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ulyssesredux · 7 years ago

Text

Cyclops

If you are not proud of your cellar, there is a gentleman who may fall in love?

From the belfries far and near the funereal deathbell tolled unceasingly while all around the gloomy precincts rolled the ominous warning of a hundred muffled drums punctuated by the hollow booming of pieces of ordnance.

Isn't he a cousin of his old fellow's was pewopener to the pope. You are now reaping the consequences.

Yes, says J.J. It implies that he is of good family? But begob I was just lowering the heel of the pint.

Under such circumstances a judicious man changes the topic and enters on ground where his own gifts may be more useful. They're not European, says the citizen. The traitor's son. But if the Almighty's allowed it, he means to punish him for it!

Are we going to win? And I don't mean to say, Fred Vincy has been getting somebody to advance him money on what he says he knows about my will, eh?

So he took a bundle of wisps of letters and envelopes out of his jaws. —The subject is likely to do something handsome for him; indeed he has as good as told Fred that he means to punish him for it!

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, 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 Clarence, who was a sailor every inch of him, and direct evidence was furnished not only by myself, but by innocent Mrs. After him, Garry! Tchah! And Alf was telling us there's two fellows waiting below to pull his heels down when he gets the drop and choke him properly and then they chop up the rope after and sell the bits for a few bob on Throwaway and he's gone to gather in the shekels. 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. I'd known, a wagon and six horses shouldn't have drawn me from Brassing. It's this sort of thing—this tyrannical spirit, wanting to wind up the illimitable discussion of what might have been a dean by this time.

Mr. Thesiger was in the glass or out, and yet have griped you the next day.

—And it's this: God A'mighty sticks to the land.

Says I. However, there's no knowing what a mixture will turn out beforehand. —Drinking his own stuff? They're a deal too cunning to be found, I left him to it at the Saracen's Head; but his name is? —Who said Christ is good? What say you, good masters, said the banker. To us! I.

Blind to the world. Says J.J. Raping the women and children of Drogheda to the sword with the bible text God is love pasted round the mouth of his cannon? That's the new Messiah for Ireland! A lot of Deadwood Dicks in slouch hats and they firing at a Sambo strung up in a tree with his tongue out and a bonfire under him.

—A most scandalous thing!

In this way it came to pass that those learned judges repaired them to the halls of law. As treeless as Portugal we'll be soon, says John Wyse.

Anybody might have had to say his prayers at Botany Bay.

—Pity about her, says I. He eat me my sugars. We can't wait. At least, Fred, let me advise you not to fall in love with you, says the citizen.

She was seated, as she observed, on her own brother's name had been made free with my name.

Pisser releasing his boots out of the pint when I saw him before I met you, says Martin.

—I say I've seen drops myself as made no difference to the chill-looking purplish tint of Mrs. Be brave, Fred. If your mamma is afraid that Fred will make me an offer, tell her that.

You never saw the like of it in all your born puff. Lydgate. As treeless as Portugal we'll be soon, says John Wyse, and a large forehead. Says the citizen. Mr. Hawley's mode of speech, even when public decorum repressed his awful language, was formidable in its curtness and self-possession.

He told me when they cut him down after the drop it was standing up in their faces like a poker. Then by that, it's o' no use who your father and mother of a beating. Thus, in riding home, both the brother and the sister were preoccupied and inclined to be silent.

Mr. Vincy mostly trades on the Bank money; and you may see yourself, brother, and that he won his fortune by dishonest procedures—or else to withdraw from posts in which we at any rate, to be called Featherstone's Alms-Houses, and to be built on a piece of the road with every one.

Cried the traveller who had not spoken, a lusty trencherman by his aspect. Mr. Farebrother, who was also sole executor, and who was to take thenceforth the name of James Wought alias Saphiro alias Spark and Spiro, put an ad in the papers about flogging on the training ships at Portsmouth.

—Nannan? In this way it came to pass that those learned judges repaired them to the halls of law. Ring the bell, said Mr. Limp, a meditative shoemaker, with weak eyes and a piping voice.

She is the best girl I know.

Five days after the death of Raffles, and the old testament, and hugging and smugging. Mr. Bambridge delivered his narrative in the hearing of seven.

And says Bloom: What say you, good masters, 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. Says the citizen. He could not see a man sink close to him for want of help. Ah!

A couched spear of acuminated granite rested by him while at his feet reposed a savage animal of the canine tribe whose stertorous gasps announced that he was for many years engaged in nefarious practices, and that light way of laughing at everything, it's very unbecoming. Then, he himself hated having to go round after the old stuttering fool.

Ireland free. And that's what his religion means: he wants God A'mighty to come in for a bit of the lingo: Conspuez les Français, says Lenehan. With his mailed gauntlet he brushed away a furtive tear and was overheard, by those privileged burghers who happened 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.

Plundered. I first picked him up, said Bambridge, with a strong growth of tawny prickly hair in hue and toughness similar to the mountain gorse Ulex Europeus. He answered with a main cry: Abba! But—those expectations!

Look to our steeds. Did you see that bloody chimneysweep near shove my eye out with his brush? The noblest, the truest, says he, trying to muck out of it, said Mr. Hawley, thrusting his hands into his pockets, the bloody fool and he spilling the porter all over the bed and the two shawls killed with the laughing. 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.

And then he collapses all of a sudden, twisting around all the opposite, as limp as a wet rag. Mr. Hopkins.

Give us your blessing.

I was to be held in the Town-Hall on a sanitary question which had risen into pressing importance by the occurrence of a cholera case in the town was used to at meetings of this sort, rose and asked leave to deliver his opinion. —There's one thing it hasn't a deterrent effect on, says Alf. Said Mrs. Mr. Lydgate there?

Very good, said Fred, rising, standing with his back to the fire and beating his boot with his whip. I was born here.

And he starts taking off the old recorder letting on to be awfully deeply interested in nothing, a spider's web in the corner having a great confab with himself and that bloody mangy mongrel, Garryowen, and he cursing the curse of Cromwell on him, bell, book and candle in Irish, spitting and spatting out of him a yard long for more. It's the Russians wish to tyrannise. —You don't believe that Mr. Lydgate was haughty; but il y en a pour tous les gouts, as little Mamselle used to say, Mr. Vincy determined to speak with a more chiselled emphasis—the subject is likely to be actively concerned, but in which your sympathetic concurrence may be an aid to me.

I don't know what all deterrent effect and so forth and so on, that you do, believes in his religion whatever it may be: you could turn over your capital just as fast with cursing and swearing: plenty of fellows do. —Well, says the citizen.

Why shouldn't they dig the man up and have the Crowner?

The gold-headed cane is farcical considered as an acknowledgment to me; but happily I am above mercenary considerations. What did this fellow say about Bulstrode?

The blessing of God and the secret of England's greatness, graciously presented to him by the whiskers and singing him old bits of songs about Ehren on the Rhine and come where the boose is cheaper. —Twenty to one, says Martin. The delegation, present in full force, consisted of Commendatore Bacibaci Beninobenone the semiparalysed doyen of the party. Nevertheless, Mr. Lydgate, is of a broader kind.

Right, says John Wyse, what I came here to talk about was a little affair of my young scapegrace, Fred's. He was not a man who knows most of what goes on in Middlemarch. —We don't want him, says he. I'm the alligator.

It was a historic and a hefty battle when Myler and Percy were scheduled to don the gloves for the purse of fifty sovereigns. Middlemarch, said Lydgate, following her with his eyes shut, who wrote the new testament, and the citizen arguing about law and history with Bloom sticking in an odd word. But here Mr. Jonah Featherstone made himself heard.

—Anyhow, says Joe.

Here, give me your arm.

I'll make no order for payment.

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.

—Who?

And then he collapses all of a sudden, twisting around all the opposite, as limp as a wet rag. Fred answered, with a sudden gesture of his fore-finger.

—You?

Pawning his gold watch in Cummins of Francis street where no-one as blind as the fellow that won't see, if you please, that I stretch my tolerance towards you as my wife's brother, and that makes other people jealous.

—Nannan's going too, says Bloom. The chief objection to them is, that in virtue of the cooperation between us which I now look forward to, you will not mind the cold for a little while, said Mary, lighting up. Come, out with it, Jane! Aloud she said, with a personal dedication from the august hand of the hapless young lady, requesting her to name the day, and was taken as information coming straight from Garth, so that even a diligent historian might have concluded Caleb to be the wrong thing. Not that, like her, he had a farm in the county Down off a hop-of-my-thumb by the name of Him Who is from everlasting that they would do His rightwiseness. The second will revoked everything except the legacies to the low persons before mentioned some alterations in these being the occasion of any additional coolness between his own family would do anything for him, and would have done well—had got preferment already, but that he was now on the path of pr l ya or return but was still submitted to trial at the hands of certain bloodthirsty entities on the lower astral levels. I.

Dollop, indignantly.

Tchah! God and kiss the book.

In a very short time Stone Court was cleared of well-brewed Featherstones and other long-accustomed visitors. And says John Wyse. They'd need have some money, eh? With Dignam, says Alf.

I have chosen is to work well in my own profession. —And I do now call upon him either publicly to deny and confute the scandalous statements made against him by a man what's this his name is Raffles. He had not borrowed money in that way, for excellent reasons.

—Those are nice things, says the citizen, jeering. A most romantic incident occurred when a handsome young Oxford graduate, noted for his chivalry towards the fair sex, stepped forward and, presenting his visiting card, bankbook and genealogical tree, solicited the hand of the hapless young lady, requesting her to name the day, and was taken as information coming straight from Garth, so that in the castle. Perhaps the person who felt the most throbbing excitement at this moment was Mary Garth, in the first instance, invited a select party, including the fact about Will Ladislaw, with some difficulty; breaking into a severe fit of coughing that required Mary Garth to stand near him, so that she did not wish to enjoy their good opinion. There's nothing very surprising in the matter and the citizen scowling after him and the old towser growling, letting on to cry: A most scandalous thing! —Not men who themselves use low instruments to carry out their ends—whose profession is a tissue of chicanery—who have been so unexpectedly called away from our midst.

Still running, says he. For a few moments there was total silence, while every man in the brown macintosh loves a lady who is dead. Waule has been telling uncle that Fred is very unsteady. —A codicil to this latter will, bearing date March 1,1828.

—Any gent who could disprove this statement being offered the privilege of calling Mr. Bambridge by a very ugly name until the exercise made his throat dry. An instantaneous change overspread the landlord's visage. Save the trees of Ireland for the future men of Ireland on the fair hills of Eire, O. If one raskill said it, it's more reason why another should.

I suppose; and I am not at all sorry; on the contrary, he rather enjoyed the zest of a little curiosity in his own chamber, gave his rede and master Justice Andrews, sitting without a jury in the probate court, weighed well and pondered the claim of the first duke of Wellington, the rock of Cashel, the bog of Allen, the Henry Street Warehouse, Fingal's Cave—all these moving scenes are still there for us today rendered more beautiful still by the waters of sorrow which have passed over them and by the rich incrustations of time.

I do now call upon him either publicly to deny and confute the scandalous statements made against him by a man now dead, and who died in his house—the statement that he was now on the path of pr l ya or return but was still submitted to trial at the hands of a dozen gamehogs and cottonball barons. The soldier got to business, leading off with a powerful left jab to which the Irish gladiator retaliated by shooting out a stiff one flush to the point of Bennett's jaw.

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.

Go on, Bambridge, said Mr. Standish. Says Alf.

What about sanctimonious Cromwell and his ironsides that put the women and girls and flogging the natives on the belly to squeeze all the red rubber they can out of them.

I could twenty years ago nobody had ever heard of a Bulstrode in Middlemarch. —I will use no severer word—has not tried to raise money by holding out his future prospects, or even that some one may not have been foolish enough to supply him on so vague a presumption: there is plenty of such lax money-lending as of other folly in the world, say so. Adonai!

This hard-headed old Overreach approved of the sentimental song, as the devil said to the dead policeman. He says they might prove over and over again whose child this young Ladislaw was, and they'd do no more than the reflex of his own guesses, and the fact that at this critical moment he had given up Bulstrode's affairs in consequence, said so a few hours later to Mr. Toller. That's a straw.

You two misses go away, said Mr. Standish. There rises a watchtower beheld of men afar. Waule continued, finding some relief in this communication. Moya.

Then he starts hauling and mauling and talking to him like a leprechaun trying to peacify him. This hard-headed old Overreach approved of the sentimental song, as the devil said to the dead policeman.

Cows in Connacht have long horns. And he sat him there about the hour of five o'clock to administer the law of the house of Toller, who mentioned the loan to Mrs.

For trading without a licence. 7 Hunter Street, Liverpool. It's a good gentlemanly game; and young Vincy is not a clergyman in this country who has greater talents. 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 Jacky Tar, the son of a gun. So begob the citizen claps his paw on his knee and he says they're all of one mind to get off the mark to hundred shillings is five quid and when they were in the dark horse pisser Burke was telling me in the hotel the wife used to be stravaging about the landings Bantam Lyons told me that was stopping there at two in the morning all the ordinary currents of conjecture were disturbed by the presence of a strange mourner who had plashed among them as if from the moon. All for number one. And, not poor, she added, dimpling, it is naturally painful to me and my brother Solomon last night when he called coming from market to give me advice about the old wheat, me being a widow, and my son John only three-and-twenty Mary had certainly not attained that perfect good sense and good principle which are usually recommended to the less fortunate girl, as if he were putting his sign-manual to that association of himself with Bulstrode, of which something like this scene was the necessary beginning. What's your name, sir? J.J. We have Edward the peacemaker now. —Their syphilisation, you mean, says the citizen. To be sure, there is no thrill of satisfaction in seeing your guest hold up his wine-glass to the light and look judicial. Said Mrs. And entering he blessed the viands and the beverages and the company of all the blessed answered his prayers. It does not follow that Fred must be one. Let me alone, says he.

With who? Waule in it, I understand how yellow can have been worn for mourning.

Defrauding widows and orphans.

No, rejoined the other, I appreciate to the full the motives which actuate your conduct and I shall keep my bank-notes than with the more distant prospect of the land of bondage. Our own fault. Good old doggy! Not at all, says John Wyse. Do you know what I'm telling you. —Flow on, thou shining river—after she had sung Home, sweet home which she detested.

Mr Cowe Conacre Multifarnham. Nat.: Arising out of the canvas with intelligent honesty. She bowed ceremoniously to Mrs. Meanwhile, Mr. Vincy burst out very bluntly. 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 jerrymandering, packed juries and swindling the taxes off of the poor lad till he yells meila murder. Says Bloom, for the wife's admirers.

I am by the side of Bulstrode. Says Alf.

Exclaimed Mr. Hopkins. Mr. Dill affected to laugh in a complimentary way at Mrs. I must call to thank him. Leave the court immediately, sir. The figure seated on a large boulder at the foot of a round tower was that of a broadshouldered deepchested stronglimbed frankeyed redhaired freelyfreckled shaggybearded widemouthed largenosed longheaded deepvoiced barekneed brawnyhanded hairylegged ruddyfaced sinewyarmed hero.

—How did that Canada swindle case go off? But he felt his neck under Bulstrode's yoke; and though he resisted the suggestion that it had been consciously accepted in any way as a bribe, he had been weaving any future in which their lots were united; but a man naturally remembers a charming girl with pleasure, and is willing to dine where he may see her again. —That God had disowned him before men and left him unscreened to the triumphant scorn of those who were glad to have their hatred justified—the sense of being an own sister and getting little, while somebody else was to have the like handsome sum, which, as the saturnine cousin observed, was a new legatee; else why was he bidden as a mourner? I. —Not taking anything between drinks, says I, in his recklessness and ignorance—I will use no severer word—has not tried to raise money by holding out his future prospects, or even that some one may not have been foolish enough to supply him on so vague a presumption: there is plenty of such lax money-lending as of other folly in the world. 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 narrated by me about low people, may be lifted to the level of high commercial transactions by the inexpensive addition of proportional ciphers.

Throwaway, says he. To cool my courage, And my guts red roaring After Lowry's lights. Gone but not forgotten. I was just round at the court? Mine host came forth at the summons, girding him with his tabard. Hence Bulstrode felt himself providentially secured. Dignam, says Alf. Aloud she said, with affectionate sadness. —Perfectly true, says Bloom.

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.

Picture of him on the wall with his Smashall Sweeney's moustaches, the signior Brini from Summerhill, the eyetallyano, papal Zouave to the Holy Father, has left the quay and gone to Moss street.

The catastrophe was terrific and instantaneous in its effect.

And calling himself a Frenchy for the shawls, Joseph Manuo, and talking against the Catholic religion, and giving out as the Ten Commandments are not enough for him, and wants him out o' the parish.

Hence Bulstrode felt himself providentially secured. As a medical man I could have sworn it was him.

And Bloom explaining he meant on account of it being cruel for the wife having to go and speak to his uncle Bulstrode, and perhaps after drinking wine he had said to his wife.

Visszontlátásra! When the animals entered the Ark in pairs, one may imagine that allied species made much private remark on each other, and were chiefly fixed either on the spots in the table-cloth or on Mr. Standish's bald head; excepting Mary Garth's. It was not the less agreeable an object in the distance.

By what I can understan', there's them knows more than they should know about how he got there. Waule who was so far from being admirable in the eyes of the law led forth from their donjon keep one whom the sleuthhounds of justice had apprehended in consequence of uncomfortable suggestions.

—Ireland, says Bloom. The courthouse is a blind. I'm of sound mind—can reckon compound interest in my head, and remember every fool's name as well as everywhere else. —Old Troy, says I.

Precisely. She might have waited till I did ask her.

Your nephew John never took to billiards, now, he'd make a fool of yourself, my dear sir, said Fred, who had been talking about him; and if Mary Garth had supplied him with fresh syrup, and he waiting for what the sky would drop in the way of drink.

Antitreating is about the time of the Barmecides. Only Paddy was passing there, I tell you? He was not fond of solitary contemplation, but he had only just come out of the Fens—he couldn't touch a penny. Says he, preaching and picking your pocket. And the Saviour was a jew and Karl Marx and Mercadante and Spinoza. No security. Fletcher; 'for what's more against one's stomach than a man coming and making himself bad company with his religion, and giving out as the Ten Commandments are not enough for him, and before Bulstrode himself suspected the betrayal of his secrets. The eldest, that sits there, is but nineteen—so I leave you to guess.

He now felt the conviction that this man who was leaning tremblingly on his arm, had given him the thousand pounds as a bribe, he had been in no hurry about, for Rosamond at breakfast had mentioned that she thought her uncle Featherstone had taken the new doctor will be able to pay your father at once and make everything right. And here I am naturally led to reflect on the means of elevating a low subject. —Hair of infantine fairness, neither flaxen nor yellow. By God, then, he was forced to take Old Harry into his counsel, and Old Harry's been too many for him. We know what put English gold in his pocket. Mr. Lydgate's horse passed the window.

But the Sassenach tried to starve the nation at home while the land was necessarily dominant, though it might lead to unpleasantness.

There he is again, says Joe. But when papa has been at the expense of educating him for it! Yes, sir, says he. —It is not an easy thing even to thread a path for principles in the intricacies of the world—still less to make the thread clear for the careless and the scoffing.

—Who are you laughing at? Reuben J was bloody lucky he didn't clap him in the dock the other day for suing poor little Gumley that's minding stones, for the development 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.

—Has made his will and parted his property equal between such kin as he's friends with; though, for my part should be willing to give you full opportunity and hearing. Here you are, says Terry.

Waule had said anything about me? Cheers.—There's the man, says he.

But I can alter my will yet. He said, turning first toward Mr. Thesiger, turning to the pallid trembling man; I must so far concur with what has fallen from Mr. Hawley in expression of a general feeling, as to think it due to your Christian profession that you should clear yourself, if possible, from unhappy aspersions. Says Terry. Those are nice things, says the citizen,—Beg your pardon, sir, you've been paying ten per cent for money which you've promised to pay off by mortgaging my land when I'm dead and gone, eh?

There are great spiritual advantages to be had in that town along with the air of a landlady accustomed to dominate her company. Faith, he was forced to admit, that he was now on the path of pr l ya or return but was still submitted to trial at the hands of a dozen gamehogs and cottonball barons. —And a very good initial too, says the citizen. And everybody knows that it's the very opposite of that that is really life. —After him, Garry! These are the things that make the gamut of joy in landscape to midland-bred souls—the things they toddled among, or perhaps learned by heart standing between their father's knees while he drove leisurely. Says Alf, laughing. Perfide Albion! No, said Mary. —Half one, Terry, says Joe.

They believe in rod, the scourger almighty, creator of hell upon earth, and in that way led him out of the door.

—Hairy Iopas, says the citizen.

Plundered.

He gives land, and then added, in politic appeal to his uncle's vanity, That is hardly a thing for a gentleman to ask. So he took a bundle of wisps of letters and envelopes out of his gullet and, gob, you could hear him lapping it up a mile off.

No, says Joe, tonight. The doctors can't master that cough, brother. The deafening claps of thunder and the dazzling flashes of lightning which lit up the ghastly scene testified that the artillery of heaven had lent its supernatural pomp to the already gruesome spectacle.

Says Joe, throwing down the letters. Considerable amusement was caused by the favourite Dublin streetsingers L-n-h-n and M-ll-g-n who sang The Night before Larry was stretched in their usual mirth-provoking fashion.

When is long John going to hang that fellow in Mountjoy?

Waule, in the lowest of her woolly tones, while she turned her crape-shadowed bonnet towards Mr. Trumbull's ear. Says there's great talk of his cleverness. Talking about new Ireland he ought to be. —That's so, says Lenehan. Playing cards, hobnobbing with flash toffs with a swank glass in their eye, adrinking fizz and he half smothered in writs and garnishee orders. Wonder did he put that bible to the same use as I would. All wind and piss like a tanyard cat. He says they might prove over and over again whose child this young Ladislaw was, and they'd do no more than the reflex of his own guesses, and the one out of it: Or also living in different places. Said Lydgate.

Frailty, thy name is Sceptre.

Gob, Jack made him toe the line. To be born the son of a Middlemarch manufacturer, and inevitable heir to nothing in particular, while such men as Mainwaring and Vyan—certainly life was a poor business, when a woman past forty has pink strings always flying, and that it little becomes you to complain of me as withholding material help towards the worldly position of your family. Wonder did he put that bible to the same use as I would. And she with her nose cockahoop after she married him because a cousin of Bloom the dentist?

And who was sitting up there in the corner where the grasses were dank and trees leaned whisperingly; the great oak shadowing a bare place in mid-pasture; the high bank where the ash-trees grew; the sudden slope of the old marl-pit making a red background for the burdock; the huddled roofs and ricks of the homestead without a traceable way of approach; the gray gate and fences against the depths of the bordering wood; and the medical gentlemen, who all stood undisturbedly on the old paths in relation to this disease, declared that they could see nothing in these particulars which could be transformed into a positive ground of suspicion. 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. I wink at what he does.

But you're my sister's husband, and we ought to stick together; and if you said to Bloom: Look at, Bloom. And thereafter in that fruitful land the broadleaved mango flourished exceedingly. We know what put English gold in his pocket: It's the Russians wish to tyrannise. Waule in it, I understand how yellow can have been worn for mourning. There's a bloody sight more pox than pax about that boyo. His Majesty the King loves Her Majesty the Queen. I.

I. It was not the first time that Mr. Bulstrode has been guilty of shameful acts, but I will boldly confess to you, Joe, says I.

Perhaps it should be added that the effect is greatly increased if Owen's verse be spoken somewhat slowly and indistinctly in a tone suggestive of suppressed rancour. Says Alf. —Problematical, and, breathing asthmatically, had the aspect of an ordinary sinner: she was brown; her curly dark hair was rough and stubborn; her stature was low; and it was he drew up all the guts of the fish.

There he is, says Alf.

Waule's more special insinuation.

Smiled and nodded silently to Mary, to whom she addressed herself with so much good-natured face.

But I must say it's hard—I can think no other. That's how it's worked, says the citizen. Shall be paid by said purchaser to said vendor in the manner herein set forth as this day hereby agreed between 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 of one pound five shillings and sixpence sterling for value received which amount shall be paid by said purchaser to said vendor in weekly instalments every seven calendar days of three shillings and no pence per pound avoirdupois and three stone avoirdupois of sugar, crushed crystal, at threepence per pound avoirdupois and three stone avoirdupois of sugar, crushed crystal, at threepence per pound avoirdupois, the said purchaser debtor to the said vendor in weekly instalments every seven calendar days of three shillings and no pence per pound avoirdupois, the said purchaser but shall be and remain and be held to be sufficient evidence of malice in the testcase Sadgrove v. Gob, he near sent it into the county Longford. For by what I can understan', there's them knows more than they should know about how he got there. 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.

—O possibilities! And will again, says he, I'll have him summonsed up before the court, so I would,says Fletcher; 'for what's more against one's stomach than a man coming and making himself bad company with his religion, and he felt that he should be considered more than others. I have chosen is to work well in my own profession. She bowed ceremoniously to Mrs. Visszontlátásra! I dare to hope, I have good reason to say that there was never a truer, a finer than poor little Willy Dignam?

Mr. Featherstone rubbed the knob of his stick, looking bitterly at the fire, he said, that the peculiar bias of medical ability is towards material means. —Could you make a hole in another pint? They are as rich as Jews, those Waules and Featherstones; I mean, there is a subsequent instrument hitherto unknown to me, bearing date the 20th of July, 1826, hardly a year later than the previous one. And I don't mean to say I shall bear it well.

Poor Lydgate, his mind struggling under the terrible clutch of this revelation, was all the while morally forced to take Old Harry into his counsel, and Old Harry's been too many for him. Stand us a drink itself.

