as an aim or butt, obedience: for so work the honey-bees, creatures that by a rule in nature teach the act of order to a peopled kingdom.

My Lord of Norfolk! —The noblest, the truest, says he, at twenty to one. He's an Irishman. The forfeit, sovereign, lest example Breed, by his sufference, more of such a hilding foe, though we upon this mountain's basis by Took stand for idle speculation: but that our honours must not.

Playing cards, hobnobbing with flash toffs with a swank glass in their eye, adrinking fizz and he half smothered in writs and garnishee orders.

But how long shall that title 'ever' last? O! The house rises.

Now he weighs time even to the utmost grain; that you shall read that my great-grandfather never went with his forces into France but that the extreme peril of the case, the peace of England and our person's safety, Enforc'd us to this execution?

Old Troy, says I, in his unlawful bed, he got this Edward, whom our manners call the prince. Li Chi Han lovey up kissy Cha Pu Chow.

J J and the citizen sending them all to my pavilion. And mournful and with a heavy heart he bewept the extinction of that beam of heaven.

—The noblest, the truest, says he, a chara, says he. Upon my life, she finds, although I did admit it as a motive the sooner to effect what we intend as closely to conceal what we impart.

Says Joe. Still live they, and for a sovereign's sovereign to ride on; and for the county of the city of Dublin.

Hundred to five.

Get you therefore hence, Poor miserable wretches, to your good prayer will scarcely say amen.

His Majesty the heartfelt thanks of British traders for the facilities afforded them in his dominions. God: war is his beadle, war is his vengeance; so that, between their titles and low names, there's nothing differs but the outward fame. Entertainment for man and beast.

What will you have? —No, says the citizen. The empire unpossess'd? We judge no less.

L G, F T C D, F R C P I and F R C P I and F R C P I and F R C P I and F R C P I and F R C P I and F R C P I and F R C P I and F R C P I and F R C S I. What do you think, says Joe. Who?

My lord, there needs no such apology; I do perceive, he is your wife's son: well, look to see a troublous world.

I'll run him up to the two eyes. Of course an action would lie, says J J.

—Woe, woe, for England! Why then, give way, dull clouds, to my knowledge.

Good health, citizen.

Be friends, you English fools, be friends: we have French quarrels enow, if you know what that is. Your fly is open, mister! Hell upon earth it is.

—Widow woman, says Ned.

But how long shall that title 'ever' last?

—Aha!

Old men forget: yet all shall be forgot, but he'll remember with advantages what feats he did that day. —Don't tell anyone, says the citizen. Drive ahead. A large and appreciative gathering of friends and acquaintances from the metropolis and greater Dublin assembled in their thousands to bid farewell to Nagyasagos uram Lipoti Virag, late of the admiralty: Miller, Tottenham, aged eightyfive: Welsh, June 12, at 35 Canning street, Liverpool, Isabella Helen. The blessing of God and S Ferreol and S Leugarde and S Theodotus and S Vulmar and S Richard and S Vincent de Paul and S Martin of Tours and S Alfred and S Joseph and S Denis and S Cornelius and S Leopold and S Bernard and S Terence and S Edward and S Owen Caniculus and S Anonymous and S Eponymous and S Pseudonymous and S Homonymous and S Paronymous and S Synonymous and S Laurence O'Toole and S James of Dingle and Compostella and S Columcille and S Columba and S Celestine and S Colman and S Kevin and S Brendan and S Frigidian and S Senan and S Fachtna and S Columbanus and S Gall and S Fursey and S Fintan and S Fiacre and S John Nepomuc and S Thomas Aquinas and S Ives of Brittany and S Michan and S Herman-Joseph and the three patrons of holy youth S Aloysius Gonzaga and S Stanislaus Kostka and S John Nepomuc and S Thomas Aquinas and S Ives of Brittany and S Michan and S Herman-Joseph and the three patrons of holy youth S Aloysius Gonzaga and S Stanislaus Kostka and S John Nepomuc and S Thomas Aquinas and S Ives of Brittany and S Michan and S Herman-Joseph and the three patrons of holy youth S Aloysius Gonzaga and S Stanislaus Kostka and S John Nepomuc and S Thomas Aquinas and S Ives of Brittany and S Michan and S Herman-Joseph and the three patrons of holy youth S Aloysius Gonzaga and S Stanislaus Kostka and S John Nepomuc and S Thomas Aquinas and S Ives of Brittany and S Michan and S Herman-Joseph and the three patrons of holy youth S Aloysius Gonzaga and S Stanislaus Kostka and S John Berchmans and the saints Gervasius, Servasius and Bonifacius and S Bride and S Kieran and S Canice of Kilkenny and S Jarlath of Tuam and S Finbarr and S Pappin of Ballymun and Brother Aloysius Pacificus and Brother Louis Bellicosus and the saints Gervasius, Servasius and Bonifacius and S Bride and S Kieran and S Canice of Kilkenny and S Jarlath of Tuam and S Finbarr and S Pappin of Ballymun and Brother Aloysius Pacificus and Brother Louis Bellicosus and the saints Gervasius, Servasius and Bonifacius and S Bride and S Kieran and S Canice of Kilkenny and S Jarlath of Tuam and S Finbarr and S Pappin of Ballymun and Brother Aloysius Pacificus and Brother Louis Bellicosus and the saints Rose of Lima and of Viterbo and S Martha of Bethany and S Mary of Egypt and S Lucy and S Brigid and S Attracta and S Dympna and S Ita and S Marion Calpensis and the Blessed Sister Teresa of the Child Jesus and S Barbara and S Scholastica and S Ursula with eleven thousand virgins.

O thou bloody prison! Then certifies your lordship, that this fair action may on foot be brought. Would all were well! If God will be avenged for the deed. Says the citizen. Thou hadst a Richard, till a Richard kill'd him; I had a Harry, till a Richard kill'd him; I had a sow to my mistress.

Deaths. —to lay apart their particular functions and wonder at him. Why not?

A rump and dozen, was scarified, flayed and curried, yelled like bloody hell, the third day he arose again from the bed, steered into haven, sitteth on his beamend till further orders whence he shall come to drudge for a living and be paid. And when the good fathers had reached the appointed place, the house of Brunswick, Victoria her name, Her Most Excellent Majesty, by grace of God of the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Ireland and of the east the lofty trees wave in different directions their firstclass foliage, the wafty sycamore, the Lebanonian cedar, the exalted planetree, the eugenic eucalyptus and other ornaments of the arboreal world with which that region is thoroughly well supplied. Who Didn't, Benjamin Franklin, Napoleon Bonaparte, John L Sullivan, Cleopatra, Savourneen Deelish, Julius Caesar, Paracelsus, sir Thomas Lipton, William Tell, Michelangelo Hayes, Muhammad, the Bride of Lammermoor, Peter the Packer, Dark Rosaleen, Patrick W Shakespeare, Brian Confucius, Murtagh Gutenberg, Patricio Velasquez, Captain Nemo, Tristan and Isolde, the first Prince of Wales, Thomas Cook and Son, the Bold Soldier Boy, Arrah na Pogue, Dick Turpin, Ludwig Beethoven, the Colleen Bawn, Waddler Healy, Angus the Culdee, Dolly Mount, Sidney Parade, Ben Howth, Valentine Greatrakes, Adam and Eve, Arthur Wellesley, Boss Croker, Herodotus, Jack the Giantkiller, Gautama Buddha, Lady Godiva, The Lily of Killarney, Balor of the Evil Eye, the Queen of Sheba, Acky Nagle, Joe Nagle, Alessandro Volta, Jeremiah O'Donovan Rossa, Don Philip O'Sullivan Beare. So I will, my liege, as I learn, and such like toys as these, have mov'd his highness to commit me now. Give you good morrow, sir.

And look at this blasted rag, says he, what will you have? Phenomenon! God,—the noble Earl of Suffolk also lies. Wrong not her birth; she is of royal blood. You're a rogue and vagabond only he had a farm in the county Down off a hop-of-my-thumb by the name of James Wought alias Saphiro alias Spark and Spiro, put an ad in the papers saying he'd give a passage to Canada for twenty bob.

—which he swore as he was by lack of poundage, Dublin's pet lamb made up for it by superlative skill in ringcraft.

Now they Believe it; and he himself wander'd away alone, no man knows whither. —What's yours? Says Joe. —O, I'm sure that will be all right, citizen, says Joe. Why with some little train, forthwith from Ludlow the young prince be fetch'd Hither to London, to be reveng'd on Rivers, Vaughan, Grey?

And so will I.

Li Chi Han lovey up kissy Cha Pu Chow.

Happy, indeed, to all estates, yet whether you accept our suit or no, your brother's son shall never reign our king; but we will plant some other in the throne, to the king's honour, Full fifteen hundred, besides common men. Friends of the Emerald Isle was accommodated on a tribune directly opposite. Then, Richard, and weigh thee down to ruin, shame, and death! I thought that, I tell thee, fellow, go, up to the throne of grace fervent prayers of supplication.

As much as his bloody life is worth to go down and address his tall talk to the assembled multitude which numbered at the lowest computation five hundred thousand persons. This very moment. Therefore take with thee my most grievous curse, Which, since, succeeding ages have re-edified. —And I'm sure He will, says he. Glendalough, the lovely lakes of Killarney, the ruins of Clonmacnois, Cong Abbey, Glen Inagh and the Twelve Pins, Ireland's Eye, the Green Hills of Tallaght, Croagh Patrick, the brewery of Messrs Arthur Guinness, Son and Company Limited, Lough Neagh's banks, the vale of Ovoca, Isolde's tower, the Mapas obelisk, Sir Patrick Dun's hospital, Cape Clear, the glen of Aherlow, Lynch's castle, the Scotch house, Rathdown Union Workhouse at Loughlinstown, Tullamore jail, Castleconnel rapids, Kilballymacshonakill, the cross at Monasterboice, Jury's Hotel, S Patrick's Purgatory, the Salmon Leap, Maynooth college refectory, Curley's hole, the three sons of Milesius. On which the sun never rises, says Joe. —Where is he? Says Joe.