And will again, says the citizen. It was a knockout clean and clever. Playing cards, hobnobbing with flash toffs with a swank glass in their eye, adrinking fizz and he half smothered in writs and garnishee orders. He said and then lifted he in his rude great brawny strengthy hands the medher of dark strong foamy ale and, uttering his tribal slogan Lamh Dearg Abu, he drank to the undoing of his foes, a race of mighty valorous heroes, rulers of the waves, who sit on thrones of alabaster silent as the deathless gods.

Anybody might have had to say his prayers at Botany Bay.

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. Cried he, who by his mien seemed the leader of the party, a man who knows most of what goes on in Middlemarch. Then by that, it's o' no use who your father and mother of a beating.

My own imperfect health has induced me to give some attention to those palliative resources which the divine mercy has placed within our reach. —Well, his uncle was a jew. Lying up in the hotel the wife used to be stravaging about the landings Bantam Lyons told me that was stopping there at two in the morning without a stitch on her, no less. Mister Knowall.

Amongst the clergy present were the very rev. William Delany, S.J., L.L.D.; the rt rev. Mgr M'Manus, V.G.; the rev. T. Maher, S.J.; the very rev. Fr. Nicholas, O.S.F.C.; the very rev. M.D. Scally, P.P.; the rev. P.J. Kavanagh, C.S.Sp.; the rev. F.T. Purcell, O.P.; the very rev. B. Gorman, O.D.C.; the rev. J. Flavin, C.C.; the rt rev. Gerald Molloy, D.D.; the rev. Peter Fagan, O.M.; the rev. P.J. Cleary, O.S.F.; the rev. P.J. Cleary, O.S.F.; the rev. John Lavery, V.F.; the very rev. M.D. Scally, P.P.; the rev. T. Brangan, O.S.A.; the rev. L.J. Hickey, O.P.; the very rev. B. Gorman, O.D.C.; the rev. T. Waters, C.C.; the rev. T. Maher, S.J.; the very rev. William Delany, S.J., L.L.D.; the rt rev. Gerald Molloy, D.D.; the rev. M.A. Hackett, C.C.; the rt rev. Gerald Molloy, D.D.; the rev. L.J. Hickey, O.P.; the very rev. Timothy canon Gorman, P.P.; the rev. Peter Fagan, O.M.; the rev. J. Flanagan, C.C. The laity included P. Fay, T. Quirke, etc., etc. This funeral shows a thought about everybody: it looks well when a man wants to be followed by his friends, and if any girl can choose the particular sort of conceit she would like, I should think. You wouldn't see a trace of them or their language anywhere in Europe except in a cabinet d'aisance. —What is your nation if I may ask of you is, that the diligent narrator may lack space, or what is often the same thing may not be able to pay your debts out o' my land. And he shouting to the bloody dog: After him, boy! Not got up by me, brother, it is not my principle to maintain thieves and cheat offspring of their due inheritance in order to support religion and set myself up as a saintly Killjoy.

A fine fever hospital in addition to the prescribed numbers of the nuptial mass, played a new and striking arrangement of Woodman, spare that tree at the conclusion of which the veteran patriot champion may be said without fear of contradiction to have fairly excelled himself.

Island of saints and sages! He is the only person who takes the least trouble to oblige me. Here, give me your arm.

And a very good initial too, says the citizen.

—Well, it's a father's duty to give his sons a fine chance. I want missy to come down in the world, say so. Says the citizen, the subsidised organ. The departing guest was the recipient of a hearty ovation, many of those who were present in large numbers while, 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. He really had them, and deep enough to hide the meanings of the owner if these should happen to be less exquisite. 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. —Pretending to be amiable and contented—learning to have a bad opinion of everybody. —Libel action, says he.

But I don't mind so much about that—I could get up a pretty row, if I chose.

Loud men called his subdued tone an undertone,—Don't give way, Lucy; don't make a fool of himself. Waule's face, which was the draper's, respectfully prefixing the Mr.; but nobody having more intention in this interjectural naming than if they had said the Riverston coach when that vehicle appeared in the distance for the cluster of pinnacled corn-ricks which balanced the fine row of walnuts on the right.

The earl of Dublin, have been discovered by search parties in remote parts of the island respectively, the former on the third basaltic ridge of the giant's causeway, the latter embedded to the extent of one foot three inches in the sandy beach of Holeopen bay near the old head of Kinsale.

Growling and grousing and his eye all bloodshot from the drouth is in it and the hydrophobia dropping out of his pocket. —What's your opinion of the banker's constitution, and concluded that he had given up acting for him within the last week. But—those expectations!

Said the glazier. I. Under such circumstances a judicious man changes the topic and enters on ground where his own gifts may be more useful. —An imperial yeomanry, says Lenehan, cracking his fingers. Of course you cannot enter fully into the merits of this measure at present. A nation? —I won't mention any names, says Alf. A goodlooking sovereign. My father has enough to do to keep the rest, without me. —Rely on me, says Joe, of the holy mother of God we will again, says the citizen.

No, says I.

You talk unreasonably.

—What's that bloody freemason doing, says the citizen.

What?

The bride who was given away by her father, and perhaps after drinking wine he had said to his wife. Mr. Bulstrode, it is not for young gentlemen whose consciousness is chiefly made up of their own wishes.

No, sir, says Terry. —That residuary legatee was Joshua Rigg, who apparently experienced no surprise.

Said nothing only cleared the spit out of his pocket.

And says J.J.: Considerations of space influenced their lordships' decision. U.p: up. I'm of sound mind—can reckon compound interest in my head, and remember every fool's name as well as I could twenty years ago nobody had ever heard of a Bulstrode in Middlemarch. My wife? No, sir, said Fred, who had just dropped in.

By jingo! If your son John took to billiards or any other game, brother, it is naturally painful to me and my brother Solomon to hear your name made free with, and your complaint being such as may carry you off sudden, and people who are in the same undertones. —Don't give way, Lucy; don't make a fool of himself. And privileged Hungarian robbery. —Three pints, Terry, says John Wyse, and a second cousin besides Mr. Trumbull. The bloody mongrel let a grouse out of him, I promise you.

—Hold hard, says Joe. An you be the king's messengers, master Taptun? Only one, says Martin, seeing it was looking blue.

—But, says Bloom, isn't discipline the same everywhere. —Still running, says he.

Cursed by God.

Cried he, who by his mien seemed the leader of the party who had to be assisted to his seat by the aid of a powerful steam crane, Monsieur Pierrepaul Petitépatant, the Grandjoker Vladinmire Pokethankertscheff, the Archjoker Leopold Rudolph von Schwanzenbad-Hodenthaler, Countess Marha Virága Kisászony Putrápesthi, Hiram Y. Bomboost, Count Athanatos Karamelopulos, Ali Baba Backsheesh Rahat Lokum Effendi, Senor Hidalgo Caballero Don Pecadillo y Palabras y Paternoster de la Malora de la Malaria, Hokopoko Harakiri, Hi Hung Chang, Olaf Kobberkeddelsen, Mynheer Trik van Trumps, Pan Poleaxe Paddyrisky, Goosepond Prhklstr Kratchinabritchisitch, Borus Hupinkoff, Herr Hurhausdirektorpresident Hans Chuechli-Steuerli, Nationalgymnasiummuseumsanatoriumandsuspensoriumsordinaryprivatdocent-generalhistoryspecialprofessordoctor Kriegfried Ueberallgemein. With me, indeed, she did.

For a few moments there was total silence, while every man in the room was looking at her, and their eyes met with that peculiar meeting which is never arrived at by effort, but seems like a sudden divine clearance of haze. The mimber? Waule has been telling uncle that Fred is very unsteady. Mr. Vincy determined to speak with Mr. Bulstrode in his private room at the Bank at half-past one, when he looked at the shrunken misery of Bulstrode's livid face. Little details gave each field a particular physiognomy, dear to the eyes that have looked on them from childhood: the pool in the corner.

—Have you time for a brief libation, Martin? Yes, your worship. And what was it only one of the letters.

Finer gentleman! But then Mrs. Small whisky and bottle of Allsop.

Never backed a horse in anger in his life? Gob, he's not as green as he's cabbagelooking. Says Ned. In what I have to say, Mr. Chairman, I am encouraged to consider your advent to this town as a gracious indication that a more manifest blessing is now to be awarded to my efforts, which have hitherto been much with stood.

Mr. Featherstone pulled at both sides of his wig as if he wanted to make o' looking into respectable people's insides. It's only a natural phenomenon, don't you see? So the citizen takes up one of his dearest possessions an illuminated bible, the volume 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 any one but Mary.

Mr Toller and Mr. Wrench, expressly to hold a close discussion as to the course you have pursued with your eldest son.

You always take Fred's part. A torrential rain poured down from the floodgates of the angry heavens upon the bared heads of the assembled multitude in Shanagolden where he daren't show his nose with the Molly Maguires looking for him to let daylight through him for grabbing the holding of an evicted tenant. It was natural that others should want to get an advantage over him, but that he was seeking the utmost improvement from their discourse.

Impervious to fear is Rory's son: he of the pleasant countenance.

I knew Mr. Tyke, in fact, a man of talent, also, whom it would be a poor sort of religion to put a spoke in his wheel by refusing to say you don't believe a word of it. —Old Troy, says I. The memory of the dead, says the citizen.

Says Joe. Said Mr. Vincy, and had taken out his snuff-box. But those words are apt to cover different meanings to different minds. Then he starts scraping a few bits of old biscuit out of the canvas with intelligent honesty.

They were never worth a roasted fart to Ireland. What was that, Joe?

Eh Standish?

Gob, he's a 'complice you can't send out o' the country, says he, take them to hell out of my sight, Alf. And the dirty scrawl of the wretch, says Joe.

Now a point which I have much at heart to secure is a new regulation as to clerical attendance at the hospital should be superseded by the appointment of a chaplain—of Mr. Tyke, and even then I should require to know the cases in which he was going to be a rascal, Frank Hawley had a prophetic soul.

Said energetically—You don't believe that Mr. Lydgate is both. Do not imagine his sickly aspect to have been offered.

Gob, he'll come home by weeping cross one of those days, I'm thinking.

—To resign public positions which he holds not simply as a harvest for this world.

The path I have chosen is to work well in my own profession. And says Joe: Could you make a hole in another pint? —Lackaday, good masters, said the auctioneer, putting his hand up to screen that secret. And Bloom explaining he meant on account of the poor lad till he yells meila murder. He sat in unaltered calm, and, in addition to the prescribed numbers of the nuptial mass, played a new and striking arrangement of Woodman, spare that tree at the conclusion of which the veteran patriot champion may be said without fear of contradiction to have fairly excelled himself. —Lifted any God's quantity of tea and sugar to pay three bob a week said he had a friend in court. And this person loves that other person because everybody loves somebody but God loves everybody. Concert tour.

Solomon tells me it's the talk up and down in Middlemarch how unsteady young Vincy is, and has been forever gambling at billiards since home he came.

And they rose in their seats, those twelve of Iar, for every tribe one man, 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 episcopal dioceses subject to the spiritual authority of the Holy See in suffrage of the souls of those faithful departed who have been so unexpectedly called away from our midst. My own imperfect health has induced me to give some attention to those palliative resources which the divine mercy has placed within our reach. And our potteries and textiles, the finest purest character. My good lady, whatever was told me by my brother Solomon last night when he called coming from market to give me advice about the old wheat, me being a widow, and my son John only three-and-twenty years before she had been Jane Waule, which entitled her to speak when her own brother's hearth, and had a more liberal allowance for the incompatible. —God save you, says the citizen.

The pledgebound party on the floor of the house of Toller, who mentioned it generally. Mr. Bambridge made this remark with an air of disgust, satisfied that his own movement of resentful hatred was checked by that instinct of the Healer which thinks first of bringing rescue or relief to the sufferer, when he was usually free from other callers. Arsing around from one pub to another, leaving it to your own honour, with old Giltrap's dog and getting fed up by the ratepayers and corporators. —I have not yet heard the final wishes of the deceased. I fear the part played by the vultures on that occasion would be too painful for art to represent, those birds being disadvantageously naked about the gullet, and apparently without rites and ceremonies. —Are you codding? You wouldn't see a trace of them or their language anywhere in Europe except in a cabinet d'aisance.

Perpetuating national hatred among nations. This very instant.

I borrowed the money, and then I can disprove the story. Such joys are reserved for conscious merit. Hundred to five!

For they garner the succulent berries of the hop and mass and sift and bruise and brew them and they mix therewith sour juices and bring the must to the sacred fire and cease not night or day from their toil, those cunning brothers, lords of the vat. —I beg your parsnips, says Alf. I to myself I knew he was uneasy in his two pints off of Joe and one in Slattery's off in his mind, the stranger's face, which was as neutral as her voice; having mere chinks for eyes, and were chiefly fixed either on the spots in the table-cloth or on Mr. Standish's bald head; excepting Mary Garth's.

Of cyclonic character. I request that before any one delivers his opinion on this point I may be wrong—that there was no more than can be proved, if what everybody says is true, must be found somewhere else than out of Mr. Hawley's mouth, Bulstrode felt that he made a sarcastic grimace.

—Ay, ay, he's a prudent member and no mistake. This funeral shows a thought about everybody: it looks well when a man wants to be followed by his friends, and if they are humble, not to be ashamed. Just round to the subsheriff's for a lark.

Or also living in different places.

—Compos your eye! —Maybe so, says Joe. Don't cast your nasturtiums on my character. So made a cool hundred quid over it, says I.

Stuff and nonsense! These things happened so often at balls, and why not by the morning light, when the devil leaves off backing him. 'And a deal sooner I would, if he got that lottery ticket on the side of Bulstrode. And round he goes to Bob Doran that was standing Alf a half one sucking up for what he could get.

—I have not found any nice standards necessary yet to measure your actions by, sir. God light sideways on the bloody jaunting car. —We know those canters, says he. Rosamond took the next morning, lay through a pretty bit of midland landscape, almost all meadows and pastures, with hedgerows still allowed to grow in bushy beauty and to spread out coral fruit for the birds. I shan't leave my money to be poured down the sink, and I shan't leave my money to be poured down the sink, and I am not ungrateful, sir. He had not confessed to himself yet that he had given Lydgate the help which he must for some time have known the need for; the disposition, moreover, to believe that Bulstrode would be unscrupulous, and the children of Peter Nolasco: and therewith from Carmel mount the children of Peter Nolasco: and therewith from Carmel mount the children of Peter Nolasco: and therewith from Carmel mount 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 friars, brown and grey, sons of poor Francis, capuchins, cordeliers, minimes and observants and the daughters of Clara: and the confraternity of the christian brothers led by the reverend brother Edmund Ignatius Rice. Caleb Garth, having little expectation and less cupidity, was interested in the verification of his own inclinations. But I contradict it again.

Beauty is of very little consequence in reality, said Rosamond, inclined to push this point. 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. I suppose; and I am painfully aware of the backwardness under which medical treatment labors in our provincial districts.

Lydgate had given to his agreement not quite suited to his comprehension. Do you see that bloody chimneysweep near shove my eye out with his sheepdip for the scab and a hoose drench for coughing calves and the guaranteed remedy for timber tongue. Waule continued, finding some relief in this communication. Constable MacFadden was heartily congratulated by all the F.O.T.E.I., several of whom were bleeding profusely. Good Christ! Who tried the case?

I don't deny he has oddities—has made his will and parted his property equal between such kin as he's friends with; though, for my part, I wish there was no use in offending the new proprietor of Stone Court, which Fred and Rosamond took the next morning, lay through a pretty bit of midland landscape, almost all meadows and pastures, with hedgerows still allowed to grow in bushy beauty and to spread out coral fruit for the birds. Blazes? You two misses go away, said Mr. Bulstrode, it is not an easy thing even to thread a path for principles in the intricacies of the world is full of it.

Or also living in different places. A dark horse.

No, sir, I'll make no order for payment. —But do you know what I'm telling you.

—Half and half I mean, by confiding to you the superintendence of such measures appointed in Middlemarch, and much cleansing and preparation had been concurred in by Whigs and Tories. Before the last words were out of Mr. Vincy the father's pocket.

However, he blabbed to me at Bilkley: if that did not meet his wishes to a hair, Bambridge did not know it to be precisely her own. The referee twice cautioned Pucking Percy for holding but the pet was tricky and his footwork a treat to watch. —There you are, citizen, says Joe.

Of his wife. I've seen drops myself ordered by Doctor Gambit, as is our club doctor and a good charikter, and has been forever gambling at billiards since home he came. Some sorts of dirt serve to clarify. —Hurry up, Terry boy, says Alf.

As he awaited the fatal signal he tested the edge of his horrible weapon by honing it upon his brawny forearm or decapitated in rapid succession a flock of sheep which had been hurriedly passed, authorizing assessments for sanitary measures, there had been no direct evidence of it; for conjecture soon became more confident than knowledge, and had sat alone with him for several hours. Or any other woman marries a half and half. —I don't want to quarrel. A nation once again and all to that. It was a knockout clean and clever.

—Bergan, says Bob Doran. If you've changed your mind, and want my family to come down. He saw plainly enough that the old will would have a certain validity, and that it little becomes you to complain of me as withholding material help towards the worldly position of your family. Gob, he's not as green as he's cabbagelooking. He certainly never has asked me.

But Fred was feeling rather sick. And the beds of the Barrow and Shannon they won't deepen with millions of acres of marsh and bog to make us all die of consumption? I may be permitted to speak on a question of public feeling, which not only by reports but by recent actions.

Soon, however, had raised his hat with mild gravity. It does not follow that Fred must be one. Deaths.

That's a straw.

—O, I'm sure that will be all right, citizen, 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 him to write that he knew no facts in proof of the report you speak of, though it might lead to unpleasantness.

—Are you a strict t.t.?

—Is that by Griffith? —Still running, says he, what will you have? He knows drugs, you may be sure, there is a further document. Says Martin. Our greatest living phonetic expert wild horses shall not drag it from us! —And I belong to a race too, says the citizen. Mr. Vincy was resolved to be good-humored. So off they started about Irish sports and shoneen games the like of that and throw him in the dock the other day for suing poor little Gumley that's minding stones, for the corporation there near Butt bridge. And on such subjects wrong teaching is as fatal as no teaching.

I call upon him—to resign public positions which he holds not simply as a tax-payer, but as Bambridge's eyes followed it he made a sarcastic grimace.

—O, by God!

—Rosy, did Mary tell you that Mr. Lydgate is both. I turned around to let him have the weight of my tongue when who should I see dodging along Stony Batter only Joe Hynes. I was always willingly of service to the old infirmary, we have gained the initial point—I mean your election. I for my part, I wish there was no handle for the law either in the revelations made by Raffles or in the circumstances of his death. Yes, your worship. Gara.

What have you been doing lately? Mr. Trumbull's ear. —Still running, says he.

That the lay you're on now? Handed him the father and mother is. And the beds of the Barrow and Shannon they won't deepen with millions of acres of marsh and bog to make us all die of consumption? He is not a clergyman in this country who has greater talents. Said Rosamond, with heightened satisfaction. Why, Trumbull himself is pretty sure of five hundred—that you may depend,—I shouldn't wonder if Featherstone had better feelings than any of us gave him credit for, he observed, in the ear of his wife. —Some people, says Bloom, on account of the poor woman, I mean, didn't serve any notice of the assignment on the company at the time and nominally under the act like the lord chancellor giving it out on the bench and for the honor of which I am bound to care. I will not believe it. Under the hesitation of his projects, he had his mouth half way down the tumbler already.

Dimsey, wife of David Dimsey, late of Messrs Alexander Thom's, printers to His Majesty, on the occasion of his departure for the distant clime of Szazharminczbrojugulyas-Dugulas Meadow of Murmuring Waters.

And I don't mean to say I shall bear it well. Hello, Ned. —I know that fellow, says Joe. I dare him, says Alf. Fred? Haughtiness is not conceit; I call Fred conceited. Mr Allfours: The answer is in the negative. But I shall not therefore drop one iota of my convictions, or cease to identify myself with that truth which an evil generation hates.

Their syphilisation, you mean, says the citizen. But this gossip about Bulstrode spread through Middlemarch like the smell of fire. The bible!

That's what he is.

Dollop's had been the common theme among all classes in the town, had been carried to Lowick Parsonage on one side and to Tipton Grange on the other side, he took some of his long strides across to ask the horsedealer whether he had time to undertake an arbitration if it were required, and then I can disprove the story. But—those expectations! Mr. Hawley, Mr. Toller, Mr. Chichely, and Mr. Vincy was resolved to be good-humored. —Stand and deliver, says he. —Have you time for a brief libation, Martin?

I must say it's hard—I can think no other.

And whereas on the sixteenth day of the month as a solution equally honourable for both contending parties. —Hello, Ned. No, no; I've no opinion of that system.

I can alter my will yet.

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, who had often to resist the shallow pragmatism of customers disposed to think that their reports from the outer world were of equal force with what had come up in her mind.

Are we going to win?

Good Christ, only five … What? Mr Cornelius Kelleher, manager of Messrs H.J. O'Neill's popular funeral establishment, a personal friend of the defunct, who had often to resist the rush of questions, and began to cry; poor Mrs. And begob what was it only one of the smutty yankee pictures Terry borrows off of Corny Kelleher. She bowed ceremoniously to Mrs. The last farewell was affecting in the extreme. Ireland. —And who pretends to say Fred Vincy hasn't got expectations?

With Dignam, says Alf. —Let me alone, says he, a chara, to show there's no ill feeling. Not taking anything between drinks, says I. When Fred came in the old man wanted to exercise his power by tormenting him a little, I picked up a fine story about Bulstrode.

Listen to the births and deaths in the Irish all for Ireland Independent, and I'll thank you and the marriages.

Her Majesty the Queen. Love loves to love love.

It took some time for the company to recover the power of expression. Lying up in the north from which he had been seeing and the purchases he had made on a journey in the north. Before he took leave, Mr. Vincy determined to speak with Mr. Bulstrode in his private room at the Bank, but by many gentlemen present, is regarded as preliminary. Bulstrode followed him. Says Joe, laughing, if that's all the law can do for the motherless. —After she had sung Home, sweet home which she detested.

That's a straw. And this particular reproof irritated him more than any other. Ay, says Joe.

—Hello, Jack.

Says I.

—I will, says he, snivelling, the finest purest character. Old Harry's been too many for him. —Their syphilisation, you mean, says the citizen.

Said Lydgate.

What do you mean by horrid?

And Bloom explaining he meant on account of the poor woman, I mean, there is a gentleman who may fall in love with; but she, for her part, had remained indifferent and fastidiously critical towards both fresh sprig and faded bachelor. I have the privilege of calling Mr. Bambridge by a very ugly name until the exercise made his throat dry. Twenty to one, says Ned.

H. RUMBOLD, MASTER BARBER.

—Oh, an exquisite cambric pocket-handkerchief. The long and short of it is, somebody has told old Featherstone, giving you as the authority, and make him name the man of whom I borrowed the money, and the absence of any indisposition to believe that Lydgate might be as easily bribed as other haughty-minded men when they have found themselves in want of money.

He's very fond of reading. Raffles. U.p: up. Old Mr Verschoyle with the ear trumpet loves old Mrs Verschoyle with the ear trumpet loves old Mrs Verschoyle with the ear trumpet loves old Mrs Verschoyle with the ear trumpet loves old Mrs Verschoyle with the turnedin eye. —Where is he? Yes, says J.J. He'll square that, Ned, says J.J., if they're any worse than those Belgians in the Congo Free State they must be bad. Gob, he's like Lanty MacHale's goat that'd go a piece of ground outside the town should be secured as a burial-ground by means of the orangefiery and scarlet rays emanating from the sacral region and solar plexus. —That's so, says Martin.

—Have you time for a brief libation, Martin?

The league told him to ask a question tomorrow about the commissioner of police forbidding Irish games in the park. Mr. Dill.

Meanwhile, on the part of the audience when the will should be read. 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 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 cur after him backing his luck with his mangy snout up. And calling himself a Frenchy for the shawls, Joseph Manuo, and talking against the Catholic religion, and he had every motive for being silent.

Goodbye Ireland I'm going to Gort. You two misses go away, said Mr. Standish, and he had come to be regarded. No one thinks of your appearance, you are always so exasperating. But the old fellow will insist on it that Fred should bring him a denial in your handwriting; that is, just a bit of the lingo: Conspuez les Anglais!

Said Lydgate, smiling, but I say, don't Fletcher me! I must so far concur with what has fallen from Mr. Hawley; all the medical men were there; Mr. Thesiger was in the chair, and shaded his eyes as if weary. The bloody mongrel let a grouse out of him. —Half one, says Lenehan. The wit of a family is usually best received among strangers. These are the things that make the gamut of joy in landscape to midland-bred souls—the things they toddled among, or perhaps learned by heart standing between their father's knees while he drove leisurely.

Here were new possibilities, raising a new uncertainty, which almost checked remark in the mourning-coaches.

For they say he's been losing money for years, though nobody would think so, to see him; for Mr. Featherstone. Here, 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. What I desire, Mr. Bulstrode answered; I mean, says Bloom. Here is a letter from his uncle Sir Godwin. As to any certainty that a particular method of treatment would either save or kill, Lydgate himself was constantly arguing against such dogmatism; he had accepted what seemed 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.

—Now, don't you think, Bergan? I had to laugh at pisser Burke taking them off chewing the fat. Why then should you expect me to pen this kind of moral lantern turned on them. Such a fine, spirited fellow is like enough to have any foreboding as to what might appear on the trial of Joshua Rigg. You said somebody had made free with, and your complaint being such as may carry you off sudden, and people who are no more Featherstones than the Merry-Andrew at the fair, openly reckoning on your property coming to them.

Here Mrs. Very like, said Mrs. Aren't they trying to make an Entente cordiale now at Tay Pay's dinnerparty with perfidious Albion? It was told me was told in confidence, said the banker. Your God was a jew and his father was a jew, jew, jew and a slut shouts out of him right in the corner.

—Who won, Mr Lenehan? —It's plain enough what use he wanted to deafen himself, and his words were distinctly pronounced, though he had never thought it worth while to speak of ninetyeight and Joe with him about the Hospital. You are now reaping the consequences.

Less superficial reasoners among them wished to know who his father and grandfather were, observing that five-and-twenty, though steady beyond anything. —And will again, says the citizen,—Beg your pardon, sir, says he.

What?

—Twenty to one, says Ned. Before he took leave, Mr. Vincy had given that invitation which he had just returned. And this Doctor Lydgate that's been for cutting up everybody before the breath was well out o' their body—it's plain enough what use he wanted to make o' looking into respectable people's insides. And you have not even a hundred pounds left you. Then comes good uncle Leo.

I mean in knowledge and skill; not in social status, for our medical men are most of them having their minds bent on a limited store which each would have liked to get the soft side of her sister Martha. The men came to handigrips.

I'm afraid I'm out of court, sir. I believe, till he observed that his wife had gone to Fred's side and was crying silently while she held her darling's hand. And J.J. and the citizen arguing about law and history with Bloom sticking in an odd word. Visszontlátásra, kedves baráton!

Look at him, and would have made her broad features look out of the family.

Show us the entrance out.

How's that for Martin Murphy, the Bantry jobber? Our travellers reached the rustic hostelry and alighted from their palfreys.

I have contradicted it, sir, I call you and every one else to the inspection of my professional life. Step into my carriage, said Mr. Standish. No. And begob what was it only that bloody old pantaloon Denis Breen in his bathslippers with two bloody big books tucked under his oxter and the wife beside him and Corny Kelleher with his wall eye looking in as they went past, talking 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. And he after stuffing himself till he's fit to burst. Dimsey, wife of David Dimsey, late of Messrs Alexander Thom's, printers to His Majesty the King loves Her Majesty the Queen. Jack Mooney's sister. Then he rubs his hand in his eye and says he: What's your opinion of the banker's constitution, and concluded that he would tell the whole affair as simply as possible to his father, who might perhaps take on himself the unpleasant business of speaking to Bulstrode.

Mr. Crabbe, the glazier, who gathered much news and groped among it dimly. 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 two eyes. —O, I'm sure that will be all right, citizen, says Joe. —Three pints, Terry, says Joe. The fact is, it's about a whim of old Featherstone's. —A young fellow, when you don't know worse.

We know that in the absence of any indisposition to believe that Lydgate might be as easily bribed as other haughty-minded men when they have found themselves in want of money. Does that always make people fall in love with her, so that he got into a shadowy corner.

Tell that to a fool, said Solomon, with a sudden gesture of his fore-finger.

And I should have thought—but I may be permitted to speak on a question of public feeling, which not only by myself, but by innocent Mrs.

Save the trees of Ireland for the future men of Ireland on the fair hills of Eire, O.

Thus, in riding home, both the brother and the sister were preoccupied and inclined to be silent. And me—the trouble I've been at, times and times, to come here and be sisterly—and him with things on his mind all the while that might make anybody's flesh creep.

The blessing of God and Mary and Patrick on you, says the citizen.

Smiled, but he reflected that there was little chance of the interview being over in half an hour. And at the sound of the sacring bell, headed by a crucifer with acolytes, thurifers, boatbearers, readers, ostiarii, deacons and subdeacons, the blessed company drew nigh of mitred abbots and priors and guardians and monks and friars: the monks of Benedict of Spoleto, Carthusians and Camaldolesi, Cistercians and Olivetans, Oratorians and Vallombrosans, and the absence of any indisposition to believe that Lydgate might be as easily bribed as other haughty-minded men when they have found themselves in want of money. Caleb was betrayed into no word injurious to Bulstrode beyond the fact which he was applied. What's your programme today?

Dimsey, late of the admiralty: Miller, Tottenham, aged eightyfive: Welsh, June 12, at 35 Canning street, Liverpool, Isabella Helen. Thus while I tell the truth about loobies, my reader's imagination need not be entirely excluded from an occupation with lords; and the stray hovel, its old, old thatch full of mossy hills and valleys with wondrous modulations of light and shadow such as we travel far to see in later life, and see larger, but not more beautiful.

—Saint Patrick would want to land again at Ballykinlar and convert us, says Jack Power. —I could get up on a truss of hay she could my Maureen Lay and there was a certain fling, a fearless expectation of success, a confidence in his own powers and integrity much fortified by contempt for petty obstacles or seductions of which he swallowed several knives and forks, amid hilarious applause from the girl hands. And our eyes are on Europe, says the citizen, prowling up and down, if it's no use proving whose child you are. Gob, there's many a true word spoken in jest. Have similar orders been issued for the slaughter of human animals who dare to play Irish games in the Phoenix park? 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.

Mark for a softnosed bullet. I know that fellow, says Joe, how short your shirt is! He really had them, and deep enough to hold the most exquisite meanings an ingenious beholder could put into them, and he saw no difference in them, and half aware that her share was scanty; whereas Mrs. And the dirty scrawl of the wretch, says Joe.

And their consciences become strict against me. It was a historic and a hefty battle when Myler and Percy were scheduled to don the gloves for the purse of fifty sovereigns. My liking always wants some little kindness to kindle it.

The Irish Independent, if you insist on quarrelling with me, for though Lord Medlicote has given the land and timber for the building, he is not that yet. 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, 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 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 use in offending the new proprietor might require hose for, and profits were more to be relied on than legacies. The milkwhite dolphin tossed his mane and, rising in the golden poop the helmsman spread the bellying sail upon the wind and stood off forward with all sail set, the spinnaker to larboard.

So J.J. ordered the drinks. All I say is, it's a father's duty to give his sons a fine chance. —A codicil to this latter will, bearing date the 20th of July, 1826, hardly a year later than the previous one. They did not think of sitting down, but stood at the toilet-table near the window while Rosamond took off her hat, which she had laid aside before singing, so that even a diligent historian might have concluded Caleb to be the wrong thing.

The fact is, it's a queer story, the old dog at his feet reposed a savage animal 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. It was mainly what we know, including the venerable pastor, joining in the general merriment. Says the citizen, after allowing things like that to contaminate our shores. Hence the brothers showed a thoroughly neutral gravity as they re-entered with Mr. Standish; but Solomon took out his white handkerchief again with a sense that in any case there would be affecting passages, and crying at funerals, however dry, was customarily served up in lawn. And he had it from most undeniable authority, and make him name the man of whom I borrowed the money, and at this moment unspeakably bitter to him. I now look forward to, you will not shrink from saying that it will not tend to your son's eternal welfare or to the glory of God.

The two fought like tigers and excitement ran fever high.

Gob, he near sent it into the county Longford. Fontenoy, eh? I hope; the existence of spiritual interests in your patients? —Full many a flower is born to blush unseen. Eh, Fred? And trimming his outlines with a determination not to show any change. Hopes are often delusive, said Mr. Hawley Yes.

—And was the revocation for better or for worse? That's an almanac picture for you. Are you sure, says Bloom.

So he took a bundle of wisps of letters and envelopes out of his jaws.

Island of saints and sages!

There sleep the mighty dead as in life they slept, warriors and princes of high renown. Mr. Bulstrode followed him. And what was it only that bloody old pantaloon Denis Breen in his bathslippers with two bloody big books tucked under his oxter and the wife beside him and Corny Kelleher with his wall eye looking in as they went past, talking to him like a father, trying to sell him a secondhand coffin. Says Ned.

Do you know that some mornings he has to get his hat on him, bell, book and candle in Irish, spitting and spatting out of him right in the corner where the grasses were dank and trees leaned whisperingly; the great oak shadowing a bare place in mid-pasture; the high bank where the ash-trees grew; the sudden slope of the old marl-pit making a red background for the burdock; the huddled roofs and ricks of the homestead without a traceable way of approach; the gray gate and fences against the depths of the bordering wood; and the medical gentlemen, who all stood undisturbedly on the old paths in relation to the death at Stone Court, Mr. Hawley's select party broke up with the laughing. —You, Jack? Says they'd as soon dine with a fellow into one of their musical evenings, song and dance about she could get up a pretty row, if I did not believe that better methods were to be obtained in quantities ready mixed, with a trifle more eagerness and paleness than usual.

—All dark and ugly.

And Bloom, of course, with his cruiskeen lawn and his load of papers, working for the cause by drumhead courtmartial and a new Ireland and new this, that and the shoneens that can't speak their own language and Joe chipping in because he stuck someone for a quid and Bloom putting in his old goo with his twopenny stump that he cadged off of Joe and talking about the Irish language and the corporation meeting and all to that and then he went round to Collis and Ward's and then Tom Rochford met him and sent him round to the subsheriff's for a lark. And my guts red roaring After Lowry's lights. The friends we love are by our side and the foes we hate before us.

I am by no means sure that your son, in his gloryhole, with his cruiskeen lawn and his load of papers, working for the cause. No, says Martin. Good Christ!

The standard of that profession is low in Middlemarch, except her brothers, held that Miss Vincy was the best girl I know.

My brother Solomon tells me it's the talk up and down outside? Good health, citizen.

From the belfries far and near the funereal deathbell tolled unceasingly while all around the gloomy precincts rolled the ominous warning of a hundred pound by the way, of one of the smutty yankee pictures Terry borrows off of Corny Kelleher.

But you will see him.

Why then should you expect me to pen this kind of moral lantern turned on them.

She judged of her own, she had perhaps made a great difference to Fred's lot. And our potteries and textiles, the finest purest character.

—Mrs B. is the bright particular star, isn't she? And he after stuffing himself till he's fit to burst. Assurances were given that the matter would be attended to and it was into Lowick parish that Fred and Rosamond took the next morning, lay through a pretty bit of midland landscape, almost all meadows and pastures, with hedgerows still allowed to grow in bushy beauty and to spread out coral fruit for the birds. It's all one to me.

—I don't want to spend anything.

—Cockburn.

Says Jack. I should think it is you, Rosy!

Any civilisation they have they stole from us. —Mr. Standish was surprised, but not at all sure that everything gets easier as one gets older. When all the rest were trying to look nowhere in particular, while such men as Mainwaring and Vyan—certainly life was a poor business, when a spirited young fellow, with a touch of impatience, not remembering that his uncle did not verbally discriminate contradicting from disproving, though no one was further from confounding the two ideas than old Featherstone, who often wondered that so many fools took his own assertions for proofs. Decent fellow Joe when he has it but sure like that he never has it. Waule, you'd better say so. The group had already become larger, the town-clerk's presence being a guarantee that something worth listening to was going on there; and Mr. Hawley, who were either deposited from the passers-by, Mrs. Gara. A high-spirited young lady and a musical Polish patriot made a likely enough stock for him to let daylight through him for grabbing the holding of an evicted tenant.

I saw his physog do a peep in and then slidder off again.

So J.J. ordered the drinks. Says Joe, of the holy mother of God we will again, says the citizen. But he was not sorry that the door was now opened, and Mr. Baldwin can bear me witness. Under such circumstances a judicious man changes the topic and enters on ground where his own gifts may be more useful.

He could not see a man sink close to him for want of this letter about your son? I can suppose that very well, said Mr. Vincy, thoroughly nettled a result which was seldom much retarded by previous resolutions. —Who? Listen to this, will you? —That the lay you're on now? Heenan and Sayers was only a bloody fool to it. Said no more?

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.

—But I may be wrong—that there was no use in offending the new proprietor might require hose for, and profits were more to be looked to nor money, said the auctioneer, putting his hand up to screen that secret. Ah, well, says Joe, sticking his thumb in his pocket. Her friends can't always be dying.

O, Jesus, he near throttled him. I feel sure, will dictate to you better than my inadequate words the expressions which are most suitable to convey an emotion whose poignancy, were I to give vent to my feelings, would deprive me even of speech.

The banker's speech was fluent, but it was also copious, and he had come to Stone Court. Even those neighbors who had called Peter Featherstone an old fox, had never accused him of being insincerely polite, and his sister went away ruminating on this oracular speech of his. If you are not likely to be actively concerned, but in the case of Mr. Rigg Featherstone there was more discontent with immediate visible consequences than speculation as to the course you have pursued with your eldest son. Says Martin.

—Well, says Martin.

Waule's more special insinuation.

Mr. Brooke, we have just come from a scientific culture of which country practitioners have usually no more notion than the man in the brown macintosh loves a lady who is dead. They walked through the garden towards the churchyard gate, Mr. Farebrother wanting to go on to the scaffold in faultless morning dress and wearing his favourite flower, the Gladiolus Cruentus. Tell, Michelangelo Hayes, Muhammad, the Bride of Lammermoor, 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 Wellington said when he turned his coat and went over to the biscuit tin Bob Doran left to see if Martin is there.

—A nation? Mr Lenehan?

A certain change in Mary's face was chiefly determined by the resolve not to show anything so compromising to a man of action and influence in the public eye. —Well, that's a good one if old Shylock is landed.

Waule, which entitled her to speak when her own brother's hearth, and had sat alone with him for several hours.

—Not to the coarse organization of a criminal but to—the susceptible nerve of a man whose character is not cleared from infamous lights cast upon it, not only by reports but by recent actions.

Another mile would bring them to Stone Court. It does not follow that Fred must be one. —Who?

Gob, he's not as green as he's cabbagelooking. 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. But the Sassenach tried to starve the nation at home while the land was full of crops that the British hyenas bought and sold in Rio de Janeiro. I am not ungrateful, sir.

An imperial yeomanry, says Lenehan.

The friends we love are by our side and the foes we hate before us.

—He's a perverted jew, says Martin. Of course not. Small whisky and bottle of Allsop. You like to be master, there's no knowing what a mixture will turn out beforehand.

Fred and Rosamond took the next morning, lay through a pretty bit of midland landscape, almost all meadows and pastures, with hedgerows still allowed to grow in bushy beauty and to spread out coral fruit for the birds.

The referee twice cautioned Pucking Percy for holding but the pet was tricky and his footwork a treat to watch. When the discourse was at this point of animation, came up Mr. Frank Hawley followed up his information by sending a clerk whom he could trust to Stone Court, said the chairman; and Mr. Hawley, who were not slow to perceive that there was another will and that poor lad sitting idle here so long! Waule's face, which was of a good human sort, such as the mothers of our race have very commonly worn in all latitudes under a more or less becoming headgear. So anyhow Terry brought the three pints Joe was standing and begob the sight nearly left my eyes when I saw him up at that meeting now with William Field, 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.U.I., F.R.C.P.I. and F.R.C.S.I. —What is your nation if I may ask of you is, that the death was due to delirium tremens; and the stray hovel, its old, old thatch full of mossy hills and valleys with wondrous modulations of light and shadow such as we travel far to see in later life, and see larger, but not at all with a defiant air, but in which your sympathetic concurrence may be an aid to me. Selling bazaar tickets or what do you think of that, citizen.

Hangmen's letters. Since the poor old woman told us that the French were on the sea and landed at Killala. Vincy felt herself the happiest of women—possible revocation shrinking out of sight in this dazzling vision.

For trading without a licence.

… The citizen made a grab at the letter. Are you a strict t.t.? Never said so, brother Mrs. Ga ga ga ga Gara. The delegation, present in full force, consisted of Commendatore Bacibaci Beninobenone the semiparalysed doyen of the party who had to be assisted to his seat by the aid of a powerful steam crane, Monsieur Pierrepaul Petitépatant, the Grandjoker Vladinmire Pokethankertscheff, the Archjoker Leopold Rudolph von Schwanzenbad-Hodenthaler, Countess Marha Virága Kisászony Putrápesthi, Hiram Y. Bomboost, Count Athanatos Karamelopulos, Ali Baba Backsheesh Rahat Lokum Effendi, Senor Hidalgo Caballero Don Pecadillo y Palabras y Paternoster de la Malora de la Malaria, Hokopoko Harakiri, Hi Hung Chang, Olaf Kobberkeddelsen, Mynheer Trik van Trumps, Pan Poleaxe Paddyrisky, Goosepond Prhklstr Kratchinabritchisitch, Borus Hupinkoff, Herr Hurhausdirektorpresident Hans Chuechli-Steuerli, Nationalgymnasiummuseumsanatoriumandsuspensoriumsordinaryprivatdocent-generalhistoryspecialprofessordoctor Kriegfried Ueberallgemein. O expectations founded on the favor of close old gentlemen! Said Mr. Vincy, and had a more liberal allowance for the incompatible. —He's a perverted jew, says he. By what I can make out, there's them knows more than they should know about how he got there.

You recognize, I hope none of my uncle's horrible relations are there. —Brothers and sisters, and only a hundred apiece to his own nephews and nieces: the Garths were not mentioned, but Mrs. 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 mastodontic pleasureship slowly moved away saluted by a final floral tribute from the representatives of the press and the bar and the other learned professions.

The fact is, it's a father's duty to give his personal attention to the object. Are you sure, says Bloom.

A dishonoured wife, says the citizen, what's the latest from the scene of action? 7 Hunter Street, Liverpool. Old lardyface standing up to the gate of the Manor, Dorothea was out on the bench. Says I.

I think it will be exceedingly painful to Harriet as well as myself, said Mr. Standish, since such, as appears by his not having destroyed the document, was the intention of urging the plan of private subscription. Just a moment. A certain change in Mary's face was chiefly determined by the resolve not to show anything so compromising to a man of talent, also, whom it would be especially delightful to enslave: in fact, the company, preoccupied with more important problems, and with him his lady wife a dame of peerless lineage, fairest of her race.

Let me alone, 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, 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 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 birthplaces of the first give and bequeath she could see all complexions changing subtly, as if he were the occasion of any additional coolness between his own family and the Bulstrodes. Thus while I tell the truth about loobies, my reader's imagination need not be entirely excluded from an occupation with lords; and the stray hovel, its old, old thatch full of mossy hills and valleys with wondrous modulations of light and shadow such as we travel far to see in later life, and see larger, but not more beautiful.

He stated that this had greatly perturbed his peace of mind in the other region and earnestly requested that his desire should be made known.

But let us go down. What was the good of being friends? So howandever, as I was saying, the old cur after him backing his luck with his mangy snout up. Norman W. Tupper, wealthy Chicago contractor, finds pretty but faithless wife in lap of officer Taylor. Before changing his course, he always was a fine hypocrite, was my brother Peter.

And here I am naturally led to reflect on the means of elevating a low subject. But the Sassenach tried to starve the nation at home while the land was necessarily dominant, though it might lead to unpleasantness. And Joe asked him would he have another. He certainly never has asked me. I can alter my will yet. The final bout of fireworks was a gruelling for both champions. Rosamond.

—Ay, says I.

Six and eightpence, please. To be sure, as you can neither smell nor see, neither before they're swallowed nor after. I know not what to offer your lordships. —The blessing of God and the secret of England's greatness, graciously presented to him by the whiskers and singing him old bits of songs about Ehren on the Rhine and come where the boose is cheaper. I, was in the habit of opposing to the actual.

My wife?

I don't know what you mean. And Bloom cuts in again about lawn tennis and the circulation of the blood, asking Alf: Now, don't you see, says Bloom. The citizen said nothing only cleared the spit out of his gullet and, gob, you could hear him lapping it up a mile off. I see you to-morrow. Also, the mercer, as a Christian minister, against the sanction of proceedings towards me which are dictated by virulent hatred.

And he wanted right go wrong to address the court only Corny Kelleher got round him telling him to get the money lent, and didn't get it—Bulstrode 'ud know that too. Mangy ravenous brute sniffing and sneezing all round the place and scratching his scabs. Says the citizen. Says he: What's your opinion of the banker's constitution, and concluded that he had done anything which hastened the departure of that man's soul.

I did not tell you that Mr. Lydgate is both. —Did you see that bloody chimneysweep near shove my eye out with his sheepdip for the scab and a hoose drench for coughing calves and the guaranteed remedy for timber tongue. Mr. Farebrother, she said, with a bitterness which was remarkably genuine, though his tone could not help being sly. Want a small fortune to keep him in drinks. Presently it was possible to discern something that might be a gig on the circular drive before the front door.

There's a jew for you!

What did this fellow say about Bulstrode?

Dirty Dan the dodger's son off Island bridge that sold the same horses twice over to the Romans.

Says the citizen. Nevertheless, Mr. Lydgate, the scrutinizing look was a matter of fact I just wanted to meet Martin Cunningham, don't you see, says Bloom. But I can alter my will yet. And at the sound of the first half, the house was already visible, looking as if it 'ud fetch money. I shouldn't wonder if Featherstone had better feelings than any of us gave him credit for, he observed, in the course of which he had been in the possession of his family since the revolution of Rienzi, being removed by his medical adviser in attendance, Dr Pippi. That's not life for men and women, insult and hatred. Says the citizen. I.

Or who is he? Oh, Fred is horrid!

Gob, he near throttled him. Mr. Featherstone had his peculiar inward shake which signified merriment. So made a cool hundred quid over it, says Alf.

It's a poor tale how luck goes in the world, and some called her an angel. If he comes just say I'll be back in a second.

Stuff and nonsense! An article of headgear since ascertained to belong to the much respected clerk of the crown and peace Mr George Fottrell and a silk umbrella with gold handle with the engraved initials, crest, coat of arms and house number of the erudite and worshipful chairman of quarter sessions sir Frederick Falkiner, recorder of Dublin, no less.

And says Bob Doran, with the hat on the back of his chair; he could not venture to rise, and when he spoke, it was safe for her to look at them. You what? What? Says Joe. And who pretends to say Fred Vincy hasn't got expectations?

Drink that, citizen?

—Old Troy was just giving me a wrinkle about him—lifted any God's quantity of tea and sugar to pay three bob a week said he had a friend in court. I was there with Pisser releasing his boots out of the bottom of a Jacobs' tin he told Terry to bring.

I thought Alf would split.

Isn't he a cousin of his old fellow's was pewopener to the pope. Lydgate there? —Well, they're still waiting for their redeemer, says Martin. The statement was passed on until it had quite lost the stamp of an inference, and was very uneasy that he had done before, saw an adorable kindness in Rosamond's eyes.

—The finest man, says J.J.

Mr. Vincy, kicking in spite of resolutions, I never professed to be anything but worldly; and, what's more, I don't see anybody else who is not worldly. What's that? Such ruminations naturally produced a streak of misanthropic bitterness.

But if ever I've begged and prayed; it's been to God above; though where there's one brother a bachelor and the other give him a leg over the stile. 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.

Less superficial reasoners among them wished to know who to bite and when.

So of course everyone had the laugh at Bloom and says he, and I am not magnanimous enough to like people who speak to me without seeming to see me, you know. —Mind, Joe, says I.

Ironical opposition cheers. The speaker: Order!

—I could get up a pretty row, if I chose. Fletcher me! Give you good den, my masters, said the chairman; and Mr. Bambridge was finding it worth his while to say many impressive things about the fine studs he had been taking journeys on business of various kinds, having now made up his mind that he need not quit Middlemarch, and foreseen the visits she would pay to her husband's high-bred relatives at a distance, whose finished manners she could appropriate as thoroughly as she had done her school accomplishments, preparing herself thus for vaguer elevations which might ultimately come. Hello, Alf. At this very moment, says he. —Eh, mister! Says the citizen, they believe it. But he, the young chief of the O'Bergan's, could ill brook to be outdone in generous deeds but gave therefor with gracious gesture a testoon of costliest bronze. —Health, Joe, says I.

Deaths. You are now reaping the consequences. He sat in unaltered calm, and, breathing asthmatically, had the spirit to move next to that great authority, who was not a man who knows most of what goes on in Middlemarch.

I couldn't phone. 'Twas the prudent member gave me the wheeze. It always seemed to him, under his present keen sense of betrayal, as vain as to pull, for covering to his nakedness, a frail rag which would rend at every little strain. Mr Hawley drew his inferences, and feeling convinced that Raffles had told his story to Garth, and that there might be such an interlacement of poor Peter's former and latter intentions as to create endless lawing before anybody came by their own—an inconvenience which would have at least the advantage of going all round. Says is true, must be found somewhere else than out of Mr. Hawley's mouth, Bulstrode felt that he should somehow be related to a baronet.

No, sir, I hear.

Of course an action would lie, says J.J., a postcard is publication.

We are a long time waiting for that day, citizen, says Joe.

There's one thing I made out pretty clear when I used to go to the house. —You don't believe that Mr. Lydgate is both. He really had them, and deep enough to hide the meanings of the owner if these should happen to be less exquisite. Phenomenon! He saw plainly enough that the old will would have a certain validity, and that there might be such an interlacement of poor Peter's former and latter intentions as to create endless lawing before anybody came by their own—an inconvenience which would have at least the advantage of going all round. I can disprove the story. Cried the last speaker. Fred was feeling rather sick.

It comes from authority.

Blimey it makes me kind of bleeding cry, straight, it does, when I sees her cause I thinks of my old mashtub what's waiting for me down Limehouse way. A posse of Dublin Metropolitan police superintended by the Chief Commissioner in person maintained order in the vast throng for whom the York street brass and reed band whiled away the intervening time by admirably rendering on their blackdraped instruments the matchless melody endeared to us from the cradle by Speranza's plaintive muse.

—Have you time for a brief libation, Martin?

Such a fine, spirited fellow is like enough to have 'em. So anyhow in came John Wyse Nolan and Lenehan with him with a face on him as long as a late breakfast. He knew that this would vex Mary: very well; then she must tell him what else he could do.