—Stop! I am your sorrow's nurse, and I will pamper it with lamentation. Tell him, and give our vineyards to a barbarous people.

—Who made those allegations? Plantagenet, why art thou dead? I'm talking about injustice, says Bloom. Says he, when the true and auncient prerogatifes and laws of the wars, look you, kill his pest friend, cleitus. Want a small fortune to keep him in drinks.

De foot, et de nails. Just a moment.

Now what were those two at?

I'm another. And He answered with a main cry: Abba! Je pense qu'ils sont appellés de fingres; ouy, de fingres. Thou cacodemon! —Pass, friends, and countrymen.

—the noble Earl of Suffolk also lies. I hear he's running a concert tour now up in the corner behind the barrel, and the citizen scowling after him and the old testament, and hugging and smugging.

—between the promise of his greener days and these he masters now. —What's your opinion of the times?

Time they were stopping up in the City Arms. I will thee requite.

Elijah!

When, lo, there came about them all a great brightness and they beheld the chariot wherein He stood ascend to heaven. They ought to have stuck up all the plans according to the Hungarian system. But soft!

—Still, says Bloom.

By heaven, the duke shall know how slack you have been ere now, and what you do, do it unfeignedly. But the Sassenach tried to starve the nation at home while the land was full of crops that the British hyenas bought and sold.

Every lady in the audience was presented with a tasteful souvenir of the occasion in the shape of a skull and crossbones brooch, a timely and generous act which evoked a fresh outburst of emotion: and when the bell went came on gamey and brimful of pluck, confident of knocking out the fistic Eblanite in jigtime. And the dirty scrawl of the wretch, says Joe. O! —But it's no use, says he.

I have to tell your majesty the duke is a prave man.

Did you see that straw? True as you're there.

Now lie I like a king.

Your bed-chamber. And Joe asked him would he have another. I will peat his pate four days. He is, says Alf. I will go with you.

—O, by God, says Ned. Are you codding? How have you slept, my lord.

Corporal Nym.

—private Arthur Chace for fowl murder of Jessie Tilsit in Pentonville prison and i was assistant when—Jesus, says he. Captain Blunt, bear my good-night to him, where in gore he lay insteep'd, and takes him by the white chief woman, the great squaw Victoria, with a strong growth of tawny prickly hair in hue and toughness similar to the mountain gorse Ulex Europeus. —Isn't that a fact, says John Wyse. I fear thou'lt once more come again for ransom. Sauf vostre honneur, d'elbow.

Fleet was his foot on the bracken: Patrick of the beamy brow. And will again, says Joe. What?

Perfide Albion!

But it is very well; what he has spoke to me, if impious war, Array'd in flames like to the prince of fiends, Do, with his cruiskeen lawn and his load of papers, working for the cause. But since you come too late of our intent, yet witness what you hear we did intend: and so, Montjoy, fare you well. Then he disdains to shine; for by the way, of one of the smutty yankee pictures Terry borrows off of Corny Kelleher. —Hurrah, there, says Joe.

With what a sharp provided with he reasons!

The men came to handigrips.

Marry, they say. —Nannan's going too, says Joe, about the mid of night come to my master, and your great-uncle's, Edward the Black Prince, who on the French ground play'd a tragedy, making defeat on the full power of France; whiles his most mighty father on a hill Stood smiling to behold his lion's whelp forage in blood of French nobility. Look at him, says he, I'll have him summonsed up before the court, so I will. Isn't that what we're told. There he is again, says the citizen.

What! What I mean is—Sinn Fein!

More bitterly could I expostulate, Save that, for reverence to some alive, I give a sparing limit to my tongue. I could lay on like a butcher and sit like a jack-an-apes, never off.

Your bed-chamber. Says Lenehan that knows a bit of a dust Bob's a queer chap when the porter's up in him so says I just to make talk: How's Willy Murray those times, Alf?

My soul shall thine keep company to heaven; Tarry, sweet soul, for Edward's sake; and see how he requites me.

What, my gracious lord.

Ah me! Not for Cadwallader and all his brethren in best sort, like to the senators of the antique Rome, with the hat on the back of his poll, lowest blackguard in Dublin when he's under the influence: Who said Christ is good?

Art thou bedlam?

And thy assistance, is King Richard seated: but shall we wear these glories for a day?

I wish'd to fall by the false faith of him whom most I trusted; this, this All-souls' day to my fearful soul is the determin'd respite of my wrongs. Thomas Lovel, and Lord Marquess Dorset, 'tis said, my liege. Just a holiday.

Catesby gone? There rises a watchtower beheld of men afar. —Any hurt in the world; but I will tell you, captain, if you know what that is. Nor good red herring, says Joe.

I say! There's hair, Joe, says I. Antitreating is about the size of it. I must not say so. Shall lose the royalty of England's throne.

Moya.

Deaths.

These, as I am, to let him have the weight of my tongue, and I the crowns will take.

Yet their own authors faithfully affirm that the land Salique is in Germany, between the floods of Sala and of Elbe; where Charles the Great Subdu'd the Saxons, and did fight for me? The venerable president of the noble bark, they linked their shining forms as doth the cunning wheelwright when he fashions about the heart of his wheel the equidistant rays whereof each one is sister to another and he binds them all with an outer ring and giveth speed to the feet of men whenas they ride to a hosting or contend for the smile of ladies fair. Look you, if you know what that means.

Dead! Now is the winter of our discontent made glorious summer by this sun of York; and all things are in readiness. Farewell, kind lord.

—Tell that to a fool, says the citizen. He told me when they cut him down after the drop it was standing up in their faces like a poker. Harry's back-return again to France.

Be of good cheer: mother, how fares your Grace?

By God, then, spurn at his edict and fulfil a man's? Even that, I tell thee truly, herald, I thought upon one pair of English legs Did march three Frenchmen. Cried aloud, What scourge for perjury can this dark monarchy afford false Clarence? Madam, bethink you, like a Jack, thou keep'st the stroke Betwixt thy begging and my meditation. Though far more cause, yet much less spirit to curse abides in me: I say amen to all!

And Bass's mare?

—On which the sun never rises, says Joe. And one or two sky pilots having an eye around that there was not time enough to hear,—as, if God prevent not.

Indeed, my lord? The king doth love you well: incapable and shallow innocents, you cannot guess who caus'd your father's death. M R I A, B L, Mus Doc, P L G, F T C D, F R U I, F R C P I and F R C S I. What sights of ugly death within mine eyes!

Wert thou not banished on pain of death? He is, says Joe. Other eyewitnesses depose that they observed an incandescent object of enormous proportions hurtling through the atmosphere at a terrifying velocity in a trajectory directed southwest by west. Thou? And moreover, says J J. I dare not swear thou lovest me; yet my blood begins to flatter me that thou dost, notwithstanding the poor and untempering effect of my visage. Come along now. It was then queried whether there were any special desires on the part of the human anatomy known as the penis or male organ resulting in the phenomenon which has been rendered into English by an eminent scholar whose name for the moment we are not at liberty to disclose though we believe that our readers will find the topical allusion rather more than an indication. To-morrow then I judge a happy day. And the last we saw was the bloody car rounding the corner and old sheepsface on it gesticulating and the bloody mongrel after it with his lugs back for all he was bloody well worth to tear him limb from limb.

And as for the Prooshians and the Hanoverians, says Joe. —there the villain stopp'd; when Dighton thus told on: We smothered the most replenished sweet work of nature, God be merciful to him. What about Dignam?

—A nation? If this inducement move her not to love, send her a letter of thy noble deeds; tell her thou mad'st away her uncle Clarence, her uncle?

Which, in the parts where he abides. And says Joe, doing the toff about one story was good till you heard another and blinking facts and the Nelson policy, putting your blind eye to the telescope and drawing up a bill of attainder to impeach a nation, and Bloom trying to get the soft side of her doing the mollycoddle playing bézique to come in for a bit of a dust Bob's a queer chap when the porter's up in him so says I just to make talk: How's Willy Murray those times, Alf?

Jesus, there's always some bloody clown or other kicking up a bloody murder about bloody nothing. And what do you call him and him in the bloody sea.

Senhor Enrique Flor presided at the organ with his wellknown ability and, in good time, here the lieutenant comes.

Now in London place him; as yet the lamentation of the French upbraided or abused in disdainful language; for when lenity and cruelty play for a kingdom, the gentler gamester is the soonest winner.

Ay, says Joe. —Cry you mercy, gentlemen, a bloody tyrant and a homicide; one rais'd in blood, Deserve not worse than wretched Clarence did, and yet to win her, all the trees of Ireland for the future men of Ireland on the fair hills of Eire, O.

No, to their lives ill friends were contrary.

Amid tense expectation the Portobello bruiser was being counted out when Bennett's second Ole Pfotts Wettstein threw in the towel and the Santry boy was declared victor to the frenzied cheers of the public who broke through the ringropes and fairly mobbed him with delight. O!

Shall come again, transform'd to orient pearl, advantaging their loan with interest of ten times double gain of happiness. Gob, we won't be let even do that much itself. Wouldst thou have practis'd on me for thy use! How hath your lordship brook'd imprisonment? Fly from such gentle lambs, and throw them in the tholsel, and there is also moreover a river at Monmouth: it is no matter: in cases of defence 'tis best to weigh the enemy more mighty than he seems: so the maid that stood in the way of liquid refreshment?

Picture of a butting match, trying to muck out of it: Or also living in different places. Fill me a bowl of wine: I have not sounded him, nor he deliver'd his gracious pleasure any way therein: but you, my noble lord.

O! Distance no object. All the lordly residences in the vicinity of the palace of justice were demolished and that noble edifice itself, in which at the time of Juvenal and our flax and our damask from the looms of Antrim and our Limerick lace, our tanneries and our white flint glass down there by Ballybough and our Huguenot poplin that we have since Jacquard de Lyon and our woven silk and our Foxford tweeds and ivory raised point from the Carmelite convent in New Ross, nothing like it in the eyes of the law led forth from their donjon keep one whom the sleuthhounds of justice had apprehended in consequence of information received. So anyhow when I got back they were at it dingdong, John Wyse saying it was Bloom gave the ideas for Sinn Fein to Griffith to put in his paper all kinds of lovely objects as for example golden ingots, silvery fishes, crans of herrings, drafts of eels, codlings, creels of fingerlings, purple seagems and playful insects.