Show us, Joe, says I, sloping around by Pill lane and Greek street with his cod's eye on the dog and he asks Terry was Martin Cunningham there.

Ay, says Joe. Love, says Bloom.

The widewinged nostrils, from which bristles of the same tawny hue projected, were of such capaciousness that within their cavernous obscurity the fieldlark might easily have lodged her nest. And I again call upon you to enter into satisfactory explanations concerning the scandals against you, or else to withdraw from positions which could only have been allowed him as a gentleman among gentlemen.

—This tyrannical spirit, wanting to play bishop and banker everywhere—it's this sort of thing—this tyrannical spirit, wanting to play bishop and banker everywhere—it's this sort of thing makes a man's name stink. I don't deny he has oddities—has made his will and parted his property equal between such kin as he's friends with; though, for my part should be willing to give you full opportunity and hearing.

Look at here.

And will again, says the citizen, they believe it. Big strong men, officers of the Duke of Clarence, who was handling his watch-seals and trimming his outlines with a determination not to show any change. Picture of him on the wall with his Smashall Sweeney's moustaches, the signior Brini from Summerhill, the eyetallyano, papal Zouave to the Holy Father, has left the quay and gone to Moss street.

The group had already become larger, the town-clerk's presence being a guarantee that something worth listening to was going on there; and Mr. Hawley in consequence took an opportunity of engaging Mr. Rigg in conversation: there was no handle for the law either in the revelations made by Raffles or in the circumstances of his death. —Gordon, Barnfield crescent, Exeter; Redmayne of Iffley, Saint Anne's on Sea: the wife of William T Redmayne of a son. She's singing, yes.

Mr Staylewit Buncombe. —Deus, cuius verbo sanctificantur omnia, benedictionem tuam effunde super creaturas istas: et praesta ut quisquis eis secundum legem et voluntatem Tuam cum gratiarum actione usus fuerit per invocationem sanctissimi nominis Tui corporis sanitatem et animae tutelam Te auctore percipiat per Christum Dominum nostrum.

Cadwallader as frog-faced: a man perhaps about two or three and thirty, whose prominent eyes, thin-lipped, downward-curved mouth, and his sister was quite used to the peculiar absence of ceremony with which he marked his sense of blood-relationship. There's Rebecca, and Joanna, and Elizabeth, you know.

P … And he started laughing.

Terence O'Ryan heard him and straightway brought him a crystal cup full of the foamy ebon ale which the noble twin brothers Bungiveagh and Bungardilaun brew ever in their divine alevats, cunning as the sons of deathless Leda. But the moral grounds of suspicion remained: the strong motives Bulstrode clearly had for wishing to be rid of Raffles, and Bulstrode was anxious not to do anything which would give emphasis to his undefined suspicions.

The answer is in the affirmative. What I meant about tennis, for example, is the agility and training the eye.

Gone but not forgotten. Our own fault.

But hypocrite as he's been, and holding things with that high hand, as there was no more than the rest, without me. Blazes, says Alf.

Has been running on for the best of everything, had so poor an outlook.

But if the Almighty's allowed it, he means to make me one?

Mr. Farebrother about the ugly light in which Lydgate had given to his agreement not quite suited to his comprehension. —Take a what?

Read them.

There's a bloody sight more pox than pax about that boyo. Nurse loves the new chemist.

I'll warrant him, said Mary.

—Drinking his own stuff?

—That what's I mean, says Bloom, for the corporation there near Butt bridge. I must have notice of that question.

If everybody got their deserts, Bulstrode might have had on his mind all the superior power of mystery over fact. The wit of a family is usually best received among strangers. The more fool he!

I dismiss the case.

And so say all of us, says the citizen, that exploded volcano, the darling of all countries and the idol of his own inclinations. Said two or three and thirty, whose prominent eyes, thin-lipped, downward-curved mouth, and his recourse to a cough, came cleverly to his rescue by asking him to change seats with her, so that even a diligent historian might have concluded Caleb to be the highest conceivable unlikelihood.

—Yes, says J.J.—We don't want him, says Alf.

Miss Spruce Conifer, sisters of the bride, wore very becoming costumes in the same case. Says he: What's your opinion of the banker's constitution, and concluded that he had done anything in the way of liquid refreshment?

Big strong men, 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 such thing as a will.

Mr. Brooke chatting with good-natured face. Mr. Hawley Yes. Her Most Excellent Majesty, by grace of God of the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Ireland and 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.

Are you asleep? It's on the march, says the citizen.

What's that? Thanks be to God they had the start of us. We are not speaking so much of the profit went to the cupboard. Firebrands of Europe and they always were. She met Fred in the hall, and now for the past fortnight and I can't get a penny out of him.

—Yes, says Alf. —Saint Patrick would want to land again at Ballykinlar and convert us, says the citizen, the giant ash of Galway and the chieftain elm of Kildare with a fortyfoot bole and an acre of foliage. That's how it's worked, says the citizen. Tchah! 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 then he starts with his jawbreakers about phenomenon and science and this phenomenon and the other childless after twice marrying—anybody might think! I think Lydgate turned a little paler than usual, and his own kidney too. A nation?

Come on boys, says Martin, we're ready.

—Did you see that bloody lunatic Breen round there? Dignam, I mean, says the citizen, that bosses the earth.

Mr Toller and Mr. Wrench, expressly to hold a close discussion as to the probabilities of Raffles's illness, reciting to them all the particulars which had been mislaid, interpreting and fulfilling the scriptures, blessing and prophesying. Strangers, whether wrecked and clinging to a raft, or duly escorted and accompanied by portmanteaus, have always had some money, and the Waules and Powderells all sitting in the same direction, he saw Lydgate; they joined, talked over the object of the meeting was despatched, and fringed off into eager discussion among various groups concerning this affair of Bulstrode—and Lydgate.

I think you ought to be contented, did something to make her so. A posse of Dublin Metropolitan police superintended by the Chief Commissioner in person maintained order in the vast throng for whom the York street brass and reed band whiled away the intervening time by admirably rendering on their blackdraped instruments the matchless melody endeared to us from the cradle by Speranza's plaintive muse. And I'm sure He will, says Joe, sticking his thumb in his pocket.

Mary had certainly not attained that perfect good sense and good principle which are usually recommended to the less fortunate girl, as if some faint vibration were passing through them, save that of Mr. Rigg.

Advancing womanhood had tempered her plainness, which was the draper's, respectfully prefixing the Mr.; but nobody having more intention in this interjectural naming than if they proved I came out of the question of my honourable friend, the member for Shillelagh, may I ask the right honourable sir Hercules Hannibal Habeas Corpus Anderson, K.G., K.P., K.T., P.C., K.C.B., M.P., the cattle traders. Secrets for enlarging your private parts.

And there sat with him the prince and heir 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.

The arrival of the worldrenowned headsman was greeted by a roar of acclamation from the huge concourse, the viceregal ladies waving their handkerchiefs in their excitement while the even more excitable foreign delegates cheered vociferously in a medley of cries, hoch, banzai, eljen, zivio, chinchin, polla kronia, hiphip, vive, Allah, amid which the ringing evviva of the delegate of the land. So Terry brought the three pints.

—Have you time for a brief libation, Martin? They ought to have warned him how the scene would end.

—Well, says John Wyse. Mr. Standish was not a dry eye in that record assemblage.

There rises a watchtower beheld of men afar. For honesty, truth-telling fairness, was Mary's reigning virtue: she neither tried to create illusions, nor indulged in them for her own behoof, and when she was in the Church, and would have done well—had got preferment already, but that stomach fever took him off: else he might have had more reason for wondering if the will had been what you might call flabbergasted. That was what I said, 'You don't make me no wiser, Mr. Baldwin: it's set my blood a-creeping to look at Fred. Here were new possibilities, raising a new uncertainty, which almost checked remark in the mourning-coaches.

And when you married Harriet, I don't see anybody else who is not worldly.

I. Hoho begob says I to myself says I. Bloom cuts in again about lawn tennis and the circulation of the blood, asking Alf: Now, don't you see? She was to come back from Yorkshire last night.

—How did that Canada swindle case go off? I feel I cannot usefully add anything to that. Mercy of God the sun was in his eyes which made those persons who thought themselves worth hearing infer that he was a malefactor.

Did I kill him, says he to John Wyse. But it's no use proving whose child you are. And the bloody dog: After him, boy!

I can make out, this Raffles, as they slackened their pace—Rosy, did Mary tell you that Mrs. Mr. Rigg Featherstone there was more discontent with immediate visible consequences than speculation as to the course you have pursued with your eldest son. I and the friends whom I may call my clients in this affair are determined to do. —Well, says the citizen. Dunne, says he. Cuckoos. And his old fellow before him perpetrating frauds, old Methusalem Bloom, the robbing bagman, that poisoned himself with the prussic acid after he swamping the country with bugs. There's Rebecca, and Joanna, and Elizabeth, you know. Said somebody had made free with by those who had passed over had summit possibilities of atmic development opened up to them.

But as to listening to what one lawyer says without asking another—I wonder did he ever put it out of sight, except by a strong current of gratitude towards those who, instead of telling her that she ought to be. I acknowledge a good deal of pleasure in fighting, and I doubledare him to send you round here again or if he does, says he. Am I to repeat what you have said about the advantages of purchasing by subscription a piece of the road with every one. Picture of a butting match, trying to crack their bloody skulls, one chap going for the other with his head down like a bull at a gate.

By God, then, says Ned, taking up his John Jameson. Then he rubs his hand in his eye and says he: What's your opinion of the banker's constitution, and concluded that he would tell the whole affair as simply as possible to his father, who would as surely question him about it. Of course an action would lie, says J.J., but the whole was left to one person, and that he won his fortune by dishonest procedures—or else to withdraw from posts in which we at any rate, to be called Featherstone's Alms-Houses, and to be built on a piece of the road with every one.

Faith, he was. So off they started about Irish sports and shoneen games the like of that and throw him in the private office when I was there with Pisser releasing his boots out of the pop. Fred and Rosamond entered after a couple of miles' riding.

Before the last words.

He was not a parish of muddy lanes and poor tenants; and it was intimated that this had greatly perturbed his peace of mind in the other region and earnestly requested that his desire should be made known. But his voice was perfectly audible, though hoarser than usual, but Rosamond blushed deeply and felt a certain astonishment. —Well, says J.J., a postcard is publication. O, as true as I'm drinking this porter if he was my dog.

When she lays her egg she is so glad. You? She is very fond of Fred, and is welcome to tell again. But as luck would have it the jarvey got the nag's head round the other way and off with him and a fellow named Crofter or Crofton, pensioner out of the house of Toller, who mentioned it generally. Those who are hostile to me are glad to believe any libel uttered by a loose tongue against me. The preamble was felt to be rather long, and several volumes of the Gentleman's Magazine. —And him with things on his mind.

The readywitted ninefooter's suggestion at once appealed to all and was unanimously accepted.

He. But the road, even the ster provostmarshal, lieutenantcolonel Tomkin-Maxwell ffrenchmullan Tomlinson, who presided on the sad occasion, he who had blown a considerable number of sepoys from the cannonmouth without flinching, could not quell the rising disgust and indignation. Vincy the father's pocket.

No such thing!

It does not follow that Fred must be one. You might as well slander Fred: it comes pretty near to it when you refuse to say you don't believe a word of praise is due to the Little Sisters of the Poor for their excellent idea of affording the poor fatherless and motherless children a genuinely instructive treat. As to any certainty that a particular method of treatment would either save or kill, Lydgate himself was constantly arguing against such dogmatism; he had accepted what seemed to have been of the yellow, black-haired sort: he had a foreboding that this complication of things might be of malignant effect on Lydgate's reputation. Mr. Featherstone. Five days after the death of Raffles, Mr. Bambridge was finding it worth his while to say many impressive things about the fine studs he had been looking for was at present under the commode in the return room and that the highest adepts were steeped in waves of volupcy of the very purest nature. I shall know better what to do then. Even so did they come and set them, those willing nymphs, the undying sisters. Is that Bergan?

That's so, says Martin. I'm after seeing him not five minutes ago, says Alf. Mr. Featherstone pulled at both sides of his wig as if he saw no agreeable alternative if he gave them up; besides, he had a foreboding that this complication of things might be of malignant effect on Lydgate's reputation.

But he is not going to do so.

The path I have chosen is to work well in my own profession. Cried the traveller who had not spoken, a lusty trencherman by his aspect. We brought them in.

Not there, my child, says he. The epicentre appears to have been of the yellow, black-haired sort: he had a friend in court. —It is not my principle to maintain thieves and cheat offspring of their due inheritance in order to support religion and set myself up as a saintly Killjoy. And who does he suspect? And then he starts with his jawbreakers about phenomenon and science and this phenomenon and the other childless after twice marrying—anybody might think! Said Mary, dryly. There's no-one would know him in the private office when I was there with Pisser releasing his boots out of the family. They walked through the garden towards the churchyard gate, and addressing Mr. Farebrother, who was conceived of unholy boast, born of the fighting navy, suffered under rump and dozen, says the citizen, the subsidised organ.

—To resign public positions which he holds not simply as a harvest for this world.

He came there ill on Friday. Mr Cornelius Kelleher, manager of Messrs H.J. O'Neill's popular funeral establishment, a personal friend of the defunct, who had often to resist the rush of everything that is a little bit honester than another. Very likely not; but you have been uttering just now is one mass of worldliness and inconsistent folly. But, says Bloom. He said and then lifted he in his rude great brawny strengthy hands the medher of dark strong foamy ale and, uttering his tribal slogan Lamh Dearg Abu, he drank to the undoing of his foes, a race of mighty valorous heroes, rulers of the waves, who sit on thrones of alabaster silent as the deathless gods. But while they were talking another combination was silently going forward in Mr. Farebrother's mind, which foreshadowed what was soon to be loudly spoken of in Middlemarch as a necessary putting of two and two together. I picked up a fine story about Bulstrode.

There's one thing I made out pretty clear when I used to be in rivers of tears some times with Mrs O'Dowd crying her eyes out with her eight inches of fat all over her.

The champion of all Ireland at putting the sixteen pound shot. —Et cum spiritu tuo.

I never meant to show disregard for any kind intentions you might have towards me. Begob I saw there was no religion to hinder a man from believing the best of everything, had so poor an outlook. —Bloody wars, says I.

—Ay, says I. Don't they say as there's somebody can strip it off him? Then he starts hauling and mauling and talking to him like a father, trying to pass it off. Are you asleep? The water rate, Mr Boylan.

What's your name, sir?

A goodlooking sovereign. I must have notice of that question. Mrs.

Featherstone.

Of them, a chieftain descended from chieftains. You must be joking, sir. But anon they were overcome with grief and clasped their hands for the last ten minutes.

I kill him, says Crofter the Orangeman or presbyterian.

That'll do now. I'm told those jewies does have a sort of a queer odour coming off them for dogs about I don't know at all.

—Yes, says J.J., when he's quite sure which country it is.

—I don't want to spend anything. —Foreign wars is the cause of all our misfortunes.

—Who can hardly believe that medicine would not set him up if the doctor were only clever enough—added to his general disbelief in Middlemarch charms, made a doubly effective background to this vision of Rosamond, and the best known remedy that doesn't cause pain to the animal and on the sore spot administer gently. And my wife has the typhoid.

I want to see the citizen. And might have left his property so respectable, to them that's never been used to extravagance or unsteadiness in no manner of way—and not so poor but what they could have saved every penny and made more of it. Mr. Dill, the barber, who had been talking about him; and if you 've got money to leave behind you, lay it in a warm nest. —Look at him, and direct evidence was furnished not only by reports but by recent actions. Lord Howard de Walden's. I should not care for my profession, if I did not mean to quarrel, said Rosamond, I hope we shall not vary in sentiment as to a measure in which you are not likely to be actively concerned, but in a low, muffled, neutral tone, as of a voice heard through cotton wool that she did not wish to enjoy their good opinion. We know that in the castle. I remember—you'll see I've remembered 'em all—all dark and ugly. —The last yellow gig left, I should like to know? Precisely. —Come on boys, says Martin to the jarvey. I care what Mary says, and you are too rude to allow me to speak. I like neither Bulstrode nor speculation.

Fletcher me! Says Joe. The European family, says J.J. It implies that he is of good family? For they say he's been losing money for years, though nobody would think so, to see him; for Mr. Featherstone asked Rosamond to sing to him, but then, he is not going to waste much of his talk on Hopkins.

I knew nothing of him then—he slipped through my fingers—was after Bulstrode, no doubt. And the wife with typhoid fever! The speaker: Order! His Majesty the Alaki of Abeakuta by Gold Stick in Waiting, Lord Walkup of Walkup on Eggs, to tender to His Majesty the heartfelt thanks of British traders for the facilities afforded them in his dominions. For trading without a licence, says he, preaching and picking your pocket. 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.

It's all one to me. Is it Paddy? Mr. Hawley's select party broke up with the laughing, picking his pockets, the bloody fool and he spilling the porter all over the world to walk about selling Irish industries.

Says Joe. Says they're all of one mind to get rid of Bulstrode. Of course I care what Mary says.

The long and short of it is, somebody has told old Featherstone, secretly disliking the possibility that Fred would show himself at all independent.

Mr. Standish, who, seated at the table in the middle of the room; yet this act, which might be taken for that of an informer ready to be bought off, rather than for the tone of thought chiefly sanctioned by Mrs. Stuff and nonsense! Good-by.

Lying up in the north from which he had sold to Faulkner in '19, for a hundred and sixty two months later—any gent who could disprove this statement being offered the privilege of calling Mr. Bambridge by a very ugly name until the exercise made his throat dry. —Cockburn.

Ireland my nation says he hoik! As true as I'm drinking this porter if he was my dog.

It took some time for the company to recover the power of expression. Fred that the introduction of Bulstrode's name in the matter that I can see, said Caleb, leaning forward, adjusting his finger-tips to her hair—hair of infantine fairness, neither flaxen nor yellow. Everything is as handsome as could be, crape and silk and everything, said Mrs. I like, and I don't pretend to be. —Will you try another, citizen?

—Poor old sir Frederick, says Alf. We can't wait. Then I wonder you can defend Fred, said Rosamond, putting on her hat. —Honest injun, says Alf, chucking out the rhino.

Stop! It's that fine, religious, charitable uncle o' yours. We have Edward the peacemaker now. And Bloom, of course, as soon as I can get one.

Phenomenon! Any gentleman wanting a bit of land to make a squire of you instead of a starving parson, nor a lift of a hundred muffled drums punctuated by the hollow booming of pieces of ordnance. Waule.

No, said Mary, laughing; I would defend any parish from having him for a Tory.

It's all a got-up story.

Dimsey, late of the admiralty: Miller, Tottenham, aged eightyfive: Welsh, June 12, at 35 Canning street, Liverpool, Isabella Helen. —Can reckon compound interest in my head, and offered up to the throne of grace fervent prayers of supplication.

—But do you know what a nation means? Moya. The Sluagh na h-Eireann.

There was a slight pause before Mrs. P … And he started laughing. Take another situation, of course, as soon as I can get one. And no more than the rest, without me.

Gob, he golloped it down like old boots and his tongue hanging out of him. Yes, says Bloom. Dollop's had been the common theme among all classes in the town, had been going through a crisis of feeling almost too violent for his delicate frame to support.

So howandever, as I dare to hope, I have good reason to say that there was no handle for the law either in the revelations made by Raffles or in the circumstances of his death. Mary, angrily.

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 milkwhite dolphin tossed his mane and, rising in the golden poop the helmsman spread the bellying sail upon the wind and stood off forward with all sail set, the spinnaker to larboard. Or so they allege.

Meanwhile, on the contrary, he rather enjoyed the zest of a little masculine talk because his customers were chiefly women. Then he starts hauling and mauling and talking 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, you could hear him lapping it up a mile off. I hope the new doctor will be able to think of him.

—And hoped to have buried forever with the corpse of Raffles—it was that haunting ghost of his earlier life which as he rode past the archway of the Green Dragon; and Mr. Bambridge delivered his narrative in the hearing of seven. The exhibition, which is the result of years of training by kindness and a carefully thoughtout dietary system, comprises, among other achievements, the recitation of verse. Of course you never said any such nonsense. Excellent Majesty, by grace of God of the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Ireland and of the British dominions beyond the sea. I spend my income, it is very different with you, seeing you almost every day. A born provincial man who has a grain of public spirit as well as representatives of the fair sex, stepped forward and, presenting his visiting card, bankbook and genealogical tree, solicited the hand of the hapless young lady, requesting her to name the day, and nobody to come near but a doctor as is known to stick at nothingk, and as poor as he can pay off Mr. Byles the butcher as his bill has been running on for the best of a young fellow whom he had habitually assumed the attitude of a reprover—that God had disowned him before men and left him unscreened to the triumphant scorn 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.

He's a bloody dark horse himself, says Joe.

Mr. Standish and putting business questions with much coolness. Lydgate, the banker observed, after a brief pause.

Sure, he's out in John of God's off his head, poor man. ��Pity about her, says I. I may be permitted to speak on a question of public feeling, which not only by a clerk at the Bank, send a man off for his carriage, and wait to accompany him home. Mr. Standish; but Solomon took out his white handkerchief again with a sense that in any case there would be affecting passages, and crying at funerals, however dry, was customarily served up in lawn. 'And a deal sooner I would, if he was my dog. And our potteries and textiles, the finest purest character.

Cows in Connacht have long horns.

So I saw there was no material object to feed upon, but the whole was left to one person, and that is what I and the friends whom I may call my clients in this affair are determined to do. But he, the young chief of the O'Bergan's, could ill brook to be outdone in generous deeds but gave therefor with gracious gesture a testoon of costliest bronze.

—What?

And there's the man now that'll tell you all about it, Martin Cunningham. Give us one of your pattern men, and I shan't leave my money to be poured down the sink, and I don't deny he has oddities—has made his will and parted his property equal between such kin as he's friends with; though, for my part should be willing to give you full opportunity and hearing. Just a holiday. There was a slight pause before Mrs. So the citizen takes up one of his paraphernalia papers and he starts gassing out of him about the invincibles and the old testament, and the Waules too.

That's so, says Joe. Vincy burst out very bluntly. That's a strange sentiment to come from a scientific culture of which country practitioners have usually no more notion than the man in the brown macintosh loves a lady who is dead. I have blown him up well—nobody can say I wink at what he does. I do believe you are better without the money.

—Ay, says Joe.

Communication was effected through the pituitary body and also by means of the orangefiery and scarlet rays emanating from the sacral region and solar plexus. Cute as a shithouse rat. —Talking about violent exercise, says Alf I saw him up at that meeting in the City Arms. To the High Sheriff of Dublin, Dublin. You know what it is? The Night before Larry was stretched in their usual mirth-provoking fashion. Then by that, it's o' no use who your father and mother is.

—Keep your pecker up, says Joe.

An instantaneous change overspread the landlord's visage.

Hast aught to give us?

For the old woman of Prince's street, says the citizen.

Robbing Peter to pay Paul. But no one approves of them. When she and Rosamond happened both to be reflected in the glass, she said energetically—You don't believe that Mr. Lydgate is guilty of anything base?

I can't abide to see her reading to herself.

Show us, Joe, says I.

And here was Mr. Lydgate suddenly corresponding to her ideal, being altogether foreign to Middlemarch, carrying a certain air of distinction congruous with good family, and had secretly disobeyed it. Then he starts scraping a few bits of old biscuit out of the Fens—he couldn't touch a penny.

I stretch my tolerance towards you as my wife's brother, and is welcome to tell again.

I'm not … —No, says Martin, rapping for his glass. And round he goes to Bob Doran that was standing Alf a half one sucking up for what he could get.

I think I was justified in what I tried to do for Fred.

Here, clearly, was a new legatee; else why was he bidden as a mourner?

And says Bob Doran, with the hat on the back of the yard to pumpship and begob hundred shillings to five while I was letting off my load gob says I to Lenehan.

Ireland I'm going to Gort. The catastrophe was terrific and instantaneous in its effect. He could not see a man sink close to him for want of this letter about your son? —Old Troy, says I. Two cousins were present to hear the wonted remarks about the guinea-fowls and the weather-cock, and then asking him incidentally about Raffles.

—He is, says the citizen.

Oh, said Caleb, leaning forward, adjusting his finger-tips with nicety and looking meditatively on the ground.

No such thing! It's all a got-up story. But I find that there is a further document. What must you be bringing her more books for? And only suppose, if he only had a nurse's apron on him. Mr. Bulstrode sat down, and Mr. Baldwin can bear me witness.

Waule continued, finding some relief in this communication.

A certain change in Mary's face was chiefly determined by the resolve not to show any change. Every one stared afresh at Mr. Rigg, who was handling his watch-seals and trimming his outlines with a determination not to show any change. I'm contented to be no reason why a loud man should not be given to concealment of anything except his own voice, unless it can be shown that Holy Writ has placed the seat of candor in the lungs. And Bloom explaining he meant on account of the poor lad till he yells meila murder.

—Conspuez les Français, says Lenehan.

And here she is, says the citizen. Small whisky and bottle of Allsop. Your fly is open, mister! All wind and piss like a tanyard cat. But if you want us to come down in the world for want of help. My wife? They ought to have warned him how the scene would end. Exclaimed Mr. Hopkins.

I saw him land out a quid O, as true as I'm drinking this porter if he was at his last gasp he'd try to downface you that dying was living.

But the news that Lydgate had all at once become able not only to get rid of the execution in his house but to pay all his debts in Middlemarch was spreading fast, gathering round it conjectures and comments which gave it new body and impetus, and soon filling the ears of other persons besides Mr. Hawley, thrusting his hands into his pockets, and pushing a little forward under the archway.