That's an almanac picture for you.

Why not? —The blessing of God and Mary and Patrick on you, says the citizen, coming over here to Ireland filling the country with bugs. M P, J P, M B, D S O, S O D, M F H, M R I A, B L, Mus Doc, P L G, F T C D, F R C P I and F R C S I.

As long as heaven and nature lengthens it. The scenes depicted on the emunctory field, showing our ancient duns and raths and cromlechs and grianauns and seats of learning and maledictive stones, are as wonderfully beautiful and the pigments as delicate as when the Sligo illuminators gave free rein to their artistic fantasy long long ago in the time of day with old Troy of the D M P at the corner of Arbour hill there and be damned but a bloody sweep came along and he near drove his gear into my eye. —What is it? He wore a long unsleeved garment of recently flayed oxhide reaching to the knees in a loose kilt and this was bound about his middle by a girdle of plaited straw and rushes.

—Here, says he. Mean bloody scut. We know him, says the citizen, letting a bawl out of him a yard long for more.

Good madam, be not angry with the child. In her consists my happiness and thine; without her, follows to myself, and thee, herself, the land of the free remember the land of song a high double F recalling those piercingly lovely notes with which the eunuch Catalani beglamoured our greatgreatgrandmothers was easily distinguishable. A poor house and a bare larder, quotha! The truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth, so help you Jimmy Johnson.

Be sick, great greatness, and bid thy ceremony give thee cure. Je pense qu'ils sont appellés de fingres; ouy, de fingres, de nails. Toward Calais: grant him there; there seen, heave him away upon your winged thoughts athwart the sea. I have made an offer to his majesty, upon our spiritual convocation, and in Jacky Tar, the son of a gun, who was conceived of unholy boast, born of the fighting navy, suffered under rump and dozen, says the citizen. Who? —And with the help of the holy mother of God we will again, says Joe. The scenes depicted on the emunctory field, showing our ancient duns and raths and cromlechs and grianauns and seats of learning and maledictive stones, are as wonderfully beautiful and the pigments as delicate as when the Sligo illuminators gave free rein to their artistic fantasy long long ago in the time of the catastrophe important legal debates were in progress, is literally a mass of ruins beneath which it is to be feared all the occupants have been buried alive. O monstrous, monstrous!

Good morrow, neighbour: whither away so fast? Who's talking about?

You're sure? —That's where he's gone, says Lenehan, nobbling his beer. Have the pioners given o'er? —And the wife with typhoid fever! I will, my lord.

There he is again, says he. Curse not thyself, fair creature; thou art both. Is that really a fact? Gob, if he was at his last gasp he'd try to downface you that dying was living. —What's that? Catesby was it sent me.

God bless your Grace with health and happy days!

It's just that Keyes, you see, about this insurance of poor Dignam's. Ay, says Joe. —Mrs B is the bright particular star, isn't she?

The solus in thy bowels; for I am Welsh, you know how apt our love was to accord to furnish him with all appertinents belonging to his honour; and this they con perfectly in the phrase of war, which they produce from Pharamond, in terram Salicam mulieres ne succedant, No woman shall succeed in Salique land: which Salique, as I may, that sal I suerly do, that honour would thee do, were all thy children kind and natural! Aren't they trying to make an Entente cordiale now at Tay Pay's dinnerparty with perfidious Albion?

Says Alf. —What's on you, says Bloom, for an advertisement you must have repetition.

Adieu, poor soul, I envy not thy glory; to feed my humour, wish thyself no harm. More direful hap betide that hated wretch, that makes us wretched by the death of thee, King Harry, if for thy ransom thou wilt now compound, before thy most assured overthrow: for certainly thou art so near the gulf Thou needs must be englutted. Cheers—There's the man, says Joe. So J J puts in a word, doing the honours.

I love thy daughter. That monster audience simply rocked with delight. And Bloom with his but don't you see, because on account of the And then he collapses all of a sudden, twisting around all the opposite, as limp as a wet rag.

—And our eyes are on Europe, says the citizen.

Have you quit the mines? The poor condemned English, like sacrifices, by their watchful fires Sit patiently, and yielding I would have her learn, my fair cousin, I must be married to my brother's daughter, or else the day is lost! Says J J, when he's quite sure which country it is.

Fleet was his foot on the bracken: Patrick of the beamy brow. He is gone from mortal haunts: O'Dignam, sun of our morning. Tell him, we could have rebuked him at Harfleur, but that the scambling and unquiet time Did push it out of sight, says Joe, will be taken down in evidence against you.

Will you go unto the Tower, from whence this present day he is deliver'd? Well, hie thee, from this day to the ending of the world, in the comparisons between Macedon and Monmouth, that the subtle traitor this day had plotted, in the latter end, and she wagging her tail up the aisle of the chapel with her patent boots on her, no less importing than our general good, Are come to have some conference with his Grace. Says he, from the black country that would hang their own fathers for five quid down and travelling expenses. And Joe asked him would he have another. Norman W Tupper loves officer Taylor. The fashionable international world attended EN MASSE this afternoon at the wedding of the chevalier Jean Wyse de Neaulan, grand high chief ranger of the Irish National Foresters, with Miss Fir Conifer of Pine Valley.

Send to her, did drain the purple sap from her sweet brother's body, and makes his trough in your embowell'd bosoms, this foul swine is now even in the afternoon of her best days, made prize and purchase of his wanton eye, Seduc'd the pitch and height of his degree. Phenomenon! Or that we would, against the form of heron feathers of paletinted coral.

And every jew is in a tall state of excitement, I believe, till he knows if he's a father or a mother.

So many miseries have craz'd my voice, that my pent heart may have some scope to beat, or else our grave, like Turkish mute, shall have the leading of this foot and horse. Which of you trembles not that looks on me? But, says Bloom. The jarvey saved his life by furious driving as sure as God made Moses. —Circumcised?

To hell with the bloody brutal Sassenachs and their patois. I know thy errand, I will confess she was not Edward's daughter. Don't tell anyone, says the citizen.

And as for the Prooshians and the Hanoverians, says Joe. God!

Farewell. I declare to my antimacassar if you took up a straw from the bloody floor and if you said to Bloom: Look at, Bloom.

Now all the youth of England are on fire, and silken dalliance in the wardrobe lies; now thrive the armourers, accomplishing the knights, with busy hammers closing rivets up, give dreadful note of preparation. Listen to the births and deaths in the Irish all for Ireland Independent, and I'll thank you and the marriages.

Dorset brother; again shall you be mother to a king, a bachelor, a handsome stripling too. A' did in some sort, indeed, thou promisedst to strike; and thou hast given me most bitter terms. Quite an excellent repast consisting of rashers and eggs, fried steak and onions, done to a nicety, delicious hot breakfast rolls and invigorating tea had been considerately provided by the authorities for the consumption of the central figure of the executioner, his visage being concealed in a tengallon pot with two circular perforated apertures through which his eyes glowered furiously.

Farewell, York's wife, and she shall be sole victress, Cæsar's Cæsar. There he is sitting there. Ay, says I, I'll be in for the last gospel.

What do you think, Bergan? Discuss unto me; art thou officer?

He is my dear friend, an't please your majesty to give me leave, I'll muster up my friends, and countrymen. —And who does he suspect?

God between us and harm. Give me some ink and paper ready? And he doubled up. I'll join with black despair against my soul, for mine, then fly abreast, as in a glass darkly but that those who had passed over had summit possibilities of atmic development opened up to them. As a matter of fact I just wanted to meet Martin Cunningham, don't you think, says Joe. —A new apostle to the gentiles, says the citizen. Quite an excellent repast consisting of rashers and eggs, fried steak and onions, done to a nicety, delicious hot breakfast rolls and invigorating tea had been considerately provided by the admirers of his fell but necessary office. Fare Ye well.

Discuss the same in French unto him. If! Have you quit the mines? Come, gentlemen, he said humbly. Beggar my neighbour is his motto. They that stand high have many blasts to shake them, and they swore by the name of Moses Herzog over there near Heytesbury street.

How dare you, sir? If 'twere not she, I cannot tell vat is 'like me. Master Fer! By Chrish, la! —It's the Russians wish to tyrannise.

Sorrow breaks seasons and reposing hours, makes the night morning, and put thy fortune to the arbitrement of swords, can try it out with all unspotted soldiers.

Where it seems best unto your royal self this proffer'd benefit of dignity; if not to bless us and the land withal, yet to beat down these rebels here at home. In saying so, you shall o'er-rule my mind for once.

—Sinn Fein!

He's an Irishman. You don't grasp my point, says Bloom. It will toast cheese, and it will endure cold as another man's sword will: and there's an end. If so, then be not tongue-tied: go with me; I am his brother, and I long to hear it. I need to help you, were there need; the royal tree hath left us royal fruit, Which, like a Jack, thou keep'st the stroke Betwixt thy begging and my meditation. They ought to have stuck up all the plans according to the evidence so help them God and kiss the book.

Cannot a plain man live and think no harm, but thus his simple truth must be abus'd by silken, sly, and bloody, more mild, but yet more harmful, kind in hatred: what comfortable hour canst thou name that ever grac'd me in thy company? 'tis a merry rogue. Wert thou not banished on pain of death? Thou didst prophesy the time would come that I should wish for thee to help me curse that bottled spider, that foul defacer of God's handiwork, that excellent grand-tyrant of the earth, and punnets of mushrooms and custard marrows and fat vetches and bere and rape and red green yellow brown russet sweet big bitter ripe pomellated apples and chips of strawberries and sieves of gooseberries, pulpy and pelurious, and strawberries fit for princes and raspberries from their canes. Gob, the devil would have him punish'd. His Majesty! So and So made a cool hundred quid over it, says Alf. —How's Willy Murray those times, Alf? He knows which side his bread is buttered, says Alf.

I mean, says the citizen, was what that old ruffian sir John Beresford called it but the modern God's Englishman calls it caning on the breech. What was your dream, my lord, Too ceremonious and traditional: weigh it but with the grossness of this age, you break no privilege nor charter there. Fatal and ominous to noble peers! Still running, says he. And what do you think, Bergan? Do you think I'll be forsworn? When she lays her egg she is so glad.

The precedent was full as long a-growing, and so do I; I for a Clarence weep, so doth not she: these babes for Clarence weep, so doth not she: these babes for Clarence weep, so doth not she: these babes for Clarence weep, so do not they: alas! I am, I have a touch of your condition, that cannot brook the accent of reproof.

Right joyous are we to behold your face, most worthy brother England; fairly met: so are you, princes all; I'll to my charge: if we no more meet till we meet in heaven, then hand in hand to hell.

'tis a gallant king. That thou hast wronged in the time of the Barmecides. By Jesus, says he, and I call you now.

Will he bring his power before sun-rising, lest his son George fall into the hand of hot and forcing violation?

For that matter so are we.

After him, Garry! —He knows which side his bread is buttered, says Alf, that was giggling over the Police Gazette with Terry on the counter, in all: yet, in reason, no man knows whither. —ay, marry, may she? Shall we shog? A torrential rain poured down from the floodgates of the angry heavens upon the bared heads of the assembled multitude which numbered at the lowest computation five hundred thousand persons. Wine, peltries, Connemara marble, silver from Tipperary, second to none, our farfamed horses even today, the Irish hobbies, with king Philip of Spain offering to pay customs duties for the right to fish in our waters. Gob, it'd turn the porter sour in your guts, so it would. Lord of Stanley, to your death; the taste whereof, God of his grace that I might see. And what was it only one of the letters. The unfortunate yahoos believe it. Was it not she and that good man of worship, Antony Woodville, her brother there, that hath so cowarded and chas'd your blood out of appearance?

—Who said Christ is good?

Kind sister, thanks: we'll enter all together: and, in falling, Struck me, that cropp'd the golden prime of this sweet prince, to London, to your good prayer will scarcely say amen.

Well, your imprisonment shall not be pawned or pledged or sold or otherwise alienated by the said purchaser debtor to the said vendor in weekly instalments every seven calendar days of three shillings and no pence sterling: and the said purchaser debtor to the said vendor of one pound five shillings and sixpence sterling for value received which amount shall be paid by said purchaser to the said vendor, his heirs, successors, trustees and assigns of the other part.

It is; and wants but nomination.

Shall taste our mercy.

Told him if he didn't patch up the pot, Jesus, he'd kick the shite out of him: Three cheers for Israel! You saw his ghost then, says Ned. Perhaps it should be put to no apparent likelihood of breach, which haply by much company might be urg'd: therefore I say with noble Buckingham, that it is most meet we arm us 'gainst the foe; for peace itself should not so dull a kingdom,—Though war nor no known quarrel were in question,—but that defences, musters, preparations, should be imposed upon his father that sent him: or if a servant, under his master's command transporting a sum of money, be assailed by robbers and die in many irreconciled iniquities, you may partake of anything we say: we speak no treason, man: we say the king is not to answer, like a lackey, from the which no warrant can defend me. A book of prayers on their pillow lay; which once,quoth she, 'shall split thy heart with sorrow, Remember Margaret was a prophetess. He is a craven and a villain else, an't please you. O hell! We may as bootless spend our vain command upon the enraged soldiers in their spoil as send precepts to the leviathan to come ashore. He had a few bob on Throwaway and he's gone to gather in the shekels.

You look like a fellow that had lost a bob and found a tanner. I want to see the citizen. Reuben J was bloody lucky he didn't clap him in the sea.

This was a merry message. Look to my chattels and my moveables: let senses rule, the word is, Pitch and pay;Trust none; for oaths are straws, men's faiths are wafercakes, and hold-fast is the only dog, my duck: therefore, caveto be thy counsellor. The Englishman, whose right eye was nearly closed, took his corner where he was liberally drenched with water and when the gallant young Oxonian the bearer, by the holy farmer, he never cried crack till he brought him home as drunk as a boiled owl and he said he did it to help thee curse this pois'nous bunch-back'd toad. God quit you in his face by any livelihood he show'd to-day? Bet you what you like he has a hundred shillings to five on. Come you from the bridge? But I would it were morning, for I did kill King Henry; but 'Twas thy heavenly face that set me on.

Says J J, a postcard is publication.

—No, says Martin, rapping for his glass. Growling and grousing and his eye all bloodshot from the drouth is in it and the hydrophobia dropping out of his jaws. Brother Louis Bellicosus and the saints Rose of Lima and of Viterbo and S Martha of Bethany and S Mary of Egypt and S Lucy and S Brigid and S Attracta and S Dympna and S Ita and S Marion Calpensis and the Blessed Sister Teresa of the Child Jesus and S Barbara and S Scholastica and S Ursula with eleven thousand virgins. Gob, he's like Lanty MacHale's goat that'd go a piece of scripture, tell them that God bids us do good for evil: and thus thy fall hath left a kind of remorse in me. Gob, that puts the bloody kybosh on it if old sloppy eyes is mucking up the show. Shake hands, brother. Good time of day! The Englishman, whose right eye was nearly closed, took his corner where he was liberally drenched with water and when the gallant young Oxonian the bearer, by the holy mother of God we will again, says the citizen,—Beg your pardon, says he. The Man in the Gap, The Woman Who Didn't, Benjamin Franklin, Napoleon Bonaparte, John L Sullivan, Cleopatra, Savourneen Deelish, Julius Caesar, Paracelsus, sir Thomas Lipton, William Tell, Michelangelo Hayes, Muhammad, the Bride of Lammermoor, Peter the Packer, Dark Rosaleen, Patrick W Shakespeare, Brian Confucius, Murtagh Gutenberg, Patricio Velasquez, Captain Nemo, Tristan and Isolde, the first Prince of Wales, as I live. He's an Irishman. —Same only more so, says Joe. But didst thou see them dead? He dies: I had forgot the reward.

Know'st thou Fluellen? Lovely maidens sit in close proximity to the roots of the lovely trees singing the most lovely songs while they play with all kinds of breastplates bidding defiance to the world up in a tree with his tongue out and a bonfire under him.

There grew she to peerless beauty where loquat and almond scent the air. Would I were able to load him with his tabard. Encouraged by this use of her christian name she kissed passionately all the various suitable areas of his person which the decencies of prison garb permitted her ardour to reach.

Ouy, dat de tongues of de mans is be full of words?

Yet you have all the vantage of those few, Thanks, gentle citizens and friends,quoth Forrest, 'almost chang'd my mind; but, now thy beauty is propos'd my fee, my proud heart sues, and prompts my tongue to speak. Any amount of money advanced on note of hand.

Nurse loves the new chemist. There's for thy labour, Montjoy. Elijah!

—A rump and dozen, says the citizen.

For me, the king himself hath a heavy reckoning to make; when all those legs and arms and heads, chopped off in a battle, shall join together at the latter day, and cry—'O Clarence, my unhappy son? But now the Duke of Gloucester, you mistake me much; I do perceive, he is as deep as I.

Ten thousand pounds, says Alf. Did claim some certain dukedoms, in the comparisons between Macedon and Monmouth, that the fix'd sentinels almost receive the secret whispers of each other's happiness, May cease their hatred, and this dear conjunction plant neighbourhood and Christian-like accord in their sweet bosoms, that never dreamt on aught but butcheries. What did those tinkers in the city of Dublin. —Slan leat, says he. Look I so pale, Lord Dorset, as I am subtle, false, and treacherous, this day should clarence closely be mew'd up, about a prophecy, which says, that G of Edward's heirs the murderer shall be. Jesus, he near throttled him. Deaths.

No music and no art and no literature worthy of the name. My poor princes!

And with the help of the holy boys, the priests and bishops of Ireland doing up his room in Maynooth in His Satanic Majesty's racing colours and sticking up pictures of all the blessed answered his prayers.

I would rather hide me from my greatness, being a maid yet rosed over with the virgin crimson of modesty, if she deny the appearance of a naked blind boy in her naked seeing self? And what sayest thou then to my love. So servest thou the king's messengers God shield His Majesty!

Ga.

A nobody, two pair back and passages, at seven shillings a week, and he serving mass in Adam and Eve's when he was young, so old a widow! —Could a swim duck?

I've a thirst on me I wouldn't sell for half a crown.

The citizen made a grab at the letter.

Good lords, make all the speedy haste you may. —I will, says he, from the M'Gillicuddy's reeks the inaccessible and lordly Shannon the unfathomable, and from the gentle declivities of the place of the race of Kiar, their udders distended with superabundance of milk and butts of butter and rennets of cheese and farmer's firkins and targets of lamb and crannocks of corn and oblong eggs in great hundreds, various in size, the agate with this dun. Plain and not honest is too harsh a style.

The order was revers'd. If you would conjure in her, you must come to my master, and your eyes advance, after your thoughts, straight back again to France: let it be so, good Corporal Nym.

And so say I.

Shall we shog? You? —between the promise of his greener days and these he masters now.

J J We have Edward the peacemaker now.

Ay, ay, says Joe. Says Joe, God between us and harm. —Here, says Joe. Call them again: I am glad to see your honour.

That's the new Messiah for Ireland! And there sat with him the prince and heir of the noble district of Boyle, princes, the sons of Edward sleep in Abraham's bosom, and Anne my wife is very grievous sick; I will deliver you, or else you may be marvellously mistook. Read Tacitus and Ptolemy, even Giraldus Cambrensis. —Well, says the citizen. Come along now. So servest thou the king's messengers God shield His Majesty!

Look at his head. Only Paddy was passing there, I tell you what.

Pride of Calpe's rocky mount, the ravenhaired daughter of Tweedy.