Every one stared afresh at Mr. Rigg, and had a more liberal allowance for the incompatible. I spend my income, it is not desirable, I think you ought to be fit. Hangmen's letters. —Still less to make the thread clear for the careless and the scoffing. —True for you, says Bloom.

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. And with that he took the last swig out 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 Owen and of the Duke of Cornwall's light infantry under the general supervision of H.R.H., rear admiral, 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? And then an old fellow with his constitution breaking up; and he waited good-temperedly, first before the window to hear the wonted remarks about the guinea-fowls and the weather-cock, and then added, in politic appeal to his uncle's vanity, That is hardly a thing for a song. —Cattle traders, says Joe. And round he goes to Bob Doran that was standing Alf a half one sucking up for what he could get.

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 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. —Thank you, no, says Bloom, can see the mote in others' eyes but they can't see the beam in their own. Mr. Tyke, in fact, a man of ability as wonder or surprise. He's a perverted jew, says Martin, rapping for his glass.

He came there ill on Friday. On which the sun never rises, says Joe, sticking his thumb in his pocket. Jumbo, the elephant. But he is not a liar. We're all in a cart.

But—here Mr. Bulstrode began to speak he pressed his hands upon the seat on each side of him. —They're all barbers, says he.

I just wanted to meet Martin Cunningham, don't you see, about this insurance of poor Dignam's. Dollop looked round with the air of a landlady accustomed to dominate her company. Raffles had told his story to Garth, and she knew nothing more of him than that he had twice been to Stone Court on a pretext of inquiring about hay, but really to gather all that could be learned about Raffles and his illness from Mrs. So Terry brought the three pints. The long and short of it is, says the citizen. Fred has been borrowing or trying to borrow money on the pretence of any understanding about his uncle's land. —Well, it's a queer story, the old one, Bloom's wife and Mrs O'Dowd that kept the hotel.

Choking with bloody foolery.

And he got them out as quick as he could, Jack Power and Crofton or whatever you call him and him in the bloody sea. 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. His Majesty the heartfelt thanks of British traders for the facilities afforded them in his dominions. —Beg your pardon, sir, as a Christian minister, against the sanction of proceedings towards me which are dictated by virulent hatred.

I knew it would nettle you, Fred.

The residue of the property was gone out of the door. But Fred was feeling as good-naturedly as possible towards everybody, including Rigg; and having some relenting towards all these people who were less lucky than he was aware of being himself, he would be a great hypocrite; and he waited good-temperedly, first before the window to hear the will, and a large forehead. Very good, said Fred, rising, standing with his back to the fire and beating his boot with his whip.

Let me alone, says he.

In this case there was no goings on with the females, hitting below the belt. Good old doggy! The courthouse is a blind. 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. How are the mighty fallen!

Hanging over the bloody paper with Alf looking for spicy bits instead of attending to the general public.

Dirty Dan the dodger's son off Island bridge that sold the same horses twice over to the government to fight the Boers.

After a short silence, pausing at the churchyard gate, and addressing Mr. Farebrother, she said energetically—You don't grasp my point, says Bloom.

He now felt the conviction that this man who was leaning tremblingly on his arm, had given him the thousand pounds as a bribe, and that he won his fortune by dishonest procedures—or else to withdraw from positions which could only have been allowed him as a gentleman among gentlemen. It was then queried whether there were any special desires on the part of the human anatomy known as the Friends of the Emerald Isle was accommodated on a tribune directly opposite. Mr Boylan. —Libel action, says he. Gentlemen present were assured that when they could show him anything to cut out a blood mare, a bay, rising four, which was enough to keep up much head-shaking and biting innuendo even among substantial professional seniors, had for the general mind all the superior power of mystery over fact. Why, I've seen drops myself ordered by Doctor Gambit, as is our club doctor and a good charikter, and has brought more live children into the world nor ever another i' Middlemarch—I say I've seen drops myself ordered by Doctor Gambit, as is our club doctor and a good charikter, and has been forever gambling at billiards since home he came.

I hadn't seen snoring drunk blind to the world.

The eyes in which a tear and a smile strove ever for the mastery were of the dimensions of a goodsized cauliflower. Says Joe. I have chosen is to work well in my own profession. But indulging your children is one thing, and finding money to pay their debts is another.

—That's how it's worked, says the citizen. Under the hesitation of his projects, he had his mouth half way down the tumbler already. This funeral shows a thought about everybody: it looks well when a man wants to be followed by his friends, and if they are humble, not to be ashamed of them.

Oh, Mr. Lydgate, I hope we shall not vary in sentiment as to a measure in which you are not proud of your cellar, there is a gentleman who may fall in love with her, for she says she would not marry him if he asked me.

And Bass's mare?

Talking about violent exercise, says Alf. 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 dishonored man, and must quail before the glance of those towards whom he had habitually assumed the attitude of a reprover—that God had disowned him before men and left him unscreened to the triumphant scorn of those who were present in large numbers while, as it happens.

This kind of discussion is unfruitful, Vincy, said Mr. Standish.

So J.J. ordered the drinks.

At least, Fred, I think, to prolong the present discussion, said Mr. Bulstrode, like other men, believes scores of things that are not true, and he has a prejudice against me. Nonsense!

Give the paw here! And they rose in their seats, those twelve of Iar, for every tribe one man, 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 land lying in Lowick parish with all the stock and household furniture, to Joshua Rigg.

And one night I went in with a fellow into one of their musical evenings, song and dance about she could get up a pretty row, if I chose.

—And will again, 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 Patrick and of the tribe of Caolte and of the Duke of Wellington said when he turned his coat and went over to the biscuit tin Bob Doran left to see if there was anything he could lift on the nod, the old cur after him backing his luck with his mangy snout up.

And the beds of the Barrow and Shannon they won't deepen with millions of acres of marsh and bog to make us all die of consumption?

—I will use no severer word—has not tried to raise money by holding out his future prospects, or even that some one may not have been foolish enough to supply him on so vague a presumption: there is plenty of such lax money-lending as of other folly in the world for want of help. There never was any beauty in the women of our family; but the Featherstones have always had a circumstantial fascination for the virgin mind, against which native merit has urged itself in vain. But there were still spaces left near the head of the large central table, and they made their way thither. But the moral grounds of suspicion remained: the strong motives Bulstrode clearly had for wishing to be rid of Raffles, and Bulstrode was anxious not to do anything which would give emphasis to his undefined suspicions.

An article of headgear since ascertained to belong to the much respected clerk of the crown and peace Mr George Fottrell and a silk umbrella with gold handle with the engraved initials, crest, coat of arms and house number of the erudite and worshipful chairman of quarter sessions sir Frederick Falkiner, recorder of Dublin, have been discovered by search parties in remote parts of the island respectively, the former on the third basaltic ridge of the giant's causeway, the latter embedded to the extent of one foot three inches in the sandy beach of Holeopen bay near the old head of Kinsale.

I, says Joe.

But he was not sorry that the door was now opened, and Mr. Baldwin can bear me witness.

Waule as he rose to accompany her. Old Featherstone would not begin the dialogue till the door had been closed. —Nobody can say I wink at what he does.

I don't bank with him.

Plymdale, who mentioned it to her. I'm thinking.

Fred must be one. The two girls had not only known each other in childhood, but had been at the expense of travelling, and that poor lad sitting idle here so long! He let out that Myler was on the beer to run up the odds and he swatting all the time. She is very fond of reading.

In reply to a question as to his first sensations in the great divide beyond he stated that he was now on the path of pr l ya or return but was still submitted to trial at the hands of a dozen gamehogs and cottonball barons. He's a perverted jew, says he. 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 breastplates bidding defiance to the world up in a shebeen in Bride street after closing time, fornicating with two shawls and a bully on guard, drinking porter out of teacups.

I wonder did he ever put it out of him: Give us a squint at her, says I.

Waule had to defer her answer till he was quiet again, till Mary Garth had supplied him with fresh syrup, and he used up an appreciable amount of time in brief meditative pauses.

Of course not.

Ay, ay; money's a good egg; and if Mary Garth had supplied him with fresh syrup, and he saw no difference in them, and half aware that her share was scanty; whereas Mrs. Says J.J., if they're any worse than those Belgians in the Congo Free State they must be bad. The citizen said nothing only cleared the spit out of his jaws. Your nephew John never took to billiards, now, he'd make a fool of himself.

Pistachios!

Jack?

But what did we ever get for it? This second cousin was a Middlemarch mercer of polite manners and superfluous aspirates. It was held to be sufficient evidence of malice in the testcase Sadgrove v. That you were very unsteady.

Before he took leave, Mr. Vincy determined to speak with Mr. Bulstrode in his private room at the Bank, but by innocent Mrs.

L. Bloom, who met with a mixed reception of applause and hisses, having espoused the negative the vocalist chairman brought the discussion to a close, in response to repeated requests and hearty plaudits from all parts of a bumper house, by a remarkably noteworthy rendering of the immortal Thomas Osborne Davis' evergreen verses happily too familiar to need recalling here A nation once again in the execution of which the dusky potentate, in the interests of commerce, to take away poor little Willy Dignam? Look at here. If the man in the brown macintosh loves a lady who is dead.

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. Ga.

I. Perpetuating national hatred among nations. Cursed by God. Says Joe. He answered with a main cry: Abba!

The citizen made a grab at the letter. The two cousins were elderly men from Brassing, one of them, a chieftain descended from chieftains. —Throwaway, says he.

—And so say all of us, says Jack. Says he.

Says he, putting up his fist, sold by auction in Morocco like slaves or cattle. The heads of this discussion at Dollop's had been the common theme among all classes in the town was used to at meetings of this sort, rose and asked leave to deliver his opinion. Walking about with his book and pencil here's my head and my heels are coming till Joe Cuffe gave him the order of the boot for giving lip to a grazier. There you are, citizen, says Joe. Are you talking about the Irish language? There is the bell—I think the markets are on a rise, says he. He was at Larcher's sale, but I say, sir, I hear. But he was conscious of having spoken with some confidence perhaps with more than he exactly remembered about his prospect of getting Featherstone's land as a future means of paying present debts.

You recognize, I hope none of my uncle's horrible relations are there. Don't tell anyone, says the citizen.

Small whisky and bottle of Allsop. No music and no art and no literature worthy of the name. Ireland. That is hardly a thing for a song. Said Mr. Hawley. —I will use no severer word—has not tried to raise money by holding out his future prospects, or even that some one may not have been foolish enough to supply him on so vague a presumption: there is plenty of such lax money-lending as of other folly in the world, said Jonah.

You mind and not bring her any more books, do you hear? Don't you know he's dead? You'd sooner offend me than Bulstrode.

But the Sassenach tried to starve the nation at home while the land was full of crops that the British hyenas bought and sold in Rio de Janeiro.

—That's mine, says Joe, will be taken down in evidence against you.

I was just looking around to see who the happy thought would strike when be damned but a bloody sweep came along and he near drove his gear into my eye. I'll try and walk round the room.

—Only one, says Ned, laughing, that's a good one if old Shylock is landed. Old Whatwhat.

—The memory of the dead, says the citizen. The bloody mongrel let a grouse out of him. —Even if he had any message for the living he exhorted all who were still at the wrong side of Maya to acknowledge the true path for it was reported in devanic circles that Mars and Jupiter were out for mischief on the eastern angle where the ram has power.

Insulted.

Hell upon earth it is. Is it that whiteeyed kaffir?

I'll believe you! Someone that has nothing better to do ought to write a letter pro bono publico to the papers about the muzzling order for a dog the like of it in all your born puff.

O'Bloom, the son of a Middlemarch manufacturer, and inevitable heir to nothing in particular, while such men as Mainwaring and Vyan—certainly life was a poor business, when a horseman passed slowly by.

The ceremony which went off with great éclat was characterised by the most affecting cordiality.

But Jane and Martha sank under the rush of questions, and began to cry; poor Mrs. Says I. And whereas on the sixteenth day of the month of the oxeyed goddess 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 his knowledge that Mr. Garth had carried the man to rule over an island like Britain.

So Bloom lets on he heard nothing and he starts reading out one. Says Joe.

Mr. Hawley. Why shouldn't they dig the man up and have the Crowner? Said, and Mr. Brooke of Tipton was on his right hand. Some people, says Bloom.

Says I, I'll be in for the last time. You want to know something about him, she added, after a moment's hesitation, took his corner where he was liberally drenched with water and when the gallant young Oxonian the bearer, by the way, of one of the clan of the O'Molloy's, 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 order was in the glass or out, and yet have griped you the next day. Blind to the world only Bob Doran. The housesteward of the amalgamated cats' and dogs' home was in attendance to convey these vessels when replenished to that beneficent institution.

I am afraid of having repeated. Says I, was in the chair, and shaded his eyes as if weary. Did you see that bloody chimneysweep near shove my eye out with his sheepdip for the scab and a hoose drench for coughing calves and the guaranteed remedy for timber tongue.

—Any gent who could disprove this statement being offered the privilege of finding you a valuable coadjutor in the interesting matter of hospital management, there will be many questions which we shall need to discuss in private.

Every one stared afresh at Mr. Rigg, and had been Jane Featherstone five-and-twenty years ago nobody had ever heard of a Bulstrode in Middlemarch. And says Joe: Could you make a hole in another pint? I had to laugh at the little jewy getting his shirt out. I'm another. I mean his wife. —Then suffer me to take your hand, said Mr. Thesiger, turning to the pallid trembling man; I must so far concur with what has fallen from Mr. Hawley in consequence took an opportunity of engaging Mr. Rigg in conversation: there was no handle for the law either in the revelations made by Raffles or in the circumstances of his death. Here, Terry, says Joe.

How's that, eh, my brown son!

Scandalous! He had not been accustomed to very cordial relations with his neighbors, and hence he could not be won from the question whether the Lords would throw out the Reform Bill. Tell that to a fool, said Solomon. —Here, says Joe. —But I may be wrong—that there was never a truer, a finer than poor little Willy, poor little Willy Dignam? But he was disappointed in the result. Gob, he near throttled him.

Pawning his gold watch in Cummins of Francis street where no-one as blind as the fellow that won't see, if you know what it is?

But those words are apt to cover different meanings to different minds.

—Cattle traders, says Joe. And he starts taking off the old recorder letting on to cry: A delegation of the chief cotton magnates of Manchester was presented yesterday to His Majesty the Alaki of Abeakuta by Gold Stick in Waiting, Lord Walkup of Walkup on Eggs, to tender to His Majesty the Alaki of Abeakuta by Gold Stick in Waiting, Lord Walkup of Walkup on Eggs, to tender to His Majesty the Alaki of Abeakuta by Gold Stick in Waiting, Lord Walkup of Walkup on Eggs, to tender to His Majesty, on the part of the defunct, who had his own reasons for not being in the best spirits, and wanted to get away. —A most scandalous thing!

To hell with them! It was exactly seventeen o'clock.

I consider it very unhandsome of you to refuse it.

A warm man was Waule.

I would,says Fletcher; 'for what's more against one's stomach than a man coming and making himself bad company with his religion, and giving out as the Ten Commandments are not enough for him, and all the populace shouting and laughing and the old dog seeing the tin was empty starts mousing around by Joe and me.

That's how it's worked, says the citizen, that's what's the cause of it.

Ireland I'm going to Gort. Martin, seeing it was looking blue. Exclaimed, What? —Hear, hear to that, says John Wyse.

She added, after a moment's pause. No, says Martin, seeing it was looking blue. On a handsome mahogany table near him were neatly arranged the quartering knife, the various finely tempered disembowelling appliances specially supplied by the worldfamous firm of cutlers, Messrs John Round and Sons, Sheffield, a terra cotta saucepan for the reception of the duodenum, colon, blind intestine and appendix etc when successfully extracted and two commodious milkjugs destined to receive the most precious victim.

Mine host came forth at the summons, girding him with his tabard.

All emotion must be conditional, and might turn out to be a bit of the lingo: Conspuez les Anglais!

My responsibility, Mr. Lydgate! Five days after the death of Raffles, Mr. Bambridge would gratify them by being shot from here to Hereford. He gives land, and He makes chaps rich with corn and cattle. Mr Boylan.

The gold-headed cane and fifty pounds; the other entirely saturnine, leaning his hands and chin on a stick, and conscious of claims based on no narrow performance but on merit generally: both blameless citizens of Brassing, who wished that Jonah Featherstone did not live there. Gob, he'd adorn a sweepingbrush, so he would and talk steady. He had no father, says Martin to the jarvey.

—An inconvenience which would have at least the advantage of going all round. And he starts reading out: Gordon, Barnfield crescent, Exeter; Redmayne of Iffley, Saint Anne's on Sea: the wife of William T Redmayne of a son.

Read them. Of course you never said any such nonsense. She was to come back from Yorkshire last night. And so Joe swore high and holy by this and by that he'd do the devil and all. When she and Rosamond happened both to be reflected in the glass. —On which the sun never rises, says Joe.

The lawyer was Mr. Standish, who, finishing his sandwich, had thrown himself back in his chair, and Mr. Bulstrode had begun by admonishing Mr. Vincy, feeling that this expression put the thing in the true light. Honest men and gentlemen, if they don't want the company of people who perpetrate such acts, have got to defend themselves as they best can, and that makes other people jealous.

—Then suffer me to take your hand, said he.

I'm hanging on to his taw now for the first time that Mr. Bulstrode should be called in. And with that he took the last swig out of the bottom of Bulstrode's liberality to Lydgate.

Says Ned. No such thing! You know this is about the size of it.

I leave you to guess. Nurse loves the new chemist. Mary? The objects which included several hundred ladies' and gentlemen's gold and silver. And the old prostitute of a mother procuring rooms to street couples. —We know him, says the citizen.

Historical parallels are remarkably efficient in this way.

To us!

It may be for the glory of the brightness at an angle of fortyfive degrees over Donohoe's in Little Green street like a shot off a shovel. 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. There he is sitting there.

Fred in the hall, and now for the past five years.

Waule, said Mary, rather sardonically. —Libel action, says he. Certainly I do. Jumbo, the elephant.

I could easily get him to write that he knew thoroughly well who would be pleased and who disappointed before the day was over. The curse of a goodfornothing God light sideways on the bloody thicklugged sons of whores' gets! Fred and Rosamond entered after a couple of miles' riding.

—I will, says he. But what sort of looking man is he? —Who? Very well, said Mr. Hawley, who were not slow to see a significant relation between this sudden command of money and Bulstrode's desire to stifle the scandal of Raffles.

He said, turning first toward Mr. Thesiger, turning to the pallid trembling man; I must so far concur with what has fallen from Mr. Hawley in expression of a general feeling, as to think it due to your Christian profession that you should clear yourself, if possible, from unhappy aspersions.

The will he expected to end his days. Night he was near being lagged only Paddy Leonard knew the bobby, 14A.

It never answers to have a bit of land to make a squire of you instead of a starving parson, nor a lift of a hundred pound by the way.

For they garner the succulent berries of the hop and mass and sift and bruise and brew them and they mix therewith sour juices and bring the must to the sacred fire and cease not night or day from their toil, those cunning brothers, lords of the vat. And Sarsfield and O'Donnell, duke of Tetuan in Spain, and Ulysses Browne of Camus that was fieldmarshal to Maria Teresa. 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 half-past one, when he brought a letter from Clemmens of Brassing tied with the will. —Well, says Martin, seeing it was looking blue. It'll do him no good where he's gone, says Lenehan, cracking his fingers.

I can make out, this Raffles, as they slackened their pace—Rosy, did Mary tell you that I have no motive for furthering such a disposition of property as that which you refer to, sir. Tchah! Oh, Mr. Lydgate, is of a broader kind. Notwithstanding her jealousy of the Vincys had created a fellowship in hostility among all persons of the Featherstone family. But, as I hope and believe, on a sentiment of mutual esteem as to request of you this favour.

He rose immediately, and turning his back on the company while he said to her in an undertone, and sometimes implied that it was inconsistent with openness; though there seems to be no reason why a loud man should not be given to concealment of anything except his own voice, unless it can be shown that Holy Writ has placed the seat of candor in the lungs. Lying up in the north from which he had been in the possession of his family since the revolution of Rienzi, being removed by his medical adviser in attendance, Dr Pippi. Waule, you'd better say so.

I fear the part played by the vultures on that occasion would be too painful for art to represent, those birds being disadvantageously naked about the gullet, and apparently without rites and ceremonies. Mind, Joe, says I. Listen to the births and deaths in the Irish all for Ireland Independent, and I'll thank you and the marriages.

Mr. Lydgate there?

Step into my carriage, said Mr. Hawley. This was the tone of an offended senior. —Who shall be my accuser?

Gob, we won't be let even do that much itself. Rembrandt would have painted her with pleasure, and is welcome to tell again.

Fontenoy, eh? —I know that fellow, says Joe.

Says Joe. That was what I said, 'You don't make me no wiser, Mr. Baldwin: it's set my blood a-creeping to look at him. I see Mrs.

—There's hair, Joe, says I.

—Give us one of your black sheep, Hawley. The pledgebound party on the floor of the house. I knew it would nettle you, Fred. Waule's mind was entirely flooded with the sense that the affair had an ugly look.

Dollop's had been the common theme among all classes in the town was used to at meetings of this sort, rose and asked leave to deliver his opinion. —Is he a jew or a gentile or a holy Roman or a swaddler or what the hell is he? —Yes, says J.J., and every male that's born they think it may be: you could turn over your capital just as fast with cursing and swearing: plenty of fellows do. May Hawthorne, Mrs Gloriana Palme, Mrs Liana Forrest, Mrs Arabella Blackwood and Mrs Norma Holyoake of Oakholme Regis graced the ceremony by their presence.

It was then queried whether there were any special desires on the part of the metropolis which constitutes the Inn's Quay ward and parish of Saint Michan covering a surface of fortyone acres, two roods and one square pole or perch.

Exclaimed Mr. Trumbull, preferring for once that he should be considered ignorant in the past.

#Ulysses (novel)#James Joyce #1922 #automatically generated text #Patrick Mooney #Cyclops #George Eliot #Victorian novels #British novelists #Bildungsromaener #didactic literature #Marian Evans #19th century #Middlemarch (novel)

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Cyclops

Old Garryowen started growling again at Bloom that was skeezing round the door. Gob, he's not as green as he's cabbagelooking. The man in the moon was a jew.

She'd have won the money only for the other with his head down like a bull at a gate. And he wanted right go wrong to address the court only Corny Kelleher got round him telling him to get the handwriting examined first.

Dimsey, late of the admiralty: Miller, Tottenham, aged eightyfive: Welsh, June 12, at 35 Canning street, Liverpool, Isabella Helen.

Secrets for enlarging your private parts.

Drink that, citizen. Cows in Connacht have long horns. The strangers, says the citizen. The laity included P. Fay, T. Quirke, etc., etc. —Widow woman, says Ned. The bloody nag took fright and the old mongrel after the car 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.

With his mailed gauntlet he brushed away a furtive tear and was overheard, by those privileged burghers who happened 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. —What's that? The traitor's son. —Yes, your worship. So Joe took up the letters.

Says he.

—Is it Paddy? Gob, he's like Lanty MacHale's goat that'd go a piece of the road with every one. —With Dignam, says Alf. —O jakers, Jenny, says Joe.

And calling himself a Frenchy for the shawls, Joseph Manuo, and talking against the Catholic religion, and he cursing the curse of Ireland.

I'm thinking.

Any civilisation they have they stole from us. Visszontlátásra! —I, 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. Justifiable homicide, so it would.

A full thousand cubits high stood the greatest among them, wherein the high-priests liked not these festivals, for there had descended amongst them queer tales of how the sea—green stone idol chiseled in the likeness of Bokrug, the great water-lizard. It's a secret. Deaths. —Well, Joe, says I. Then sloping off with his five quid without putting up a pint of stuff like a man.

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 errand be one of sorrow, this proof of your confidence sweetens in some measure the bitterness of the cup. And he got them out as quick as he could, Jack Power and Crofton or whatever you call him and him in the middle of them letting on to answer, like a duet in the opera. Who are you laughing at? 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 only Bob Doran.

Good health, citizen.

Through all the land of Mnar is very still, and remote from most other lands, both of waking and of dream.

—Slan leat, says he.

I met him one day in the south city markets buying a tin of Neave's food six weeks before the wife was delivered. How are the mighty fallen! 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 in the possession of his family since the revolution of Rienzi, being removed by his medical adviser in attendance, Dr Pippi.

—He's a perverted jew, says Martin to the jarvey. Thereon embossed in excellent smithwork was seen the image of a queen of regal port, scion of the house of Bernard Kiernan and Co, limited, 8,9 and 10 little Britain street, wholesale grocers, wine and brandy shippers, licensed fo the sale of beer, wine and brandy shippers, licensed fo the sale of beer, wine and spirits for consumption on the premises, the celebrant blessed the house of commons.

Not like the ikons of other gods were those of Zo-Kalar and Tamash and Lobon. Says Joe. Says Joe. Not even the mines of precious metal remained. The wonder of the world and the pride of all mankind was Sarnath the magnificent. —Full many a flower is born to blush unseen. Gob, that puts the bloody kybosh on it if old sloppy eyes is mucking up the show.

No security.

A couched spear of acuminated granite rested by him while at his feet looking up to know who to bite and when. But not much is written of these beings, as indeed are most beings of a world yet inchoate and rudely fashioned.

Little Alf Bergan popped in round the door and hid behind Barney's snug, squeezed up with the laughing.

Visszontlátásra!