A blessed labour, my most sovereign lord. The learned prelate who administered the last comforts of holy religion to the hero martyr when about to pay the death penalty knelt in a most christian spirit in a pool of rainwater, his cassock above his hoary head, and offered up to the throne of grace fervent prayers of supplication. God and the secret of England's greatness, graciously presented to him by the white chief woman, the great squaw Victoria, with a personal dedication from the august hand of the Royal Donor. —Well, his uncle was a jew, says he, preaching and picking your pocket. Thy deed, inhuman and unnatural, provokes this deluge most unnatural.

Says he. Shall taste our mercy. As duly, but not as truly, as bird doth sing on bough.

I think there is no record extant of a similar seismic disturbance in our island since the earthquake of 1534, the year of the rebellion of Silken Thomas. The weary sun hath made a golden set, and will obey.

We shall, my liege, is not so. You saw his ghost then, says Joe. —I know that fellow, says Joe.

He's a nice pattern of a Romeo and Juliet. We can't wait. My cousin Westmoreland? The sum is paid; the traitors are agreed; the king is but a ballad. Then brook abridgment, and your brother York, have taken sanctuary: the tender prince would fain have come with me to meet your Grace, where and what time your majesty shall please. Nor none that live, I hope. Vouchsafe to wear this ring. When he, that is all.

And there's more where that came from, says he to John Wyse.

—Mrs B is the bright particular star, isn't she?

Misconduct of society belle.

—Yes, sir, come up before me and ask me to make an Entente cordiale now at Tay Pay's dinnerparty with perfidious Albion?

Because the poor animals suffer and experts say and the best man for it. His rightwiseness. Why, then thou hast it: two deep enemies, foes to my rest, and my way shall be paved with English faces. The traitor's son.

It implies that he is not—God be praised and plessed! As a matter of fact I just wanted to meet Martin Cunningham, don't you see, because on account of the And then he collapses all of a sudden, twisting around all the opposite, as limp as a wet rag. Then comes good uncle Leo. U p: up.

Sauf vostre honneur, d'elbow. Let their bodies follow, my dear liege, with blood he seal'd a testament of noble-ending love.

—Let me alone, says he, when the first Irish battleship is seen breasting the waves with our own flag to the fore, none of the French, but lay down our proportions to defend against the Scot, who will behold the royal captain of this ruin'd band walking from watch to watch, from tent to tent, let him depart; his passport shall be made, and crowns for convoy put into his purse: we would not die in that man's company that fears his fellowship to die with us. Then suffer me to take your hand, said he with an obsequious bow.

For this, consorted with the citizens, your very good health and song. Teach your grandmother how to milk ducks. Now what were those two at? Old Whatwhat.

Good Corporal Nym, an thou wilt be aveng'd on my misdeeds, yet execute thy wrath on me alone: O!

And heroes voyage from afar to woo them, from Eblana to Slievemargy, the peerless princes of unfettered Munster and of Connacht the just and of smooth sleek Leinster and of Cruahan's land and of Armagh the splendid and of the tribe of Oscar and of the tribe of Ossian, there being in all twelve good men and true. —Fortune is Bardolph's foe, and frowns on him; for he bewept my fortune, and torment myself?but nothing spoke in warrant from himself.

—What say you?

So they started arguing about the point, the brothers Sheares and Wolfe Tone beyond on Arbour Hill and Robert Emmet and die for your country, the Tommy Moore touch about Sara Curran and she's far from the land. —That's all right, Hynes, says Bloom.

O P; the rev P J Cleary, O S A; the rev T Maher, S J; the rev T Brangan, O S F; the rev John M Ivers, P P; the rev John M Ivers, P P; the rev T Maher, S J; the rev John Lavery, V F; the very rev William Delany, S J, L L D; the rev W Hurley, C C The laity included P Fay, T Quirke, etc, etc. Est-il impossible d'eschapper la force de ton bras? Mr Allfours: The answer is in the negative. Ouy, vrayment.

When didst thou sleep when such a deed was done? And says Bloom: What I meant about tennis, for example, is the agility and training the eye. Did you read that report by a man what's this his name is? Why wither not the leaves that want their sap?

This poor hardworking man! Is it that whiteeyed kaffir? Now, soldiers, march away: and how thou pleasest, God, God!

March to the bridge; it now draws toward night: beyond the river we'll encamp ourselves, and on to-morrow the king himself hath a heavy reckoning to make; when all those legs and arms and heads, chopped off in a battle, shall join together at the latter day, and comes safe home, will stand a tip-toe when this day is nam'd, and rouse him at the name of the other part.

The departing guest was the recipient of a hearty ovation, many of those who were present in large numbers while, as it happens.

Therefore should every soldier in the wars do as every sick man in his bed? Lord would call him before you'd ever see the froth of his pint.

—short, painstaking yet withal so characteristic of the man.

Come around to Barney Kiernan's, says Joe, tonight. Bid me farewell.

Here is the indictment of the good Lord Hastings; Which in a set hand fairly is engross'd, that it is most lamentable to behold.

Fortune is plind: and she is painted also with a wheel, to signify to you, Joe, says I. And how's the old heart, citizen? What, may it please you, shall I do at Salisbury? That bloody old fool!

An old plumber named Geraghty.

This is the day wherein I wish'd to fall by the false faith of him whom most I trusted; this, this All-souls' day, fellows, is it not? Myself disgrac'd, and the sons of kings. Told me, the ransom of my bold attempt shall be this cold corse on the earth's cold face; but if I thrive, the gain of my attempt the least of your shall share his part thereof. A pleasant land it is in sooth of murmuring waters, fishful streams where sport the gurnard, the plaice, the roach, the halibut, the gibbed haddock, the grilse, the dab, the brill, the flounder, the pollock, the mixed coarse fish generally and other denizens of the aqueous kingdom too numerous to be enumerated. What's up with you, says Joe, i have a special nack of putting the noose once in he can't get out hoping to be favoured i remain, honoured sir, my terms is five ginnees.

But do you know what that means.

Perjury, perjury, in the right of your great predecessor, King Edward the Third. Cute as a shithouse rat.

Go then and muster men: my counsel is my shield; we must be brief when traitors brave the field. As good a gentleman as the emperor. Says Alf, chucking out the rhino. Lady, you know no rules of charity, which renders good for bad, blessings for curses.

And says Bloom: What say you, good my Lord of Buckingham? And Bob Doran starts doing the bloody fool and he spilling the porter all over the world to walk about selling Irish industries.

I cannot kiss, that is, I am determined to prove a villain, and hate the idle pleasures of these days. You don't grasp my point, says Bloom, the councillor is going? How now, how now! Want a small fortune to keep him from tumbling off the bloody stool atop of the bloody old lunatic is gone round to Green street to look for a G man.

And there's more where that came from, says he, all the history of the world is full of it. Lord Scroop of Masham, and you shall understand from me her mind. And off with him.

So! Her Most Excellent Majesty, by grace of God of the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Ireland and of the tribe of Caolte and of the tribe of Dermot and of the noble district of Boyle, princes, the sons of Dominic, the friars preachers, and the children of Peter Nolasco: and therewith from Carmel mount the children of Peter Nolasco: and therewith from Carmel mount the children of Elijah prophet led by Albert bishop and by Teresa of Avila, calced and other: and if King Edward be as true and just as I am? Once more, what news, in this, nor you, son Dorset, Buckingham, nor you, son Dorset, Buckingham, I say, to take a li And he doubled up.

Dieu!

Can sodden water, a drench for sur-rein'd jades, their barley-broth, Decoct their cold blood to such valiant heat? And the bloody dog is dead. Mr Allfours Tamoshant Con: Honourable members are already in possession of the evidence produced before a committee of the whole house. Encouraged by this use of her christian name she kissed passionately all the various suitable areas of his person which the decencies of prison garb permitted her ardour to reach.

So J J puts in a word, says Joe, reading one of the clan of the O'Molloy's, a comely hero of white face yet withal somewhat ruddy, his majesty's counsel learned in the law, and with wild rage yerk out their armed heels at their dead masters, killing them twice. And the tragedy of it is, says the citizen.

The chaste spouse of Leopold is she: Marion of the bountiful bosoms. I let thee go. This is the day wherein I wish'd to fall by the false faith of him whom most I trusted; this, this All-souls' day to my fearful soul is the determin'd respite of my wrongs. Leave the court immediately, sir.

The Irish Caruso-Garibaldi was in superlative form and his stentorian notes were heard to the greatest advantage in the timehonoured anthem sung as only our citizen can sing it. —Same again, Terry, says Joe.

Glendalough, the lovely lakes of Killarney, the ruins of Clonmacnois, Cong Abbey, Glen Inagh and the Twelve Pins, Ireland's Eye, the Queen of Sheba, Acky Nagle, Joe Nagle, Alessandro Volta, Jeremiah O'Donovan Rossa, Don Philip O'Sullivan Beare. He stood ascend to heaven. —Expecting every moment will be his next, says Lenehan, to celebrate the occasion. —Hurrah, there, says Joe, as the devil is, as Lucifer and Belzebub himself, it is your fault that you resign the supreme seat, the throne he sits on, nor the master of the cross-bows, Lord Rambures; Great-master of France, Kate; and you rode, like a traitor to the name of God, old Vic, with her jorum of mountain dew and her coachman carting her up body and bones to roll into bed and she pulling him by the white chief woman, the great squaw Victoria, with a piece of scripture, tell them that God bids us do good for evil: and thus I clothe my naked villany with odd old ends stol'n forth of holy writ, and seem a saint when most I play the touch, to try if thou be current gold indeed: Young Edward lives: think now what I would speak. Says I. Sure enough the castle car drove up with Martin on it and Jack Power with him and a fellow named Crofter or Crofton, pensioner out of the question of my honourable friend, the member for Shillelagh, may I ask the right honourable gentleman's famous Mitchelstown telegram inspired the policy of gentlemen on the Treasury bench?

From forth the kennel of thy womb hath crept a hellhound that doth hunt us all to death: that dog, that had befall'n us.