There he is again, says the citizen, clapping his thigh, our harbours that are empty will be full again, Queenstown, Kinsale, Galway, Blacksod Bay, Ventry in the kingdom of Kerry, Killybegs, 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. The man in the brown macintosh loves a lady who is dead. —True for you, says the citizen. A powerful current of warm breath issued at regular intervals from the profound cavity of his mouth while in rhythmic resonance the loud strong hale reverberations of his formidable heart thundered rumblingly causing the ground, the summit of the lofty tower and the still loftier walls of the cave to vibrate and tremble. Says John Wyse, what I was telling the citizen about the foot and mouth disease.

Your God. Ay, ay, says Joe. —Short, painstaking yet withal so characteristic of the man. And Bob Doran starts doing the weeps about Paddy Dignam, true as you're there. 'Tis a custom more honoured in the breach than in the observance. And says John Wyse, why can't a jew love his country like the next fellow anyhow. Ironical opposition cheers. The speaker: Order! Gob, he'll come home by weeping cross one of those days, I'm thinking. Jumbo, the elephant. Tell him, says he, trying to crack their bloody skulls, one chap going for the other dog. Says I. —I'll tell you what. —You don't grasp my point, says Bloom. The objects which included several hundred ladies' and gentlemen's gold and silver watches were promptly restored to their rightful owners and general harmony reigned supreme. Cried crack till he brought him home as drunk as a boiled owl and he said he did it to teach him the evils of alcohol and by herrings, if the three women didn't near roast him, it's a queer story, the old cur after him backing his luck with his mangy snout up. And every jew is in a tall state of excitement, I believe, till he knows if he's a father or a mother. —Widow woman, says Ned, that keeps our foes at bay? Stop!

—Well, says J.J. We have Edward the peacemaker now. But my point was … —We are a long time waiting for that day, citizen, says Joe.

We are not speaking so much of those delightful lovesongs with which the eunuch Catalani beglamoured our greatgreatgrandmothers was easily distinguishable. And Bloom with his but don't you see, because on account of the poor lad till he yells meila murder. It was a knockout clean and clever. The delegation, present in full force, consisted of Commendatore Bacibaci Beninobenone the semiparalysed doyen of the party who had to be assisted to his seat by the aid of a powerful steam crane, Monsieur Pierrepaul Petitépatant, the Grandjoker Vladinmire Pokethankertscheff, the Archjoker Leopold Rudolph von Schwanzenbad-Hodenthaler, Countess Marha Virága Kisászony Putrápesthi, Hiram Y. Bomboost, Count Athanatos Karamelopulos, Ali Baba Backsheesh Rahat Lokum Effendi, Senor Hidalgo Caballero Don Pecadillo y Palabras y Paternoster de la Malora de la Malaria, Hokopoko Harakiri, Hi Hung Chang, Olaf Kobberkeddelsen, Mynheer Trik van Trumps, Pan Poleaxe Paddyrisky, Goosepond Prhklstr Kratchinabritchisitch, Borus Hupinkoff, Herr Hurhausdirektorpresident Hans Chuechli-Steuerli, Nationalgymnasiummuseumsanatoriumandsuspensoriumsordinaryprivatdocent-generalhistoryspecialprofessordoctor Kriegfried Ueberallgemein. 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 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 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 that's dead to tell her.

Gob, he near sent it into the county Longford. Begob I saw there was trouble coming. Gob, the devil wouldn't stop him till he got hold of the bloody tin anyhow and out with him and out trying to walk straight. Boylan.

In Inisfail the fair there lies a land, the land of holy Michan.

—I thought so, says Ned. So Bloom lets on he heard nothing and he starts reading them out: A most scandalous thing!

Right, says Ned, taking up his John Jameson. The catastrophe was terrific and instantaneous in its effect.

Says he. —What's that bloody freemason doing, says the citizen, letting a bawl out of him, I promise you.

Says Martin. Says he, what will you have? Blimey it makes me kind of bleeding cry, straight, it does, when I sees her cause I thinks of my old mashtub what's waiting for me down Limehouse way. —O, by God, says Ned. 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. Considerable amusement was caused by the favourite Dublin streetsingers L-n-h-n and M-ll-g-n who sang The Night before Larry was stretched in their usual mirth-provoking fashion.

Says Martin. How many children?

—Who? —Then about! And the Saviour was a jew, says Martin.

—And moreover, says J.J.—We don't want him, says he.

—Whose admirers? Where are our missing twenty millions of Irish should be here today instead of four, our lost tribes? Even the Grand Turk sent us his piastres.

I turned around to let him have the weight of my tongue when who should I see dodging along Stony Batter only Joe Hynes. And says John Wyse. In summer the gardens were cooled with fresh odorous breezes skilfully wafted by fans, and in Jacky Tar, the son of a gun, who was conceived of unholy boast, born of the fighting navy, says the citizen, clapping his thigh, our harbours that are empty will be full again, Queenstown, Kinsale, Galway, Blacksod Bay, Ventry in the kingdom of Kerry, Killybegs, 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.

Love loves to love love. And the rest nowhere. And he got them out as quick as he could, Jack Power and Crofton or whatever you call him and him in the dock the other day for suing poor little Gumley that's minding stones, for the corporation there near Butt bridge.

—Foreign wars is the cause of our old tongue, Mr Joseph M'Carthy Hynes, made an eloquent appeal for the resuscitation 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 the cradle by Speranza's plaintive muse. And then an old fellow starts blowing into his bagpipes and all the populace shouting and laughing and the old dog at his feet reposed a savage animal of the canine tribe whose stertorous gasps announced that he was now on the path of pr l ya or return but was still submitted to trial at the hands of certain bloodthirsty entities on the lower astral levels. Insulted.

Says Martin. 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 Caolte and of the tribe of Owen 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. —And moreover, says J.J. And Bloom letting on to answer, like a duet in the opera. Says he, looking for you. —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. If the man in the brown macintosh loves a lady who is dead. Moya. Says Martin. I may ask?

The man that got away James Stephens. Are you asleep? —Mendelssohn was a jew. —And the wife with typhoid fever! Says John Wyse. Do you know that he's balmy? Handed him the father and mother of a beating. Jesus, he'd kick the shite out of him would give you the creeps. And he starts taking off the old recorder letting on to answer, like a duet in the opera. Shake hands, brother.

Mister Knowall. And whereas on the sixteenth day of the month as a solution equally honourable for both contending parties. What are you doing round those parts?

To us! She lays eggs for us. —Charity to the neighbour, says Martin. Read the revelations that's going on in the papers about flogging on the training ships at Portsmouth. Belle in her bloomers misconducting herself, and her fancyman feeling for her tickles and Norman W. Tupper bouncing in with his cod's eye on the dog and he talking 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. Or also living in different places.

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.

A couched spear of acuminated granite rested by him while at his feet looking up to know who to bite and when.

Ind.: Don't hesitate to shoot. Set of dancing masters! —Who made those allegations?

Ten thousand years ago there stood by its shore the mighty city of Sarnath on horses and camels and elephants, looked again upon the mist-begetting lake and saw the gray rock Akurion was quite submerged. Senhor Enrique Flor presided at the organ with his wellknown ability and, in addition to the prescribed numbers of the nuptial mass, played a new and striking arrangement of Woodman, spare that tree at the conclusion of which the veteran patriot champion may be said without fear of contradiction to have fairly excelled himself. Stop! —Ireland, says Bloom. Amongst the clergy present were the very rev. William Delany, S.J., L.L.D.; the rt rev. Mgr M'Manus, V.G.; the rev. P.J. Cleary, O.S.F.; the rev. Peter Fagan, O.M.; the rev. F.T. Purcell, O.P.; the very rev. Fr. Nicholas, O.S.F.C.; the very rev. James Murphy, S.J.; the rev. P.J. Cleary, O.S.F.; the rev. B.R. Slattery, O.M.I.; the very rev. M.D. Scally, P.P.; the rev. P.J. Cleary, O.S.F.; the rev. John Lavery, V.F.; the very rev. William Doherty, D.D.; the rev. P.J. Kavanagh, C.S.Sp.; the rev. M.A. Hackett, C.C.; the rev. J. Flavin, C.C.; the rev. T. Maher, S.J.; the very rev. William Doherty, D.D.; the rev. L.J. Hickey, O.P.; the very rev. James Murphy, S.J.; the rev. T. Waters, C.C.; the rev. T. Waters, C.C.; the rev. M.A. Hackett, C.C.; the rev. T. Maher, S.J.; the very rev. M.D. Scally, P.P.; the rev. L.J. Hickey, O.P.; the very rev. William Doherty, D.D.; the rev. John Lavery, V.F.; the very rev. B. Gorman, O.D.C.; the rev. B.R. Slattery, O.M.I.; the very rev. M.D. Scally, P.P.; the rev. T. Brangan, O.S.A.; the rev. J. Flavin, C.C.; the rev. F.T. Purcell, O.P.; the very rev. William Doherty, D.D.; the rev. P.J. Kavanagh, C.S.Sp.; the rev. M.A. Hackett, C.C.; the rev. J. Flavin, C.C.; the rev. J. Flanagan, C.C. The laity included P. Fay, T. Quirke, etc., etc.

Thereafter those in the towers and without the walls beheld strange lights on the water, and saw that the gray rock Akurion was quite submerged. And whereas on the sixteenth day of the month as a solution equally honourable for both contending parties. However this may be, it is certain that they worshipped a sea-green stone idol chiseled in the likeness of Bokrug, the great water-lizard. Not like the ikons of other gods were those of Zo-Kalar and Tamash and Lobon. He puts his hand under black Liz and takes her fresh egg. Night before Larry was stretched in their usual mirth-provoking fashion. 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 grave elders of the most timehonoured names in Albion's history placed on the finger of his blushing fiancée an expensive engagement ring with emeralds set in the form of a fourleaved shamrock the excitement knew no bounds.

The answer to the honourable member's question is in the negative. —Give it a name, citizen, says Ned, you should have seen Bloom before that son of his that died was born. Gone but not forgotten. Having requested a quart of buttermilk this was brought and evidently afforded relief.

—Whose God?

I sees her cause I thinks of my old mashtub what's waiting for me down Limehouse way.

Also now.

—When is long John going to hang that fellow in Mountjoy? He let out that Myler was on the beer to run up the odds and he swatting all the time.

Heenan and Sayers was only a bloody fool to it.

You whatwhat? —We know those canters, says he, taking out his handkerchief to swab himself dry. 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 drivel about training by kindness and a carefully thoughtout dietary system, comprises, among other achievements, the recitation of verse. The king's friends God bless His Majesty!

The deafening claps of thunder and the dazzling flashes of lightning which lit up the ghastly scene testified that the artillery of heaven had lent its supernatural pomp to the already gruesome spectacle. —Who tried the case? We let them come in. —With Dignam, says Alf. The poor bugger's tool that's being hanged, says Alf.

Declare to my aunt he'd talk about it for an hour so he would, if he was my dog. —Ten thousand pounds. —Foreign wars is the cause of all our misfortunes. Thereafter those in the towers and the domes of fated Sarnath. —No, says I. These men indeed went to the lake to the gates of Sarnath burst open and emptied forth a frenzied throng that blackened the plain, so that in those gardens it was always spring.

Justifiable homicide, so it would.

They took the liberty of burying him this morning anyhow. —Wine of the country, says he, looking for you. There rises a watchtower beheld of men afar.

Gob, that puts the bloody kybosh on it if old sloppy eyes is mucking up the show. His name was Virag, the father's name that poisoned himself with the prussic acid after he swamping the country with bugs. —Ay, Blazes, says Alf, laughing. —Nannan's going too, says Bloom.

—O, I'm sure that will be all right, Hynes, says Bloom.

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. Says Bloom, the robbing bagman, that poisoned himself with the prussic acid after he swamping the country with bugs. The eyes in which a tear and a smile strove ever for the mastery were of the dimensions of a goodsized cauliflower. But, says Bloom.

—That so? We know what put English gold in his pocket: It's the Russians wish to tyrannise. Here, citizen.

—Who?

—Then suffer me to take your hand, said he with an obsequious bow. —Well, there were two children born anyhow, says Jack. 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. It was exactly seventeen o'clock.

So saying he knocked loudly with his swordhilt upon the open lattice. —They're all barbers, says he. Says he. Universal love.

Selling bazaar tickets or what do you think of that, citizen?

—Are you talking about the Irish language and the corporation meeting and all to that and then he went round to Collis and Ward's and then Tom Rochford met him and sent him round to the subsheriff's for a lark.

Since the poor old woman told us that the French were on the sea and landed at Killala. 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 no record extant of a similar seismic disturbance in our island since the earthquake of 1534, the year of the destroying of Ib. And he got them out as quick as he could, Jack Power and Crofton or whatever you call him and him in the private office when I was there with Pisser releasing his boots out of the question of my honourable friend, the member for Shillelagh, may I ask the right honourable sir Hercules Hannibal Habeas Corpus Anderson, K.G., K.P., K.T., P.C., K.C.B., 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.U.I., F.R.C.P.I. and F.R.C.S.I. —Well, good health, Jack, says Ned. His Majesty the King loves Her Majesty the Queen. 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.

He's a bloody ruffian, I say, to take away poor little Willy Dignam.

Give him a rousing fine kick now and again where it wouldn't blind him. The bloody mongrel let a grouse out of 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, he spat a Red bank oyster out of him in Irish and the old dog seeing the tin was empty starts mousing around by Joe and me. Ten, did you say? Perfide Albion!

And he started laughing.

—Jesus, says he. 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 horses his jockeys rode.

It is told that in the castle. The citizen made a plunge back into the shop. —There's hair, Joe, says I.

—Afraid he'll bite you? —But do you know what it is?

On a handsome mahogany table near him were neatly arranged the quartering knife, the various finely tempered disembowelling appliances specially supplied by the worldfamous firm of cutlers, Messrs John Round and Sons, Sheffield, a terra cotta saucepan for the reception of the duodenum, colon, blind intestine and appendix etc when successfully extracted and two commodious milkjugs destined to receive the most precious victim. —Cockburn.

—Cattle traders, says Joe, doing the honours. Goodbye Ireland I'm going to Gort.

The mimber? And because they did not wish to touch them. 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 grave elders of the most obedient city, second of the realm, had met them in the tholsel, and there, sure enough, was the citizen up in the City Arms pisser Burke told me there was an old one there with a cracked loodheramaun of a nephew and Bloom trying to get the handwriting examined first. O'Bloom, the son of Rory: it is he.

So one day the young warriors, the slingers and the spearmen and the bowmen, marched against Ib and slew all the inhabitants thereof, pushing the queer bodies into the lake; wondering from the greatness of the labor how ever the stones were brought from afar, as they fled from the doomed city of Sarnath on horses and camels and elephants trod, which were paved with granite.

Old lardyface standing up to the business end of a gun. Ireland! Then did you, chivalrous Terence, hand forth, as to the desirability of the revivability of the ancient games and sports of our ancient Panceltic forefathers. Says Joe.

—Mrs B. is the bright particular star, isn't she?

After a brisk exchange of courtesies during which a smart upper cut of the military man brought blood freely from his opponent's mouth the lamb suddenly waded in all over his man and landed a terrific left to Battling Bennett's stomach, flooring him flat. Taking what belongs to us by right. —After you with the push, Joe, says I, sloping around by Pill lane and Greek street with his cod's eye on the dog and he talking all kinds of breastplates bidding defiance to the world only Bob Doran. —Not there, my child, says he. —Twenty to one, says Martin, we're ready. —The blessing of God and Mary and Patrick on you, says Joe, Field and Nannetti are going over tonight to London to ask about it on the floor of the house of commons.

—Circumcised? —Well, says Martin to the jarvey. I saw him before I met you, says Lenehan. —All these moving scenes are still there for us today rendered more beautiful still by the waters of sorrow which have passed over them and by the rich incrustations of time. —Well, that's a point, says Bloom.

—An imperial yeomanry, says Lenehan, to celebrate the occasion. Love your neighbour. The citizen made a grab at the letter. —By Jesus, I'll crucify him so I will, says he.

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 two eyes. We know those canters, says he. Myler quickly became busy and got his man under, the bout ending with the bulkier man on the ropes, Myler punishing him.

—Ireland, says Bloom, the robbing bagman, that poisoned himself. —En ventre sa mère, says J.J. What'll it be, Ned?

—Drinking his own stuff? And he got them out as quick as he could, Jack Power and Crofton or whatever you call him and him in the middle of them letting on to be modest. The redcoat ducked but the Dubliner lifted him with a face on him as long as a late breakfast. Gob, he golloped it down like old boots and his tongue hanging out of him and Joe and little Alf hanging on to his taw now for the past five years. —Sinn Fein!

An you be the king's messengers, master Taptun? And who does he suspect?

Begob I saw there was trouble coming. The tear is bloody near your eye. —Tell that to a fool, says the citizen. —What's your opinion of the times? More power, citizen. —Well, they're still waiting for their redeemer, says Martin. Gob, we won't be let even do that much itself. No, says Martin. The final bout of fireworks was a gruelling for both champions.

—Well, good health, Jack, says Ned. And one or two sky pilots having an eye around that there was no goings on with the females, hitting below the belt. Says he.

It was a knockout clean and clever. She's singing, yes. —Do you call that a man? —There he is again, says he.

How's that for Martin Murphy, the Bantry jobber? —Health, Joe, says I.

It is told that in the castle. Mr Allfours: The answer is in the land of bondage. So one day the young warriors, the slingers and the spearmen and the bowmen, marched against Ib and slew all the inhabitants thereof, pushing the queer bodies into the lake, each of vast size, and served upon golden platters set with rubies and diamonds. —And the tragedy of it is, says Joe. Hell upon earth it is. And the beds of the Barrow and Shannon they won't deepen with millions of acres of marsh and bog to make us all die of consumption?

Do you know what it is? But with their marveling was mixed hate, for they knew and loved her from the rising of the sun and moon and stars and planets when it was not less because they found the beings weak, and soft as jelly to the touch of stones and arrows. Gob, it'd turn the porter sour in your guts, so it would.

Just a holiday. Love, says Bloom, isn't discipline the same everywhere. —I'll tell you what. —That's the new Messiah for Ireland! But Bob Doran shouts out of her: Eh, mister!

He stood ascend to heaven. Your fly is open, mister! Excellent. A bit off the top.

Says Joe.

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 jerrymandering, packed juries and swindling the taxes off of the poor lad till he yells meila murder.

—Hear, hear to that, says John Wyse. It was a knockout clean and clever. Says Joe. —Love, says Bloom. After Lowry's lights.

It's the Russians wish to tyrannise.

And straightway the minions of the law.

How half and half.

Bristow, at Whitehall lane, London: Carr, Stoke Newington, of gastritis and heart disease: Cockburn, at the Moat house, Chepstow … —I know where he's gone, says Lenehan. Even the Grand Turk sent us his piastres. 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.

—Ha ha, Alf, says Joe, about the foot and mouth disease.

Secrets for enlarging your private parts. —Conspuez les Anglais!

—He's a perverted jew, says he. The laity included P. Fay, T. Quirke, etc., etc. The distinguished scientist Herr Professor Luitpold Blumenduft tendered medical evidence to the effect that the instantaneous fracture of the cervical vertebrae and consequent scission of the spinal cord would, according to the evidence so help them God and kiss the book. So he told Terry to bring.

Do you know what a nation means? So made a cool hundred quid over it, says the citizen. Constable MacFadden was heartily congratulated by all the F.O.T.E.I., several of whom were bleeding profusely. —I had half a crown.

—Ay, says Joe. —True for you, says Bloom, that is hated and persecuted. And the tragedy of it is, says Joe. Having requested a quart of buttermilk this was brought and evidently afforded relief. —God's truth, says Alf. The earl of Dublin, Wood quay ward, merchant, hereinafter called the purchaser, videlicet, five pounds avoirdupois of first choice tea at three shillings and no pence sterling: and the said purchaser, his heirs, successors, trustees and assigns of the other part. I want to see the citizen. Jesus, he near sent it into the county Longford. —My wife? That's where he's gone, poor little Paddy Dignam. —Show us, Joe, says I.

But with their marveling was mixed hate, for they thought it not meet that beings of such aspect should walk about the world of men at dusk. With his name in Stubbs's. Interrogated as to whether the eighth or the ninth of March was the correct date of the birth of Ireland's patron saint. Ten thousand pounds, says Alf. A nation? I couldn't get over that bloody foxy Geraghty, the daylight robber. The chaste spouse of Leopold is she: Marion of the bountiful bosoms.

—A rump and dozen, says the citizen, letting on to be in a hell of a hurry. Gob, he's a prudent member and no mistake.

That's what he is. —Adiutorium nostrum in nomine Domini.

A couched spear of acuminated granite rested by him while at his feet looking up to know who to bite and when. Mrs Norma Holyoake of Oakholme Regis graced the ceremony by their presence.

The king's friends God bless His Majesty!

Arrah, give over your bloody codding, Joe, says I. The referee twice cautioned Pucking Percy for holding but the pet was tricky and his footwork a treat to watch. Says he. I put him off it and he told me Bloom gave him the order of the boot for giving lip to a grazier.

But not much is written of these beings, because they did not wish to touch them. So made a cool hundred quid over it, says Alf.

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 Patrick and of the tribe of Fergus and of the tribe of Owen and of the tribe of Owen and of the lands adjacent. Firebrands of Europe and they always were.

—Well, says Martin. A full thousand cubits high stood the greatest among them, wherein the high-priests looked out over the lake, each of bronze, and flanked by the figures of lions and elephants carven from some stone no longer known among men. What was that, Joe? But do you know what a nation means? So and So made a cool hundred quid over it, says the citizen, letting a bawl out of him would give you the creeps. —Old Troy was just giving me a wrinkle about him—lifted any God's quantity of tea and sugar to pay three bob a week said he had a friend in court. And so say all of us, says the citizen. —Hello, Ned. There was a time I was as good as the next fellow?

Told him if he didn't patch up the pot, Jesus, he'd kick the shite out of him about the invincibles and the old tinbox clattering along the street.

Says Ned, laughing, that's a point, says Bloom.

Breen, says Alf. An illuminated scroll of ancient Irish vellum, 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. In that palace there were also many galleries, and many were the hued lakelets into which they expanded. Then, close to the hour of midnight, all the bronze gates of Sarnath were of glazed brick and chalcedony, each having its walled garden and crystal lakelet.

U.p: up on it to take a li … And he doubled up. —Devil a much, says I. And I belong to a race too, says the citizen taking up his pintglass and glaring at Bloom.

Friends of the Emerald Isle was accommodated on a tribune directly opposite. Cursed by God.

He's an excellent man to organise. Shake hands, brother.

—And I'm sure He will, says he, take them to hell out of my sight, Alf. Because he was up one time in a knacker's yard.

J.J.—There he is sitting there. And says Bloom: What say you, good masters, said the host, my poor house has but a bare larder. Are you sure you won't have anything in the way of drink.

—What?

—I thought so, says Martin.

—Conspuez les Français, says Lenehan. For full five hundred stadia did they run, being open only on the side of his poll, lowest blackguard in Dublin when he's under the influence: Who said Christ is good? God made Moses. Tell him, says he, sliding his hand down his fork. Says the citizen, prowling up and down there for the last time. And so Joe swore high and holy by this and by that he'd do the devil and all.

—No, says Martin, seeing it was looking blue. —What? O'Bloom, the son of Rory: it is he. That's a straw. 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, 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.

—Still running, says he. —Those are nice things, says the citizen. —But do you know what that means. Says Martin. The housesteward of the amalgamated cats' and dogs' home was in attendance to convey these vessels when replenished to that beneficent institution. He will, says he. Fleet was his foot on the bracken: Patrick of the beamy brow. That's too bad, says Bloom. Old Garryowen started growling again at Bloom that was skeezing round the door and they holding him and he bawls out of him right in the corner having a great confab with himself and that bloody mangy mongrel, Garryowen, and he covered with all kinds of drivel about training by kindness and a carefully thoughtout dietary system, comprises, among other achievements, the recitation of verse.

And begob what was it only one of the smutty yankee pictures Terry borrows off of Corny Kelleher.

And everybody knows that it's the very opposite of that that is really life. Messages of condolence and sympathy are being hourly received from all 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. And the princes and travelers, as they fled from the doomed city of Sarnath on horses and camels and elephants, looked again upon the mist-begetting lake and saw the gray rock Akurion which rears high above it near the shore, they beheld not the wonder of the world and the pride of all mankind. —Very kind of you, says Lenehan, to celebrate the occasion.

But, should I have overstepped the limits of reserve let the sincerity of my feelings be the excuse for my boldness.

—Bi i dho husht, says he. And there sat with him the prince and heir of the noble district of Boyle, princes, the sons of Granuaile, the champions of Kathleen ni Houlihan. And it was wrought of one piece of ivory, though no man lives who knows whence so vast a piece could have come. Perhaps it should be told to his dear son Patsy that the other boot which he had been looking for was at present under the commode in the return room and that the highest adepts were steeped in waves of volupcy of the very ancient living things. I'd give anything to hear him before a judge and jury. What is your nation if I may ask?

On you, Barney Kiernan, Has no sup of water To cool my courage, And my guts red roaring After Lowry's lights. Dirty Dan the dodger's son off Island bridge that sold the same horses twice over to the biscuit tin Bob Doran left to see if there was anything he could lift on the nod, the old dog over. And now the bloody old dog and he asks Terry was Martin Cunningham there.

Then he starts all confused mucking it up about mortgagor under the act the mortgagee can't recover on the policy. Give us a bloody chance. And the two shawls screeching laughing at one another.

—Slan leat, says he, I'll brain that bloody jewman for using the holy name.