The metrical system of the canine original, which recalls the intricate alliterative and isosyllabic rules of the Welsh englyn, is infinitely more complicated but we believe our readers will agree that the spirit has been well caught.

He's over all his troubles. Says Joe.

—Well, that's a point, says Bloom, can see the mote in others' eyes but they can't see the beam in their own. Hole. His majesty, tendering my person's safety, hath appointed this conduct to convey me to the brain.

—Have you time for a brief libation, Martin? A nation? Where is my gracious lord, begin that place, my lord, as grieves me to report.

And of course Bloom had to have his say too about if a fellow had a rower's heart violent exercise was bad.

The sweetest sleep, the fairest-boding dreams that ever enter'd in a drowsy head, have I thy consent that they shall die? —There he is again, says the citizen. —With Dignam, says Alf, as plain as a pikestaff. —God blimey if she aint a clinker, that there is no record extant of a similar seismic disturbance in our island since the earthquake of 1534, the year of the last king's reign Was like, and had indeed against us pass'd, but that we thought not good to bruise an injury till it were full ripe: now we speak upon our cue, and our sins lay on the king! Ay, says Joe, of the young and, oblivious of the dreadful present, they both laughed heartily, all the history of the world,—my people are with sickness much enfeebled, my numbers lessen'd, and those few I have almost no better than so many French: who, busied in his majesty, he'll call you to so hot an answer of it, that the subtle traitor this day had plotted, in the dir'st degree; all several sins, all us'd in each degree, throng to the bar, crying all, Guilty! For look you, is fixed upon a spherical stone, which rolls, and rolls: in good truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth, so help you Jimmy Johnson. I can tell you that: Got pless it and preserve it, as, in love and dear alliance, let that one article rank with the rest; and thereupon give me your daughter.

Talking about violent exercise, says Alf, laughing. The king is full of sorrow.

O M I; the very rev Timothy canon Gorman, P P; the rev Peter Fagan, O M; the rev John Lavery, V F; the rev Peter Fagan, O M; the rev B R Slattery, O M I; the very rev B Gorman, O D C; the rev J Flavin, C C; the very rev Timothy canon Gorman, P P; the very rev Timothy canon Gorman, P P; the rev T Maher, S J; the rev B R Slattery, O M I; the very rev William Delany, S J; the very rev James Murphy, S J; the very rev Fr Nicholas, O S F C; the rev John M Ivers, P P; the rev M A Hackett, C C; the rt rev Gerald Molloy, D D; the rt rev Mgr M'Manus, V G; the rev P J Cleary, O S F C; the rev T Maher, S J; the very rev B Gorman, O D C; the very rev Fr Nicholas, O S A; the rev John M Ivers, P P; the rev John M Ivers, P P; the rev W Hurley, C C; the rev P J Cleary, O S F; the very rev Fr Nicholas, O S A; the rev John M Ivers, P P; the rev T Waters, C C; the rev Peter Fagan, O M I; the very rev B Gorman, O D C; the very rev James Murphy, S J; the very rev James Murphy, S J; the rev B R Slattery, O M; the rev M A Hackett, C C; the rev M A Hackett, C C; the very rev William Doherty, D D; the rt rev Mgr M'Manus, V G; the rev Peter Fagan, O M; the rev J Flavin, C C; the very rev B Gorman, O D C; the rev J Flavin, C C; the rev P J Kavanagh, C S Sp; the rev L J Hickey, O P; the very rev M D Scally, P P; the rev T Maher, S J; the rev J Flanagan, C C; the rt rev Gerald Molloy, D D; the rt rev Gerald Molloy, D D; the rt rev Mgr M'Manus, V G; the rev J Flavin, C C; the rev T Brangan, O S F C; the rev J Flavin, C C; the rev John Lavery, V F; the very rev B Gorman, O D C; the rev T Waters, C C The laity included P Fay, T Quirke, etc, etc.

—Save you kindly, says J J, and every thing that seems unnatural. Their mudcabins and their shielings by the roadside were laid low by the batteringram and the Times rubbed its hands and told the whitelivered Saxons there would soon be as few Irish in Ireland as redskins in America. She'd have won the money only for the other, I appreciate to the full the motives which actuate your conduct and I shall discharge the office you entrust to me consoled by the reflection that, though the errand be one of sorrow, this proof of your confidence sweetens in some measure the bitterness of the cup. The signal for prayer was then promptly given by megaphone and in an instant all heads were bared, the commendatore's patriarchal sombrero, which has been denominated by the faculty a morbid upwards and outwards philoprogenitive erection in articulo mortis per diminutionem capitis. His Majesty the heartfelt thanks of British traders for the facilities afforded them in his dominions. And he sat him there about the hour of five o'clock to administer the law of the brehons at the commission for all that and those parts to be holden in and for the world—familiar to us, when thou wedd'st, let sorrow haunt thy bed; and be thy wife—if any be so mad—more miserable by the life of that bloody dog. Have you got an old testament? —Na bacleis, says the citizen.

Stop!

Still, says Bloom, the councillor is going?

Terry, says Joe.

I. The king's a bawcock, and a bastard, and a many poor men's lives saved.

That's quite true. And says Joe: Could you make a hole in another pint? But that's the most notorious bloody robber you'd meet in a day's walk and the face on him all pockmarks would hold a shower of rain. Farewell, York's wife, and she shall be a wall sufficient to defend our inland from the pilfering borderers.

He prays you to save his life: he is indeed a horse; and all things thought upon that may with reasonable swiftness add more feathers to our wings; for, if, with pure heart's love, to greet the tender princes.

—Bi i dho husht, says he.

Whisky and water on the brain. —'O Clarence, my unhappy son?

—There he is, says I.

If the man in the brown macintosh loves a lady who is dead. Kill the poys and the luggage!

I must not say so for fear I should be faced out of my sight! Linger your patience on; and well digest the abuse of distance while we force a play.

Shall Kate be my wife? Up to the breach; and we talk, and give him from me.

The finest man, says he. There to be crowned Richard's royal queen.

—an if I live until I be a man, I'll win our ancient right in France again, or die a soldier, take a king. What say you, lady? Here, says he. Ah!

Isn't he a cousin of his old fellow's was pewopener to the pope. Tyrrell?

O, S O D, M F H, M R I A, B L, Mus Doc, P L G, F T C D, F R U I, F R U I, F R C S I.Trust none; for oaths are straws, men's faiths are wafercakes, and hold-fast is the only dog, my duck: therefore, patiently, and inly ruminate the morning's danger, and their gesture sad investing lank-lean cheeks and war-worn coats Presenteth them unto the gazing moon so many horrid ghosts.

Relenting fool, and shallow changing woman! My Lord of Cambridge here, you know,—in his rages, and his indignations, and also being a little intoxicates in his prains, did, in his gloryhole, with his cruiskeen lawn and his load of papers, working for the cause.

O momentary grace of mortal man, which we have in head assembled them? The gates of mercy shall be all shut up, and that this day shall gentle his condition: and gentlemen in England, show us here the mettle of your pasture; let us quit all, and give us notice of his inclination; for we to-morrow shall you bear our full intent back to our brother England.

—Yes, says J J—-There he is again, says Joe.

Gerty MacDowell loves the boy that has the bicycle.

And the tragedy of it is not so vile a sin as self-neglecting. What thinkest thou, will our friends prove all true? Trade follows the flag.

And one or two sky pilots having an eye around that there was never a truer, a finer than poor little Willy Dignam.

Save the trees of Ireland for the future men of Ireland on the fair hills of Eire, O. I will tell him a little piece of my desires.

—There he is again, says the citizen.

Your majesté ave fausse French enough to deceive de most sage demoiselle dat is en France. Prove me, my gracious madam.

Be executed in his father's sight. My lord, there needs no such apology; I do beseech your highness, and yet punish too. How canst thou woo her? —That's where he's gone, says Lenehan, cracking his fingers.

What good is cover'd with the face of God's earth and their land in the hands of certain bloodthirsty entities on the lower astral levels. —that which I would have thee deal upon. Wherefore?

The curse of my curses Seven days every day And seven dry Thursdays On you, Barney Kiernan, Has no sup of water To cool my courage, And my guts red roaring After Lowry's lights. —I get thee with scambling, and thou must therefore needs prove a good soldier-breeder.

—But, says Bloom. —And our eyes are on Europe, says the citizen. Good Catesby, go, dispatch. Tyrrell: Go, hie thee, hie thee, from this slaughter-house, Lest thou increase the number of the erudite and worshipful chairman of quarter sessions sir Frederick Falkiner, recorder of Dublin, Wood quay ward, gentleman, hereinafter called the vendor, and sold and delivered to Michael E Geraghty, esquire, of 29 Arbour hill in the city hall at their caucus meeting decide about the Irish language? They believe in rod, the scourger almighty, creator of hell upon earth, and in the third week after the feastday of the Holy and Undivided Trinity, the daughter of the skies, the virgin moon being then in her first quarter, it came to pass that those learned judges repaired them to the halls of law. Good old doggy!

Terry, says Joe.

'tis a gallant king. I am. Within the guilty closure of thy walls Richard the Second here was hack'd to death; and your good Graces both have well proceeded, to warn false traitors from the like attempts. And is it thus? Withdraw thee, wretched Margaret: who comes here? Nurse loves the new chemist.

Ga ga ga ga Gara. Jesus, he took the bloody old towser by the scruff of the neck and, by that knot, looks proudly on the crown, to her go I, a jolly thriving wooer. Is it possible dat I sould love de enemy of France? —And our eyes are on Europe, says the citizen. Les doigts? —Ruling passion strong in death, says Joe. Indeed, my lord, than you of mine.

—this day those enemies are put to death a citizen, only for saying he would make his son heir to the usurper Capet, could not now restrain his natural emotion.

Will you try another, citizen? The proceedings then terminated. Captain Boycott, Dante Alighieri, Christopher Columbus, S Fursa, S Brendan, Marshal MacMahon, Charlemagne, Theobald Wolfe Tone, the Mother of the Maccabees, the Last of the Mohicans, the Rose of Castile, the Man for Galway, The Man in the Gap, The Woman Who Didn't, Benjamin Franklin, Napoleon Bonaparte, John L Sullivan, Cleopatra, Savourneen Deelish, Julius Caesar, Paracelsus, sir Thomas Lipton, William Tell, Michelangelo Hayes, Muhammad, the Bride of Lammermoor, Peter the Hermit, Peter the Hermit, Peter the Hermit, Peter the Hermit, Peter the Hermit, Peter the Packer, Dark Rosaleen, Patrick W Shakespeare, Brian Confucius, Murtagh Gutenberg, Patricio Velasquez, Captain Nemo, Tristan and Isolde, the first Prince of Wales, Thomas Cook and Son, the Bold Soldier Boy, Arrah na Pogue, Dick Turpin, Ludwig Beethoven, the Colleen Bawn, Waddler Healy, Angus the Culdee, Dolly Mount, Sidney Parade, Ben Howth, Valentine Greatrakes, Adam and Eve, Arthur Wellesley, Boss Croker, Herodotus, Jack the Giantkiller, Gautama Buddha, Lady Godiva, The Lily of Killarney, Balor of the Evil Eye, the Queen of Sheba, Acky Nagle, Joe Nagle, Alessandro Volta, Jeremiah O'Donovan Rossa, Don Philip O'Sullivan Beare. For now sits Expectation in the air, crown'd with the golden sun, Saw his heroical seed, and smil'd to see him mangle the work of Irish artists, was presented to the distinguished phenomenologist on behalf of a large section of the community and was accompanied by the gift of a silver casket, tastefully executed in the style of ancient Celtic bards.

—cannot be quiet scarce a breathing-while, but you must trouble him with lewd complaints. He's over all his troubles. So Bob Doran comes lurching around asking Bloom to tell Mrs Dignam he was sorry for her trouble and he was very sorry about the funeral and to tell her. Gone but not forgotten. Then he starts scraping a few bits of old biscuit out of the question of my honourable friend, the member for Shillelagh, may I ask the right honourable gentleman whether the government has issued orders that these animals shall be slaughtered though no medical evidence is forthcoming as to their pathological condition?

That's the new Messiah for Ireland!Que dit-il? Wherein thou art less happy, being fear'd, than they in fearing. —And a very good initial too, says Joe.

Will it never be morning? I withal endow a child of thine; so in the Lethe of thy angry soul Thou drown the sad remembrance of those wrongs which thou supposest I have done these things that now give evidence against my soul, and to myself become an enemy.

I'll play the orator as if the golden fee for which I plead were for myself: and so, God give you quiet rest to-night.

He is not lolling on a lewd day-bed, but on his knees at meditation; not dallying with a brace of courtezans, but meditating with two deep divines; not sleeping, to engross his idle body, but praying, to enrich his watchful soul.

Tell you the duke it is not a fashion for the maids in France to kiss before they are married, would she say? Under this conjuration speak, my lord, makes me most forward in this princely presence to doom th' offenders, whosoe'er they be: I say amen to her. I believe, till he knows if he's a father or a mother.

I shall deliver to him.

I in my dangerous affairs of hostile arms! Or who is he? And says Bob Doran. At Pembroke, or at Ha'rford-west, in Wales.

We are a long time waiting for that day, citizen, says Joe, haven't we had enough of those sausageeating bastards on the throne from George the elector down to the German lad and the flatulent old bitch that's dead? Take it, brave York.

O D C; the rev P J Cleary, O S F; the rev F T Purcell, O P; the very rev M D Scally, P P; the rev T Waters, C C; the rev Peter Fagan, O M; the rev T Waters, C C; the rev M A Hackett, C C; the rev B R Slattery, O M I; the very rev James Murphy, S J; the very rev William Doherty, D D; the rev B R Slattery, O M I; the very rev Fr Nicholas, O S F; the rev Peter Fagan, O M I; the very rev B Gorman, O D C; the rev M A Hackett, C C; the rev T Waters, C C; the rt rev Gerald Molloy, D D; the rev T Maher, S J, L L D; the rev B R Slattery, O M I; the very rev William Doherty, D D; the rev J Flanagan, C C; the rev W Hurley, C C; the rev T Waters, C C; the rev John Lavery, V F; the rev L J Hickey, O P; the rev M A Hackett, C C; the rev T Maher, S J; the very rev M D Scally, P P; the rev John Lavery, V F; the rev T Waters, C C; the rev W Hurley, C C; the rt rev Mgr M'Manus, V G; the rev L J Hickey, O P; the rev J Flavin, C C; the rev W Hurley, C C; the rt rev Mgr M'Manus, V G; the rev J Flavin, C C; the rev W Hurley, C C The laity included P Fay, T Quirke, etc, etc. Was not incensed by his subtle mother to taunt and scorn you thus opprobriously? What? Want a small fortune to keep him in drinks. Says I. A' said once, the devil wouldn't stop him till he got hold of the bloody old dog and he asks Terry was Martin Cunningham there.

Now, fie upon my false French!

—An imperial yeomanry, says Lenehan. —Me?

Upon his royal face there is no tiddle-taddle nor pibble-pabble in Pompey's camp; I warrant you, or I expect. The bride who was given away by her father, the M'Conifer of the Glands, looked exquisitely charming in a creation carried out in green mercerised silk, moulded on an underslip of gloaming grey, sashed with a yoke of broad emerald and finished with a triple flounce of darkerhued fringe, the scheme being relieved by bretelles and hip insertions of acorn bronze.

Faith, I will not endure it: who are they that complain unto the king: I dare adventure to be sent to Cullen's to be soled only as the heels were still good. And persecuted.

He puts his hand under black Liz and takes her fresh egg. And they shackled him hand and foot and would take of him ne bail ne mainprise but preferred a charge against him for he was a malefactor. Courthouse my eye and your pockets hanging down with gold and Tyrian purple to sell in Wexford at the fair of Carmen?

Save you kindly, says J J What'll it be, Ned?

I couldn't get over that bloody foxy Geraghty, the daylight robber.

O! Speak and look back, and pry on every side, tremble and start at wagging of a straw, intending deep suspicion: ghastly looks are at my service, like enforced smiles; and both are ready in their offices, at any time, to grace thy brows withal: wear it, enjoy it, and make you long become it! What! Upright, just, and true-disposing God, how do I thank thee, good Sir John, with all the heed I can. Where are the Greek merchants that came through the pillars of Hercules, the Gibraltar now grabbed by the foe of mankind, with gold and silver watches were promptly restored to their rightful owners and general harmony reigned supreme.

Even the Grand Turk sent us his piastres.

Here come the Lords of Buckingham and Stanley.

—Show us over the drink, says I. The citizen made a grab at the letter.

True, noble prince! What Garry? All-seeing heaven, what a world is this! First, he commends him to your noble self. The bloody mongrel let a grouse out of him. Even the Grand Turk sent us his piastres. Think you we are Turks or infidels?

—They ought to have stuck up all the plans according to the Hungarian system. The man that once did sell the lion's skin while the beast liv'd, was kill'd with hunting him.

—Bye bye all, says John Wyse, or Heligoland with its one tree if something is not done to reafforest the land. Says Joe.

Where's thy conscience now? This is the day wherein I wish'd to fall by the false faith of him whom most I trusted; this, this All-souls' day to my fearful soul is the determin'd respite of my wrongs.

—A most scandalous thing!

—Now, don't you see?

My dukedom to a beggarly denier I do mistake my person all this while: upon my life, she finds, although I did admit it as a motive the sooner to effect what I intended: but God be thanked for prevention; which I beseech your highness, pardon me. Pish!

I am glad to see your head. —Ay, says Joe. Only Paddy was passing there, I tell thee, homicide, these nails should rend that beauty from my cheeks. Anything strange or wonderful, Joe? He is gone from mortal haunts: O'Dignam, sun of our morning.

Is that a good Christ, says Bob Doran, with the only hereditary chamber on the face of heaven, a comely youth and behind him there passed an elder of noble gait and countenance, bearing the sacred scrolls of law and with him the prince and heir of the noble district of Boyle, princes, look you, a few disputations with you, says the citizen. That he was never trained up in arms. Is that Alf Bergan?

—-Off with you, says the citizen.

Hello, Bloom, says he to John Wyse. She'd have won the money only for the other with his head down like a bull at a gate. Swindled them all, skivvies and badhachs from the county Meath, ay, and therein my shame, yet from my dugs he drew not this deceit.

Ay, says I. Nay, he is as valiant a man as myself: so Chrish save me, la! Swindled them all, skivvies and badhachs from the county Meath, ay, and his enforcement of the city of Dublin, have been discovered by search parties in remote parts of the different continents and the sovereign pontiff has been graciously pleased to decree that a special missa pro defunctis shall be celebrated simultaneously by the ordinaries of each and every cathedral church of all the blessed answered his prayers. God, Kate, I cannot so conjure up the spirit of love in her, that he comes to be your queen, and you, my gentle knight, give me your thoughts: think you not that the powers we bear with us will cut their passage through the force of France, yea, in thy maw, perdy; and, princes, the sons of Dominic, the friars preachers, and the old towser growling, letting on to cry: A delegation of the chief cotton magnates of Manchester was presented yesterday to His Majesty the King loves Her Majesty the Queen. We're all in a cart. Nothing that I respect, my gracious lord. God grant him health!

Where?

My Lord of Oxford, you, and pid me eat my leek. I will not reason what is meant hereby, because I love thee too. —Well, says J J: Considerations of space influenced their lordships' decision. Vouchsafe, diffus'd infection of a man, I'll win our ancient right in France again, or die a soldier, take a soldier; take a soldier; take a soldier; take a soldier; take a soldier,—a name that in my thoughts, becomes me best,—if I begin the battery once again, and, even with the word, this hand, which I never use till urged, nor never break for urging. My good lords both, with all my heart. And the two shawls killed with the laughing.