J.J. puts in a word, says Joe, that made the Gaelic sports revival. For nonperishable goods bought of Moses Herzog, of 13 Saint Kevin's parade in the city hall at their caucus meeting decide about the Irish language and the corporation meeting and all to that. God in you seeing something was up but the citizen gave him a kick in the ribs.

—Raimeis, says the citizen. —Hello, Alf. —Beg your pardon, says he. —Bye bye all, says John Wyse, why can't a jew love his country like the next fellow? Only I was running after that … —You what? —Let me, said he. Within his banquet-hall reclined Nargis-Hei, the king, drunken with ancient wine from the vaults of conquered Pnoth, and surrounded by feasting nobles and hurrying slaves. And says John Wyse, why can't a jew love his country like the next fellow anyhow. These men indeed went to the cupboard. Li Chi Han lovey up kissy Cha Pu Chow. And moreover, says J.J., and every male that's born they think it may be their Messiah.

Picture of him on the wall with his Smashall Sweeney's moustaches, the signior Brini from Summerhill, the eyetallyano, papal Zouave to the Holy Father, has left the quay and gone to Moss street. —Expecting every moment will be his next, says Lenehan, nobbling his beer.

—Come around to Barney Kiernan's, says Joe.

O, Jesus, he'd kick the shite out of him a yard long for more. —Half one, Terry, says Joe. Says Alf. God they had the start of us.

Ay, says John Wyse. Come around to Barney Kiernan's, says Joe.

In that palace there were also many galleries, and many amphitheaters where lions and men and elephants battled at the pleasure of the kings.

Any amount of money advanced on note of hand. Lying up in the City Arms pisser Burke told me there was an ancient Hebrew Zaretsky or something weeping in the witnessbox with his hat on with a shoehorn. —Well, says the citizen.

Did you see that bloody lunatic Breen round there? Stand and deliver, says he. Ay, says I. —Is that a good Christ, says Bob Doran. Devil a sweet fear! And He answered with a main cry: Abba!

And the rest nowhere. —Who tried the case?

And he got them out as quick as he could, Jack Power and Crofton or whatever you call him and him in the dock the other day for suing poor little Gumley that's minding stones, for the wife's admirers. Your God. Not even the mines of precious metal remained. And at the sound of the sacring bell, headed by a crucifer with acolytes, thurifers, boatbearers, readers, ostiarii, deacons and subdeacons, the blessed company drew nigh of mitred abbots and priors and guardians and monks and friars: the monks of Benedict of Spoleto, Carthusians and Camaldolesi, Cistercians and Olivetans, Oratorians and Vallombrosans, and the old mongrel after the car 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. A bit off the top.

—And what do you think of that, citizen?

Declare to my aunt he'd talk about it for an hour so he would and talk steady. A dark horse. I, in his gloryhole, with his cruiskeen lawn and his load of papers, working for the cause by drumhead courtmartial and a new Ireland and new this, that and the shoneens that can't speak their own language and Joe chipping in because he stuck someone for a quid and Bloom putting in his old goo with his twopenny stump that he cadged off of Joe and one in Slattery's off in his mind to get off the mark to hundred shillings is five quid and when they were in the dark horse pisser Burke was telling me once a month with headache like a totty with her courses. So he took a bundle of wisps of letters and envelopes out of his gullet and, gob, flahoolagh entertainment, don't be talking. —I'll tell you what. With his mailed gauntlet he brushed away a furtive tear and was overheard, by those privileged burghers who happened 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. U.p: up. Sure, he's out in John of God's off his head, poor man. 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 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. O'Bloom, the son of Rory: it is he.

—Me? I kill him, says he. Nay, even the ster provostmarshal, lieutenantcolonel Tomkin-Maxwell ffrenchmullan Tomlinson, who presided on the sad occasion, he who had blown a considerable number of sepoys from the cannonmouth without flinching, could not now restrain his natural emotion. —Circumcised? And last, beneath a canopy of cloth of gold came the reverend Father O'Flynn attended by Malachi and Patrick. Says Bloom. Decent fellow Joe when he has it but sure like that he never has it. Says Jack Power. 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 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 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 not a dry eye in that record assemblage.

The pledgebound party on the floor of the house.

We had our trade with Spain and the French and with the Flemings before those mongrels were pupped, Spanish ale in Galway, the winebark on the winedark waterway. —A nation?

The redcoat ducked but the Dubliner lifted him with a left hook, the body punch being a fine one. Thus of the very ancient and secret rite in detestation of Bokrug, the water-lizard.

It was held to be the sole and exclusive property of the said vendor of one pound five shillings and sixpence sterling for value received which amount shall be paid by said purchaser to said vendor in weekly instalments every seven calendar days of three shillings and no pence per pound avoirdupois, the said purchaser, his heirs, successors, trustees and assigns of the other part. —Full many a flower is born to blush unseen. —Yes, says J.J.—There he is again, says the citizen, prowling up and down outside? Then see him of a Sunday with his little concubine of a wife, and she wagging her tail up the aisle of the chapel with her patent boots on her, no less. Or who is he? Jumbo, the elephant. —And the tragedy of it is, says Alf.

So anyhow in came John Wyse Nolan and Lenehan with him with a face on him all pockmarks would hold a shower of rain. So he starts telling us about corporal punishment and about the crew of tars and officers and rearadmirals drawn up in cocked hats and the parson with his protestant bible to witness punishment and a young lad brought out, howling for his ma, and they swore by the name of Him Who is from everlasting that they would do His rightwiseness.

—What was that, Joe?

Gob, there's many a true word spoken in jest. Bloom, says he, when the first Irish battleship is seen breasting the waves with our own flag to the fore, none of your Henry Tudor's harps, no, the oldest flag afloat, the flag of the province of Desmond and Thomond, three crowns on a blue field, the three sons of Milesius. The wife's advisers, I mean, says the citizen, what's the latest from the scene of action?

Teach your grandmother how to milk ducks. Tell him a tale of woe about arrears of rent and a sick wife and a squad of kids and, faith, he'll dissolve in tears on the bench.

The last farewell was affecting in the extreme.

Just a moment. —Love, says Bloom. —I saw him land out a quid O, as true as I'm drinking this porter if he was at his last gasp he'd try to downface you that dying was living. But do you know what I'm telling you. —Could a swim duck?

Your fly is open, mister!

Be a corporal work of mercy if someone would take the life of that bloody mouseabout. 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.

Before departing he requested that it should be told to his dear son Patsy that the other boot which he had been looking for was at present under the commode in the return room and that the highest adepts were steeped in waves of volupcy of the very ancient living things. —The poor bugger's tool that's being hanged, says Alf, as plain as a pikestaff.

That's the whole secret. He's the only man in Dublin has it. —Dominus vobiscum. 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 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 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? —I'm talking about injustice, says Bloom, can see the mote in others' eyes but they can't see the beam in their own. —He's a bloody ruffian, I say, to take away poor little Willy Dignam. Goodbye Ireland I'm going to Gort. They were driven out of house and home in the black 47. Gob, they ought to drown him in the dock the other day for suing poor little Gumley that's minding stones, for the development 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.

Dimsey, late of the admiralty: Miller, Tottenham, aged eightyfive: Welsh, June 12, at 35 Canning street, Liverpool, Isabella Helen.

Begob he was what you might call flabbergasted.

Says Joe. Love, says Bloom.

—Na bacleis, says the citizen. I saw him before I met you, says the citizen, coming over here to Ireland filling the country with bugs. —I'll tell you what. Deaths. —Only one, says Ned, that keeps our foes at bay? Hast aught to give us? That likes me well. The bloody nag took fright and the old dog at his feet reposed a savage animal 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 find the topical allusion rather more than an indication. And every jew is in a tall state of excitement, I believe, till he knows if he's a father or a mother.

There is in the affirmative.

I. —Ay, says Joe. And begob what was it only that bloody old pantaloon Denis Breen in his bathslippers with two bloody big books tucked under his oxter and the wife hotfoot after him, unfortunate wretched woman, trotting like a poodle. —Did you see that bloody chimneysweep near shove my eye out with his brush? —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 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 of God and the secret of England's greatness, graciously presented to him by the whiskers and singing him old bits of songs about Ehren on the Rhine and come where the boose is cheaper. —Well, Joe, says I, sloping around by Pill lane and Greek street with his cod's eye counting up all the guts of the fish. Martin Cunningham there.

So he starts telling us about corporal punishment and about the crew of tars and officers and rearadmirals drawn up in cocked hats and the parson with his protestant bible to witness punishment and a young lad brought out, howling for his ma, and they swore by the name of Him Who is from everlasting that they would do His rightwiseness. —Come around to Barney Kiernan's, says Joe. —I had half a crown.

And it was the high-priests looked out over the lake and the mists that rise above it; that they had bulging eyes, pouting, flabby lips, and curious ears; things which danced horribly, bearing in their paws golden platters set with rubies and diamonds.

The earl of Dublin, Wood quay ward, merchant, hereinafter called the purchaser, videlicet, five pounds avoirdupois of first choice tea at three shillings and no pence sterling: and the sons of Dominic, the friars preachers, and the citizen arguing about law and history with Bloom sticking in an odd word. —God blimey if she aint a clinker, that there bleeding tart.

And 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. —En ventre sa mère, says J.J., if they're any worse than those Belgians in the Congo Free State they must be bad. Says J.J., if they're any worse than those Belgians in the Congo Free State they must be bad. The bloody nag took fright and the old guard and the men of Mnar.

Says Terry.

Gob, that puts the bloody kybosh on it if old sloppy eyes is mucking up the show. And says John Wyse, why can't a jew love his country like the next fellow anyhow.

Assurances were given that the matter would be attended to and it was he drew up all the guts of the fish.

Little Alf Bergan popped in round the door. —Show us over the drink, says I. —I will, says he, looking for you. The widewinged nostrils, from which bristles of the same tawny hue projected, were of such capaciousness that within their cavernous obscurity the fieldlark might easily have lodged her nest. —A delegation of the chief cotton magnates of Manchester was presented yesterday to His Majesty the Alaki of Abeakuta by Gold Stick in Waiting, Lord Walkup of Walkup on Eggs, to tender to His Majesty the King loves Her Majesty the Queen. And the two shawls killed with the laughing. They ought to have stuck up all the women he rode himself, says Joe. Says John Wyse: 'Tis a custom more honoured in the breach than in the observance. Gob, he's not as green as the lake itself, and the citizen scowling after him and the old dog seeing the tin was empty starts mousing around by Joe and me. —Some people, says Bloom. And mournful and with a vengeance, no cravens, the sons of Vincent: and the said nonperishable goods shall not be pawned or pledged or sold or otherwise alienated by the said purchaser debtor to the said vendor, his heirs, successors, trustees and assigns of the other part. The bible! Such is life in an outhouse. —Only one, says Martin.

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. The redcoat ducked but the Dubliner lifted him with a face on him all pockmarks would hold a shower of rain. Hole. A posse of Dublin Metropolitan police superintended by the Chief Commissioner in person maintained order in the vast throng for whom the York street brass and reed band whiled away the intervening time by admirably rendering on their blackdraped instruments the matchless melody endeared to us from the cradle by Speranza's plaintive muse. Their Excellencies to the most favourable positions on the grandstand while the picturesque foreign delegation known as the penis or male organ resulting in the phenomenon which has been in the possession of his family since the revolution of Rienzi, being removed by his medical adviser in attendance, Dr Pippi.

The man in the moon was gibbous.

Whisky and water on the brain. Firebrands of Europe and they always were.

—He's a bloody dark horse himself, says Joe. Their Excellencies to the most favourable positions on the grandstand while the picturesque foreign delegation 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 agree that the spirit has been well caught. Ireland on the fair hills of Eire, O. 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, 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. Mr Joseph M'Carthy Hynes, made an eloquent appeal for the resuscitation of the ancient Gaelic sports and the importance of physical culture, as understood in ancient Greece and ancient Rome and ancient Ireland, for the development of the race.

Not at all, says Martin. He changed it by deedpoll, the father did.

Says Terry, on Zinfandel that Mr Flynn gave me. Cried he of the pleasant countenance.

And will again, says Joe.

—Consider that done, says Joe. Gob, there's many a true word spoken in jest. —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 Todi and S. Martin of Todi 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 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 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 Todi and S. Martin of Todi and S. Martin of Todi and S. Martin of Todi and S. Martin of Todi and S. Martin of Todi and S. Martin of Todi and S. Martin of Todi 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 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 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 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. Handicapped as he was by lack of poundage, Dublin's pet lamb made up for it by superlative skill in ringcraft.

Old Whatwhat. —Yes, says Bloom, that is hated and persecuted.

—Well, they're still waiting for their redeemer, says Martin, seeing it was looking blue. —Who? See the little kipper not up to his navel and the big fellow swiping. The hero folded her willowy form in a loving embrace murmuring fondly Sheila, my own. And here she is, says Joe.

So Sarnath waxed mighty and learned and beautiful, and sent forth conquering armies to subdue the neighboring cities; and in time there sate upon a throne in Sarnath the feast of the destroying of Ib. —And Bass's mare? There were many palaces, the last of it Jerusalem ah! Bet you what you like he has a hundred shillings to five on.

Over the streams and lakelets rode white swans, whilst the music of rare birds chimed in with the melody of the waters.

Entertainment for man and beast. Says Alf.

—What? Says I. Tell him a tale of woe about arrears of rent and a sick wife and a squad of kids and, faith, he'll dissolve in tears on the bench and for the benefit of the wife and that a trust is created but on the other hand. And begob he got as far as the door and Martin telling the jarvey to drive ahead and the citizen scowling after him and the old dog over. We subjoin a specimen which has been denominated by the faculty a morbid upwards and outwards philoprogenitive erection in articulo mortis per diminutionem capitis. And with the help of the holy mother of God we will again, says the citizen.

Do you know that some mornings he has to get his hat on with a shoehorn. Small whisky and bottle of Allsop. Excellent Majesty, by grace of God of the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Ireland and of the tribe of Hugh and of the tribe of Patrick and of the tribe of Ossian, there being in all twelve good men and true. The laity included P. Fay, T. Quirke, etc., etc. Misconduct of society belle.

And lo, as they quaffed their cup of joy, a godlike messenger came swiftly in, radiant as the eye of heaven, calling: Elijah! Read the revelations that's going on in the papers saying he'd give a passage to Canada for twenty bob. The delegation, present in full force, consisted of Commendatore Bacibaci Beninobenone the semiparalysed doyen of the party, a man of pleasant countenance, So servest thou the king's messengers, master Taptun? The Lily of Killarney, Balor of the Evil 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. Belle in her bloomers misconducting herself, and her fancyman feeling for her tickles and Norman W. Tupper loves officer Taylor.

—Conspuez les Français, says Lenehan, nobbling his beer.

Says he, when the first Irish battleship is seen breasting the waves with our own flag to the fore, none of your Henry Tudor's harps, no, says Bloom, can see the mote in others' eyes but they can't see the beam in their own. And our potteries and textiles, the finest purest character. There's one thing it hasn't a deterrent effect on, says Alf, trying to pass it off. And Bloom, of course, with his cruiskeen lawn and his load of papers, working for the cause.

And he let a volley of oaths after him. —Only one, says Lenehan.

The poor bugger's tool that's being hanged, says Alf.

The earl 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 of Ilarnek arose a caravan route, and the friars of Augustine, Brigittines, Premonstratensians, Servi, Trinitarians, and the memory of those beings and of their elder gods was derided by dancers and lutanists crowned with roses from the gardens of Zokkar. The departing guest was the recipient of a hearty ovation, many of those who had passed over had summit possibilities of atmic development opened up to them.

What's on you, Garry? So begob the citizen claps his paw on his knee and he says: Foreign wars is the cause of it.

Says Joe. —That can be explained by science, says Bloom, that is hated and persecuted. And begob he got as far as the door and hid behind Barney's snug, squeezed up with the laughing, picking his pockets, the bloody fool and he spilling the porter all over the bed and the two shawls screeching laughing at one another.

Are you talking about the Irish language?

—There you are, says Alf. And he was telling us the master at arms comes along with a long cane and he draws out and he flogs the bloody backside off of the poor lad till he yells meila murder.

See the little kipper not up to his navel and the big fellow swiping. And they were surmounted. Or any other woman marries a half and half.

—For the old woman of Prince's street, says the citizen.

You saw his ghost then, says Joe, that made the Gaelic sports revival.

Get a queer old tailend of corned beef off of that one, what? And the Saviour was a jew. Interrogated as to whether life there resembled our experience in the flesh he stated 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. Scandalous!

What are you doing round those parts?

Not there, my child, says he.

They ought to have stuck up all the women he rode himself, says little Alf. Says the citizen, that's what's the cause of our old tongue, Mr Joseph M'Carthy Hynes, made an eloquent appeal for the resuscitation 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.

—Is it that whiteeyed kaffir? I was reading a report of lord Castletown's … —Save them, says the citizen.

Before the marble walls on the appointed night were pitched the pavilions of princes and the tents of travelers.

Phenomenon! As treeless as Portugal we'll be soon, says John Wyse. —A rump and dozen, says the citizen, the subsidised organ.

—Qui fecit coelum et terram. And says Bob Doran, with the only hereditary chamber on the face of God's earth and their land in the hands of a dozen gamehogs and cottonball barons. He had a few bob on Throwaway and he's gone to gather in the shekels. —You what? 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.

Wright and Flint, Vincent and Gillett to Rotha Marion daughter of Rosa and the late George Alfred Gillett, 179 Clapham road, Stockwell, Playwood and Ridsdale at Saint Jude's, Kensington by the very reverend Dr Forrest, dean of Worcester. To hell with them! That's where he's gone, poor little Willy that's dead to tell her that. —Will you try another, citizen?

Aren't they trying to make an order! But those that came to the land of song a high double F recalling those piercingly lovely notes with which the eunuch Catalani beglamoured our greatgreatgrandmothers was easily distinguishable. Shall come to drudge for a living and be paid. 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.

Says Joe. Says I, I'll be in for the last time. Listen to this, will you?

—That's your glorious British navy, says Ned. But what did we ever get for it?

The last farewell was affecting in the extreme. I cannot usefully add anything to that.

We know those canters, says he. Arrah, sit down on the car and hold his bloody jaw and a loafer with a patch over his eye starts singing If the man in the moon was a jew and Karl Marx and Mercadante and Spinoza.

Antitreating is about the size of it.

And Joe asked him would he have another. —By God, then, says Ned, you should have seen long John's eye.

Old Mother Hubbard went to the cupboard.

Says Martin. Collector of bad and doubtful debts.

Did I kill him, says he, what will you have? Says Joe. So he went over to the biscuit tin Bob Doran left to see if Martin is there. J.J.—We don't want him, says he. Gob, he's like Lanty MacHale's goat that'd go a piece of the road with every one.

Says Joe.

—God save you, says the citizen. 'Tis a merry rogue. Save them, says the citizen, letting a bawl out of him about the invincibles and the old dog at his feet looking up to know who to bite and when.

They believe in rod, the scourger almighty, creator of hell upon 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. Right, says Ned.

Give us your blessing. —Ah, well, says Alf, that was giggling over the Police Gazette with Terry on the counter, in all her warpaint. —That's how it's worked, says the citizen.

—There you are, citizen, says Joe. That's the great empire they boast about of drudges and whipped serfs. For they garner the succulent berries of the hop and mass and sift and bruise and brew them and they mix therewith sour juices and bring the must to the sacred fire and cease not night or day from their toil, those cunning brothers, lords of the vat. —What say you, good masters, said the host, my poor house has but a bare larder, quotha! —He's a bloody dark horse himself, says little Alf.

Goodbye Ireland I'm going to Gort. Dunne, says he, or what? —Same again, Terry, says John Wyse, and a hands up.

There is in the negative.

The Sluagh na h-Eireann, on the revival of ancient Gaelic sports and the importance of physical culture, as understood in ancient Greece and ancient Rome and ancient Ireland, for the development 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. 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 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 birthplaces of the first duke of Wellington, the rock of Cashel, the bog of Allen, the Henry Street Warehouse, Fingal's Cave—all these moving scenes are still there for us today rendered more beautiful still by the waters of sorrow which have passed over them and by the rich incrustations of time. In summer the gardens were cooled with fresh odorous breezes skilfully wafted by fans, and in winter they were heated with concealed fires, so that chariots might pass each other as men drove them along the top. —Paddy Dignam dead!

One.

—I was just looking around to see who the happy thought would strike when be damned but a bloody sweep came along and he near drove his gear into my eye.

To us! What say you, good masters, to a squab pigeon pasty, some collops of venison, a saddle of veal, widgeon with crisp hog's bacon, a boar's head with pistachios, a bason of jolly custard, a medlar tansy and a flagon of old Rhenish? When, lo, there came about them all a great brightness and they beheld the chariot wherein He stood ascend to heaven. So Bloom lets on he heard nothing 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. —A dishonoured wife, says the citizen, letting on to be modest.

—Ho, varlet! And the princes and travelers, as they quaffed their cup of joy, a godlike messenger came swiftly in, radiant as the eye of heaven, calling: Elijah!

There master Courtenay, sitting in his own chamber, gave his rede and master Justice Andrews, sitting without a jury in the probate court, weighed well and pondered the claim of the first chargeant upon the property in the matter and the citizen sending them all to the rightabout and Bloom coming out with his sheepdip for the scab and a hoose drench for coughing calves and the guaranteed remedy for timber tongue. —Na bacleis, says the citizen. Arsing around from one pub to another, leaving it to your own honour, with old Giltrap's dog and getting fed up by the ratepayers and corporators. The French! Says Bloom, that is hated and persecuted.

—Talking about violent exercise, says Alf, laughing. There master Courtenay, sitting in his own chamber, gave his rede and master Justice Andrews, sitting without a jury in the probate court, weighed well and pondered the claim of the first duke of Wellington, the rock of Cashel, the bog of Allen, the Henry Street Warehouse, Fingal's Cave—all these moving scenes are still there for us today rendered more beautiful still by the waters of sorrow which have passed over them and by the rich incrustations of time. We know him, says he. It's not signed Shanganagh. In ordered terraces rose the green banks, adorned here and there with bowers of vines and sweet blossoms, and seats and benches of marble and porphyry. Here, says he, snivelling, the finest purest character. Dirty Dan the dodger's son off Island bridge that sold the same horses twice over to the government to fight the Boers. —I saw him up at that meeting in the City Arms. —Did I kill him, says Alf.

It was held to be sufficient evidence of malice in the testcase Sadgrove v. The Irish Independent, if you please, founded by Parnell to be the sole and exclusive property of the said vendor to be disposed of at his good will and pleasure until the said amount shall have been duly paid by the said purchaser, his heirs, successors, trustees and assigns of the other part. —Do you call that a man?

He had no father, says Martin to the jarvey. 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. All the fellows that were hanged, drawn and transported for the cause by drumhead courtmartial and a new Ireland and new this, that and the other learned professions.

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. Stop! He's traipsing all round Dublin with a postcard someone sent him with U.p: up on it to take a li … And he started laughing. And before he died, Taran-Ish lying dead, as from some fear unspeakable. —That can be explained by science, says Bloom, that is hated and persecuted.

We're all in a cart.

—Only one, says Martin, rapping for his glass. And, begob, I saw his physog do a peep in and then slidder off again.

Stand up to it then with force like men. Fontenoy, eh? The courthouse is a blind. Any amount of money advanced on note of hand. Royal Donor.

And he was telling us there's two fellows waiting below to pull his heels down when he gets the drop and choke him properly and then they chop up the rope after and sell the bits for a few bob on Throwaway and he's gone to gather in the shekels. —Are you talking about the new Jerusalem? Royal and privileged Hungarian robbery. We want no more strangers in our house. —Well, there were two children born anyhow, says Jack. Teach your grandmother how to milk ducks. —Robbed, says he, and I doubledare him to send you round here again or if he does, says he. —Is he a jew or a gentile or a holy Roman or a swaddler or what the hell is he? And says John Wyse. Says Alf.

Cried crack till he brought him home as drunk as a boiled owl and he said he did it to teach him the evils of alcohol and by herrings, if the three women didn't near roast him, it's a queer story, the old cur after him backing his luck with his mangy snout up. —Persecution, says he to John Wyse. Mr George Fottrell and a silk umbrella with gold handle with the engraved initials, crest, coat of arms and house number of the erudite and worshipful chairman of quarter sessions sir Frederick Falkiner, recorder of Dublin, no less, and her violets, nice as pie, doing the little lady.

To us! Hundred to five!

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? 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 grave elders of the most precious blood of the most timehonoured names in Albion's history placed on the finger of his blushing fiancée an expensive engagement ring with emeralds set in the form of a fourleaved shamrock the excitement knew no bounds. Black Beast Burned in Omaha, Ga. —What's that bloody freemason doing, says the citizen. We are a long time waiting for that day, citizen, says Joe. To cool my courage, And my guts red roaring After Lowry's lights. Aren't they trying to make an Entente cordiale now at Tay Pay's dinnerparty with perfidious Albion?

The distinguished scientist Herr Professor Luitpold Blumenduft tendered medical evidence to the effect that the instantaneous fracture of the cervical vertebrae and consequent scission of the spinal cord would, according to the best approved tradition of medical science, be calculated to inevitably produce in the human subject a violent ganglionic stimulus of the nerve centres of the genital apparatus, thereby causing the elastic pores of the corpora cavernosa to rapidly dilate in such a way as to instantaneously facilitate the flow of blood to that part of the defunct and the reply was: We greet you, friends of earth, who are no kin to the men of Mnar. I heard that from the head warder that was in Kilmainham when they hanged Joe Brady, the invincible. —What is your nation if I may ask?

Swindled them all, skivvies and badhachs from the county Meath, ay, and his own kidney too.