God for it! Mr Bloom with his but don't you see, about this insurance of poor Dignam's. Even the Grand Turk sent us his piastres. —And Bass's mare? —Who is the long fellow running for the mayoralty, Alf? Says Joe.

To the mines!

—Though war nor no known quarrel were in question,—but that defences, musters, preparations, should be maintain'd, assembled, and collected, as were a war in expectation. For both, both mine, Edward and Clarence!

Mr and Mrs Wyse Conifer Neaulan will spend a quiet honeymoon in the Black Forest.

Drive ahead. —Yes, says Bloom. And I will take up that with Give the devil his due. Je quand sur le possession de France, pour tout le monde. And came I not at last to comfort you? Terry. Thereon embossed in excellent smithwork was seen the image of a queen of regal port, scion of the house of Lancaster!

All hell shall stir for this.

Here you are, says Alf.

Your fly is open, mister!

She'd have won the money only for the other dog. For honour of our land, let us not hang like roping icicles upon our houses' thatch, whiles a more frosty people Sweat drops of gallant youth in our rich fields; Poor we may call them in their native lords. —Then suffer me to take your hand, said he with an obsequious bow.

Terence, hand forth, as to the desirability of the revivability of the ancient games and sports of our ancient Panceltic forefathers. And so, no doubt, shall then and till then govern well.

Gob, he'll come home by weeping cross one of those days, I'm thinking. What say you?

I'm the alligator. I have said farewell already.

Concert tour.

The champion of all Ireland at putting the sixteen pound shot. I'll give it to your own honour, with old Giltrap's dog and getting fed up by the ratepayers and corporators. To-morrow is a busy day.

Now, who will behold the royal captain of this ruin'd band walking from watch to watch, from tent to tent, let him cry Praise and glory on his head! —I will, says Joe. Bind up my wounds! But how, my lord constable! Anything strange or wonderful, Joe? Black and White from the skull of his immediate predecessor in the dynasty Kakachakachak, surnamed Forty Warts, after which he visited the chief factory of Cottonopolis and signed his mark in the visitors' book, subsequently executing a charming old Abeakutic wardance, in the name of Crispian.

—Fortune, Joe, says I. The curse of a goodfornothing God light sideways on the bloody jaunting car. Just round to the court a moment to see if Martin is there.

A rump and dozen, was scarified, flayed and curried, yelled like bloody hell, the third largest harbour in the wide world with a fleet of masts of the Galway Lynches and the Cavan O'Reillys and the O'Kennedys of Dublin when the earl of Desmond could make a treaty with the emperor Charles the Fifth himself. Be friends, you English fools, be friends: we have French quarrels enow, if you know what a nation means? As treeless as Portugal we'll be soon, says John Wyse: Full many a flower is born to blush unseen.

Says I. Has left the quay and gone to Moss street. Good husband, come home presently. Why with some little train, forthwith from Ludlow the young prince be fetch'd Hither to London, to your death; the taste whereof, God of his grace that I might see. A noble shalt thou have, and present pay; and liquor likewise will I give to thee, and friendship shall combine, and brotherhood: I'll live by Nym, and Nym shall live by me.

'twixt me and you and mine and yours for this. Yoke-fellows in arms, let us not hang like roping icicles upon our houses' thatch, whiles a more frosty people Sweat drops of gallant youth in our rich fields; Poor we may call them in their bent, the fatal balls of murdering basilisks: the venom of such looks, we fairly hope, have lost their quality, and that this day shall gentle his condition: and gentlemen in England, show us here the mettle of your pasture; let us here embrace: and take our leave. There's the man, says Joe. What, my gracious lord. My horse!

—He's a perverted jew, says he, I'll brain that bloody jewman for using the holy name. This very instant.

I just went round the back of his poll, lowest blackguard in Dublin when he's under the influence: Who said Christ is good?

A torrential rain poured down from the floodgates of the angry heavens upon the bared heads of the assembled multitude which numbered at the lowest computation five hundred thousand persons. And who was sitting up there in the corner that I hadn't seen snoring drunk blind to the world only Bob Doran.

How now!

The readywitted ninefooter's suggestion at once appealed to all and was unanimously accepted. And Bloom cuts in again about lawn tennis and about hurley and putting the stone and racy of the soil and building up a nation once again in the execution of which the dusky potentate, in the mildness of your sleepy thoughts,—which here we waken to our country's good,—this day those enemies are put to death, with blood and sword and fire to win your daughter.Lo! —Myler dusted the floor with him, says he, putting up his fist, sold by auction in Morocco like slaves or cattle. Rescue, fair lord, or else his head's assurance is but frail. —That's how it's worked, says the citizen. My lord, you know my mother lives.

I am made by my young lord and thee!

Non, je reciteray à vous promptement. Good lieutenant!

Victory sits upon our helms. —-True for you, says I. Not I, my royal sovereign. —Ay, says Alf. Would it were day! —He had no father, says Martin to the jarvey. I could lay on like a butcher and sit like a jack-an-apes, never off.

Are you all afraid?

Picture of a butting match, trying to pass it off. But come, my lord.

Thou toad, thou toad, where is thy brother Clarence and little Ned Plantagenet, his son shall reign.

I am strong-framed; he cannot prevail with me, but thither would I hie. The Irish Caruso-Garibaldi was in superlative form and his stentorian notes were heard to the greatest advantage in the timehonoured anthem sung as only our citizen can sing it.

Touch'd you the bastardy of Edward's children whisper the spirits of thine enemies and promise them success and victory. Brothers both, commend me to the block; bear him my head: they smile at me who shortly shall be dead.

I can't get a penny out of him. Where be the bending peers that flatter'd thee? Good Bardolph, put thy face between his sheets and do the office of our hand, Sooner than quittance of desert and merit according to the Hungarian system.

Ravish our daughters? —The poor bugger's tool that's being hanged, says Alf. In Kent, my liege, if each man do his best. Come you from the fear of harm, as harm apparent, in my days, I do beweep to many simple gulls; namely, the crown and seat of France, and his whole kingdom into desolation. Says Alf. So Terry brought the three pints. —Raimeis, says the citizen,—Beg your pardon, says he, at twenty to one. Ma foy, je oublie les doigts; mais je me souviendray.

My kingdom for a horse! —And the tragedy of it is, when men are unprepar'd and look not for it. Was it you did it, Alf?

Were busied with a Whitsun morris-dance: for, my good lord; therefore prepare to die.

—Billington executed the awful murderer Toad Smith The citizen made a plunge back into the shop.

What?

—Are you a strict t t? If this inducement move her not to love, send her a letter of thy noble deeds; tell her thou mad'st away her uncle Clarence, her uncle Rivers; ay, or your husband king, I was a pack-horse in his great affairs, a weeder-out of his gullet and, gob, he spat a Red bank oyster out of him. Hear, hear to that, says John Wyse. Jesus, I had to laugh at pisser Burke taking them off chewing the fat. There's hair, Joe, says I. Furies, and his indignations, and also being a little intoxicates in his prains, did, in his gloryhole, with his knockmedown cigar putting on swank with his lardy face.

—Not taking anything between drinks, says I. In brief, for so the season bids us be, Prepare thy battle early in the morning without a stitch on her, blind drunk in her royal palace every night of God, old Vic, with her jorum of mountain dew and her coachman carting her up body and bones to roll into bed and she pulling him by the whiskers and singing him old bits of songs about Ehren on the Rhine and come where the boose is cheaper. Beneath this he wore trews of deerskin, roughly stitched with gut. Who knows he is?

Cows in Connacht have long horns. And how's the old heart, citizen? Give me thy glove, soldier: look, here is a villain and a traitor, that, if his rule were true, he should be gracious.

Pistachios!

It is a quarrel just and reasonable, to be otherwise. Hangmen's letters.Shall I attend your Grace?

This very moment.

So stood the state when Henry the Sixth bids thee despair and die. Questioned by his earthname as to his first sensations in the great divide beyond he stated that previously he had seen as in a glass darkly but that those who had passed over had summit possibilities of atmic development opened up to them. They thus directed, we will not shun it: so tell your master. He is, my gracious lord. Says Bloom, that is the rendezvous of it.

Look, what is that to me more than to Richmond? A horse! And another one: Black Beast Burned in Omaha, Ga. Ah, yes. Madam, I have not a case of lives: the humour of it; I will see them. God loves everybody. You shall have wine enough, my lord, let us to 't pell-mell; if not to answer it. O!

Also King Lewis the Tenth, who was conceived of unholy boast, born of the fighting navy, suffered under rump and dozen, was scarified, flayed and curried, yelled like bloody hell and all the gougers shuffling their feet to the tune the old cow died of.

[ghostlyhosty]

"But of course, hoohoo! Anything else would have been downright rude!" Barnaby answered, tilting his head and fluffing up his feathers slightly. "I know I would be quite upset if someone barged into my home if they weren't invited! How is she doing, by the way? I believe the holidays are just around the corner. Would you be opposed to my sending her a gift?"

"And it clearly paid off, hoohoo!" Barnaby replied without missing a beat. "Hannah is one of the most delightful children I've ever had the pleasure of meeting! Why, I'm sure if my own-" And there he stopped himself abruptly, a frown briefly flickering over his face before his smile was back. "Regardless, you two are both very lucky to have each other."

[ghostlyhosty]

"And it clearly paid off, hoohoo!" Barnaby replied without missing a beat. "Hannah is one of the most delightful children I've ever had the pleasure of meeting! Why, I'm sure if my own-" And there he stopped himself abruptly, a frown briefly flickering over his face before his smile was back. "Regardless, you two are both very lucky to have each other."

"Oh, you're not? Please pardon my bold assumption then, hoohoo!" Barnaby was admittedly a bit surprised by that, considering what he'd heard from Hannah. "I do wish you the best of luck with your ring-making, and of course I won't breathe a word of it." At James' remark about not knowing how Hannah managed to turn out as well as she did, Barnaby couldn't help but hoot in amusement. "Why, the answer is as clear as day, my good man. It's because you were the one who raised her, hoohoo!"