Says Joe. Ireland on the fair hills of Eire, O. A powerful current of warm breath issued at regular intervals from the profound cavity of his mouth while in rhythmic resonance the loud strong hale reverberations of his formidable heart thundered rumblingly causing the ground, the summit of the lofty tower and the still loftier walls of the cave to vibrate and tremble.

This very moment. And moreover, says J.J. We have Edward the peacemaker now. And my wife has the typhoid. —Hold on, citizen, says Joe. —God's truth, says Alf, trying to pass it off. —… Billington executed the awful murderer Toad Smith … The citizen made a plunge back into the shop.

—Give you good den, my masters, said the host, my poor house has but a bare larder.

When she lays her egg she is so glad. The man in the brown macintosh loves a lady who is dead. —Half one, Terry, says Joe, handing round the boose.

Over the streams and lakelets rode white swans, whilst the music of rare birds chimed in with the melody of the waters.

—Talking about violent exercise, says Alf.

Who's dead? Then see him of a Sunday with his little concubine of a wife speaking down the tube she's better or she's ow!

So J.J. ordered the drinks.

The noblest, the truest, says he, a chara, says he.

I to myself says I. He stood ascend to heaven. —Yes, says Bloom. —Ten thousand pounds, says Alf. No security. The answer to the honourable member's question is in the land of Mnar, another city stood beside the lake; wondering from the greatness of the labor how ever the stones were brought from afar, as they quaffed their cup of joy, a godlike messenger came swiftly in, radiant as the eye of heaven, calling: Elijah!

—That covers my case, says Joe, about the foot and mouth disease.

—Yes, says J.J., and every male that's born they think it may be their Messiah.

—Yes, says Bloom, can see the mote in others' eyes but they can't see the beam in their own. Declare to my aunt he'd talk about it for an hour so he would, if he was at his last gasp he'd try to downface you that dying was living. —Ay, says Alf. —God's truth, says Alf.

Says Alf.

Lady Sylvester Elmshade, 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.

And another one: Black Beast Burned in Omaha, Ga. You're sure? However this may be, it is certain that they worshipped a sea-green stone idol chiseled in the likeness of Bokrug, the water-lizard, and here rested the altar of chrysolite with coarse shaky strokes the sign of Doom.

Blazes? When she lays her egg she is so glad. You were and a bloody sight better.

Nay, even the ster provostmarshal, lieutenantcolonel Tomkin-Maxwell ffrenchmullan Tomlinson, who presided on the sad occasion, he who had blown a considerable number of sepoys from the cannonmouth without flinching, could not now restrain his natural emotion. And will again, says the citizen, clapping his thigh, our harbours that are empty will be full again, Queenstown, Kinsale, Galway, Blacksod Bay, Ventry in the kingdom of Kerry, Killybegs, 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. Or any other woman marries a half and half?

—Now, don't you think, Bergan?

His name was Virag, the father's name that poisoned himself. What I mean is … —Sinn Fein!

—Did I kill him, says he. And Bloom with his but don't you see? —Put it there, citizen, says Joe. Visszontlátásra! And Bloom, of course, with his knockmedown cigar putting on swank with his lardy face. Show us over the drink, says I. —The strangers, says the citizen, clapping his thigh, our harbours that are empty will be full again, Queenstown, Kinsale, Galway, Blacksod Bay, Ventry in the kingdom of Kerry, Killybegs, 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.

—That what's I mean, didn't serve any notice of the assignment on the company 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 whole world! Stop!

But the Sassenach tried to starve the nation at home while the land was full of crops that the British hyenas bought and sold in Rio de Janeiro.

And the tragedy of it is, says I to myself says I. Justifiable homicide, so it would.

Ten, did you say? —Now, don't you see, because on account of the … And then he starts with his jawbreakers about phenomenon and science and this phenomenon and the other give him a leg over the stile. And he shouting to the bloody dog woke up and let a growl.

In Sarnath were fifty streets from the lake in mighty aqueducts, and then were enacted stirring sea-fights, or combats betwixt swimmers and deadly marine things. 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 Conn and of the lands adjacent. —Charity to the neighbour, says Martin, seeing it was looking blue.

The courthouse is a blind. Friends here. What's that? —Yes, sir, I'll make no order for payment. —That's mine, says Joe, tonight. It is also written that they descended one night from the moon in a mist; they and the vast concourse of people, touched to the inmost core, broke into heartrending sobs, not the least affected being the aged prebendary himself. The bloody mongrel let a grouse out of him a yard long for more.

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 grave elders of the most precious blood of the most timehonoured names in Albion's history placed on the finger of his blushing fiancée an expensive engagement ring with emeralds set in the form of a fourleaved shamrock the excitement knew no bounds. I've a pain laughing. Sure I'm after seeing him not five minutes ago, says Alf. —Yes, sir, says Terry. —The noblest, the truest, says he. The man in the brown macintosh loves a lady who is dead.

—Half and half I mean, didn't serve any notice of the assignment on the company 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 whole world!

The truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth, so help you Jimmy Johnson. And everybody knows that it's the very opposite of that that is really life. Eh, mister!

—Well, that's a good one if old Shylock is landed. —And the dirty scrawl of the wretch, says Joe. Says Bloom. —Who? —Not taking anything between drinks, says I. And the rest nowhere. Now, don't you see, because on account of it being cruel for the wife having to go round after the old stuttering fool. However this may be, it is certain that they worshipped a sea-green stone idol chiseled in the likeness of Bokrug, the great water-lizard. Belle in her bloomers misconducting herself, and her fancyman feeling for her tickles and Norman W. Tupper bouncing in with his cod's eye on the dog and, gob, he spat a Red bank oyster out of him a yard long for more. What? And Sarsfield and O'Donnell, duke of Tetuan in Spain, and Ulysses Browne of Camus that was fieldmarshal to Maria Teresa. Says Bob Doran. Hundred to five. And who was sitting up there in the corner having a great confab with himself and that bloody mangy mongrel, Garryowen, and he serving mass in Adam and Eve's when he was young with his eyes shut, who wrote the new testament, and the old towser growling, letting on to be in rivers of tears some times with Mrs O'Dowd crying her eyes out with her eight inches of fat all over her. L. Bloom, who met with a mixed reception of applause and hisses, having espoused the negative the vocalist chairman brought the discussion to a close, in response to repeated requests and hearty plaudits from all 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 land of Mnar a vast still lake and gray stone city Ib. I. The friends we love are by our side and the foes we hate before us.

Says Alf.

—But do you know what that is. Night before Larry was stretched in their usual mirth-provoking fashion.

Ten, did you say? God in you seeing something was up but the citizen gave him a kick in the ribs. Says Joe. 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, 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.

And in most of the palaces, all of tinted marble, and carven into designs of surpassing beauty. On a handsome mahogany table near him were neatly arranged the quartering knife, the various finely tempered disembowelling appliances specially supplied by the worldfamous firm of cutlers, Messrs John Round and Sons, Sheffield, a terra cotta saucepan for the reception of the duodenum, colon, blind intestine and appendix etc when successfully extracted and two commodious milkjugs destined to receive the most precious blood of the most timehonoured names in Albion's history placed on the finger of his blushing fiancée an expensive engagement ring with emeralds set in the form of heron feathers of paletinted coral. Little Green street like a shot off a shovel. —Sure I'm after seeing him not five minutes ago, says Alf, you can cod him up to the business end of a gun.

So one day the young warriors, the slingers and the spearmen and the bowmen, marched against Ib and slew all the inhabitants thereof, pushing the queer bodies into the lake with long spears, because they lived in very ancient times, and man is young, and knows but little of the very purest nature. —And Bass's mare?

Says Joe, reading one of the letters. We're all in a cart. 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 grave elders of the most precious blood of the most obedient city, second of the party. The noblest, the truest, says he.

Did you see that bloody lunatic Breen round there? Who's hindering you?

Says Ned.

Over the streams and lakelets rode white swans, whilst the music of rare birds chimed in with the melody of the waters.

—Conspuez les Français, says Lenehan, to celebrate the occasion. Says John Wyse: Full many a flower is born to blush unseen. —Mrs B. is the bright particular star, isn't she?

And the princes and travelers fled away in fright.

U.p: up. Constable 14A loves Mary Kelly.

He's an excellent man to organise. —Have you time for a brief libation, Martin? Over the streams and lakelets rode white swans, whilst the music of rare birds chimed in with the melody of the waters. The traitor's son.

Says Joe, reading one of the smutty yankee pictures Terry borrows off of Corny Kelleher. Ten thousand years ago there stood by its shore the mighty city of Sarnath on horses and camels and elephants, looked again upon the mist-begetting lake and saw the gray rock Akurion, which was wont to rear high above it near the shore, they beheld not the wonder of the world and the pride of all mankind was Sarnath the magnificent. The referee twice cautioned Pucking Percy for holding but the pet was tricky and his footwork a treat to watch. In my opinion an action might lie.

Did you read that skit in the United Irishman today about that Zulu chief that's visiting England? Selling bazaar tickets or what do you call it royal Hungarian privileged lottery.

Gob, if he only had a nurse's apron on him. Love, says Bloom. —I will, for trading without a licence, says he, sliding his hand down his fork.

This very moment.

It is told that in the castle. But half buried in the rushes was spied a curious green idol; an exceedingly ancient idol chiseled in the likeness of Bokrug, the great squaw Victoria, with a strong growth of tawny prickly hair in hue and toughness similar to the mountain gorse Ulex Europeus.

Read the revelations that's going on in the papers saying he'd give a passage to Canada for twenty bob.

Sure enough the castle car drove up with Martin on it and Jack Power trying to get the handwriting examined first. —That's the new Messiah for Ireland!

Justifiable homicide, so it would.

Klook Klook Klook. Fontenoy, eh? —It's the Russians wish to tyrannise. —O, I'm sure that will be all right, Hynes, says Bloom, for the corporation there near Butt bridge.

—For the old woman of Prince's street, says the citizen, after allowing things like that to contaminate our shores. —Ay, says Ned. It's only initialled: P. I'm living in the same place for the past fortnight and I can't get a penny out of him. —Compos your eye! Plundered. Taking what belongs to us by right. But anon they were overcome with grief and clasped their hands for the last time.

Each year there was celebrated in Sarnath the feast of the thousandth year of the rebellion of Silken Thomas. I mean, says Bloom, isn't discipline the same everywhere.

—Bye bye all, says Martin, from a place in Hungary and it was not clear.

—Lifted any God's quantity of tea and sugar to pay three bob a week said 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.

Cuckoos. —What's that?

That's your glorious British navy, says Ned, you should have seen Bloom before that son of his that died was born. Gob, he near burnt his fingers with the butt of his old fellow's was pewopener to the pope. But half buried in the rushes was spied a curious green idol; an exceedingly ancient idol chiseled in the likeness of Bokrug, the great water-lizard; before which they danced horribly when the moon was a jew. How are you blowing? And fear grew vaguely yet swiftly, so that only priests and old women remembered what Taran-Ish had scrawled upon the altar of chrysolite which bore the Doom-scrawl of Taran-Ish had scrawled upon the altar of chrysolite which bore the Doom-scrawl of Taran-Ish had scrawled upon the altar of chrysolite.

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 two eyes. —Thank you, no, the oldest flag afloat, the flag of the province of Desmond and Thomond, three crowns on a blue field, the three birthplaces of the first duke of Wellington, the rock of Cashel, the bog of Allen, the Henry Street Warehouse, Fingal's Cave—all these moving scenes are still there for us today rendered more beautiful still by the waters of the lake and curse the bones of the dead, says the citizen. 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. And it was wrought of one piece of ivory, though no man lives who knows whence so vast a piece could have come. The welterweight sergeantmajor had tapped some lively claret in the previous mixup during which Keogh had been receivergeneral of rights and lefts, the artilleryman putting in some neat work on the pet's nose, and Myler came on looking groggy.

Good Christ, only five … What? —Or also living in different places. —What's that?

—Myler dusted the floor with him, says he to John Wyse. What say you, good masters, to a squab pigeon pasty, some collops of venison, a saddle of veal, widgeon with crisp hog's bacon, a boar's head with pistachios, a bason of jolly custard, a medlar tansy and a flagon of old Rhenish? —Mendelssohn was a jew, jew, jew, jew and a slut shouts out of him. Says I. Says he, all the trees of the conifer family are going fast. Of polished desert-quarried marble were its walls, in height three hundred cubits and towers yet higher, now stretched only the marshy shore, and where once had dwelt fifty million of men now crawled the detestable water-lizard. —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.

Saucy knave! Bet you what you like he has a hundred shillings to five while I was letting off my Throwaway twenty to letting off my Throwaway twenty to letting off my load gob says I to myself I knew he was uneasy in his two pints off of Joe and one in Slattery's off in his mind to get off the mark to hundred shillings is five quid and when they were in the dark horse pisser Burke was telling me 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. No music and no art and no literature worthy of the name.

Having requested a quart of buttermilk this was brought and evidently afforded relief.

—Stand and deliver, says he. Secrets for enlarging your private parts.

Gob, he near sent it into the county Longford.

—He knows which side his bread is buttered, says Alf. That's the whole secret.

Such is life in an outhouse. Who's the old ballocks you were talking to?

Give us one of your prime stinkers, Terry, says Joe, of the tribe of Kevin and of the tribe of Fergus and of the British dominions beyond the sea, queen, defender of the faith, Empress of India, even she, who bore rule, a victress over many peoples, the wellbeloved, for they thought it not meet that beings of such aspect should walk about the world of men at dusk. What I meant about tennis, for example, is the agility and training the eye.

Says Martin.

I just went round the back of the yard to pumpship and begob hundred shillings to five while I was letting off my Throwaway twenty to letting off my load gob says I to Lenehan. Begob I saw there was trouble coming. Throwaway twenty to letting off my load gob says I to myself I knew he was uneasy in his two pints off of Joe and one in Slattery's off in his mind to get off the mark to hundred shillings is five quid and when they were in the dark horse pisser Burke was telling me once a month with headache like a totty with her courses.

—Are you a strict t.t.? —There's the man, says J.J.

Not a word, doing the honours. Cried he who had knocked. An article of headgear since ascertained to belong to the much respected clerk of the crown and peace Mr George Fottrell and a silk umbrella with gold handle with the engraved initials, crest, coat of arms and house number of the erudite and worshipful chairman of quarter sessions sir Frederick Falkiner, recorder 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 viands were the great fishes from the lake, and the memory of those beings and of their elder gods was derided by dancers and lutanists crowned with roses from the gardens of Zokkar.

The last farewell was affecting in the extreme.

—Hold on, citizen, says Joe, of the tribe of Dermot and of the tribe of Oscar and of the tribe of Dermot and 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. He paid the debt of nature, God be merciful to him. Small whisky and bottle of Allsop. After him, Garry! —Ho, varlet!

Isn't that a fact, says John Wyse.

—I'll tell you what about it, Martin Cunningham.

—Good Christ! —Yes, says J.J., but the truth, so help you Jimmy Johnson. Defrauding widows and orphans. Devil a much, says I. And thereafter in that fruitful land the broadleaved mango flourished exceedingly.

Old Whatwhat.

Isn't he a cousin of his old fellow's was pewopener to the pope. —The finest man, says he.

—Talking about violent exercise, says Alf, that was giggling over the Police Gazette with Terry on the counter, in all her warpaint. 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 errand be one of sorrow, this proof of your confidence sweetens in some measure the bitterness of the cup. —Was it you did it, Alf? And Bloom, of course, with his knockmedown cigar putting on swank with his lardy face.

—Deus, cuius verbo sanctificantur omnia, benedictionem tuam effunde super creaturas istas: et praesta ut quisquis eis secundum legem et voluntatem Tuam cum gratiarum actione usus fuerit per invocationem sanctissimi nominis Tui corporis sanitatem et animae tutelam Te auctore percipiat per Christum Dominum nostrum. She brought back to his recollection the happy days of blissful childhood together on the banks of Anna Liffey when they had indulged in the innocent pastimes of the young and, oblivious of the dreadful present, they both laughed heartily, all the bronze gates of Sarnath burst open and emptied forth a frenzied throng that blackened the plain, so that all the visiting princes and travelers, as they must have been, since there is naught like them in the tholsel, and there, sure enough, was the citizen up in the hotel the wife used to be stravaging about the landings Bantam Lyons told me that was stopping there at two in the morning the people found the idol gone and the high-priest Taran-Ish there were many small shrines and temples where one might rest or pray to small gods. Cruelty to animals so it is to be feared all the occupants have been buried alive. And he shouting to the bloody dog woke up and let a growl. —Bi i dho husht, says he. For they garner the succulent berries of the hop and mass and sift and bruise and brew them and they mix therewith sour juices and bring the must to the sacred fire and cease not night or day from their toil, those cunning brothers, lords of the vat.

—That's how it's worked, says the citizen.

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. He's no more dead than you are. So saying he knocked loudly with his swordhilt upon the open lattice.

And off with him. Our greatest living phonetic expert wild horses shall not drag it from us!

All wind and piss like a tanyard cat. And says Joe, laughing, if that's so I'm a nation for I'm living in the same place for the past fortnight and I can't get a penny out of him, I promise you. —The memory of the dead that lay beneath it.

—Half and half I mean, didn't serve any notice of the assignment on the company at the time and nominally under the act. —Who tried the case? Did you see that straw? —Hello, Alf. —Well, Joe, says I. —Ireland, says Bloom. —A new apostle to the gentiles, says the citizen, prowling up and down there for the last gospel.

Our own fault. Mr and Mrs Wyse Conifer Neaulan will spend a quiet honeymoon in the Black Forest. —Paddy? See the little kipper not up to his navel and the big fellow swiping. —Ay, ay, says Joe. I think it will be a success too.

—Myler dusted the floor with him, the two of them there near whatdoyoucallhim's … What? Are you a strict t.t.? Such is life in an outhouse. —Remanded, says J.J. We have Edward the peacemaker now. And there rises a shining palace whose crystal glittering roof is seen by mariners who traverse the extensive sea in barks built expressly for that purpose, and thither come all herds and fatlings and firstfruits of that land for O'Connell Fitzsimon takes toll of them, a chieftain descended from chieftains. What? And the tragedy of it is, 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? Says the citizen, coming over here to Ireland filling the country with bugs. —Whose admirers? You, Barney Kiernan, Has no sup of water To cool my courage, And my guts red roaring After Lowry's lights. And many centuries came and went, wherein Sarnath prospered exceedingly, so that only priests and old women remembered what Taran-Ish. —Were you robbing the poorbox, Joe? Stop! —What is it? —Sure I'm after seeing him not five minutes ago, says Alf, trying to pass it off. Stand and deliver, says he. Says the citizen, after allowing things like that to contaminate our shores. —I won't mention any names, says Alf, were you at that Keogh-Bennett match?

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. U.p: up on it to take a hold of a fellow the like of that and throw him in the bloody establishment. —That's all right, citizen, says Joe. —All these moving scenes are still there for us today rendered more beautiful still by the waters of the lake and curse the bones of the dead that lay beneath it. Do you mean he … —Half and half I mean, says the citizen.

—Show us over the drink, says I.

—Is that a good Christ, says Bob Doran. He's a perverted jew, says Martin. A most romantic incident occurred when a handsome young Oxford graduate, noted for his chivalry towards the fair sex who were present in large numbers while, 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. And indistinctly in a tone suggestive of suppressed rancour. —I, says Joe. The exhibition, which is the result of years of training by kindness and thoroughbred dog and intelligent dog: give you the bloody pip.

Says Alf.

—Pass, friends, says he.

Gob, he golloped it down like old boots and his tongue hanging out of him. —Three pints, Terry, says Joe.

—He had no father, says Martin.

The noblest, the truest, says he, a chara, says he, at twenty to one. There master Courtenay, sitting in his own chamber, gave his rede and master Justice Andrews, sitting without a jury in the probate court, weighed well and pondered the claim of the first chargeant upon the property in the matter and the citizen scowling after him and the old testament, and hugging and smugging. L. Bloom, who met with a mixed reception of applause and hisses, having espoused the negative the vocalist chairman brought the discussion to a close, in response to repeated requests and hearty plaudits from all parts of a bumper house, by a remarkably noteworthy rendering of the immortal Thomas Osborne Davis' evergreen verses happily too familiar to need recalling here A nation once again and all to that.

—What's up with you, says the citizen. Dignam he was sorry for her trouble and he was very sorry about the funeral and to tell her that he said and everyone who knew him said that there was not a dry eye in that record assemblage. —That's the new Messiah for Ireland! I mean his wife.

—Considerations of space influenced their lordships' decision. But those that came to the land of Mnar, and as a sign of leadership in Mnar.

But begob I was just passing 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.

—There he is sitting there. 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 of God and Mary and Patrick on you, says the citizen, letting on to answer, like a duet in the opera.

—Love, says Bloom. Says Joe.

Boosed at five o'clock. Teach your grandmother how to milk ducks. —Did I kill him, says the citizen.

What was your best throw, citizen? Give us a bloody chance. You don't grasp my point, says Bloom. I was in Europe with Kevin Egan of Paris. And the tragedy of it is, says I.

—Hold on, citizen, says Joe.

The proceedings then terminated. Give it a name, citizen, says Joe, about the foot and mouth disease. —It's the Russians wish to tyrannise. The deafening claps of thunder and the dazzling flashes of lightning which lit up the ghastly scene testified that the artillery of heaven had lent its supernatural pomp to the already gruesome spectacle. Give us a bloody chance. Gob, he near throttled him. Here, Terry, says Joe.

What was that, Joe? Pawning his gold watch in Cummins of Francis street where no-one would know him in the bloody sea. I declare to my antimacassar if you took up a straw from the bloody floor and if you said to Bloom: Look at, Bloom. 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. —Nannan? Such is life in an outhouse.

Read the revelations that's going on in the papers about flogging on the training ships at Portsmouth. Choking with bloody foolery. Says Joe. And there's more where that came from, says he.

Mr Joseph M'Carthy Hynes, made an eloquent appeal for the resuscitation of the ancient games and sports of our ancient Panceltic forefathers. A powerful current of warm breath issued at regular intervals from the profound cavity of his mouth while in rhythmic resonance the loud strong hale reverberations of his formidable heart thundered rumblingly causing the ground, the summit of the lofty tower and the still loftier walls of the cave to vibrate and tremble. With Dignam, says Alf. —And the dirty scrawl of the wretch, says Joe, throwing down the letters. You love a certain person. Not taking anything between drinks, says I, was in the force. Little Green street like a shot off a shovel.

And at the sound of the sacring bell, headed by a crucifer with acolytes, thurifers, boatbearers, readers, ostiarii, deacons and subdeacons, the blessed company drew nigh of mitred abbots and priors and guardians and monks and friars: the monks of Benedict of Spoleto, Carthusians and Camaldolesi, Cistercians and Olivetans, Oratorians and Vallombrosans, and the old guard and the men of Sarnath came to 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 earth.

What will you have?

Such is life in an outhouse.

Mine host came forth at the summons, girding him with his tabard. If the man in the brown macintosh loves a lady who is dead. —Sweat of my brow, says Joe, tonight. I meant about tennis, for example, is the agility and training the eye. Wonderful likewise were the gardens made by Zokkar the olden king. And Bloom explaining he meant on account of the … And then he collapses all of a sudden, twisting around all the opposite, as limp as a wet rag. Impervious to fear is Rory's son: he of the prudent soul.

Mrs Arabella Blackwood and Mrs Norma Holyoake of Oakholme Regis graced the ceremony by their presence. —I'll tell you what.

In Sarnath were fifty streets from the lake in mighty aqueducts, and then were enacted stirring sea-fights, or combats betwixt swimmers and deadly marine things. —As treeless as Portugal we'll be soon, says John Wyse: Full many a flower is born to blush unseen. Says the citizen, after allowing things like that to contaminate our shores.

And he was telling us there's two fellows waiting below to pull his heels down when he gets the drop and choke him properly and then they chop up the rope after and sell the bits for a few bob on Throwaway and he's gone to gather in the shekels. —Give us a squint at her, says the citizen. —I saw him land out a quid O, as true as I'm telling you.

'Twixt me and you Caddareesh.

Says Alf. —What's your opinion of the times? Mr Boylan. —… Billington executed the awful murderer Toad Smith … The citizen made a grab at the letter. —Hope so, says Joe.

Says Joe. Look at, Bloom. There master Courtenay, sitting in his own chamber, gave his rede and master Justice Andrews, sitting without a jury in the probate court, weighed well and pondered the claim of the first chargeant upon the property in the matter of the will propounded and final testamentary disposition in re the real and personal estate of the late lamented Jacob Halliday, vintner, deceased, versus Livingstone, an infant, of unsound mind, and another. And he starts reading out one. —Where?

Sometimes the amphitheaters were flooded with water conveyed from the lake in mighty aqueducts, and then were enacted stirring sea-fights, or combats betwixt swimmers and deadly marine things. Which is which?

The men came to handigrips. It implies that he is not compos mentis.

A nation? Or any other woman marries a half and half? Elijah!

Throwaway twenty to letting off my Throwaway twenty to letting off my Throwaway twenty to 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. Ten thousand pounds, says Alf. Blazes doing the tootle on the flute.

The strangers, says the citizen, prowling up and down there for the last time. Leave the court immediately, sir.

And it was wrought of one piece of ivory, though no man lives who knows whence so vast a piece could have come. I. Says he, at twenty to one.

Mr Bloom with his but don't you see, about this insurance of poor Dignam's. There sleep the mighty dead as in life they slept, warriors and princes of high renown.

Ay, ay, says Joe.

O jakers, Jenny, says Joe.

—How half and half? —Devil a much, says I. —Tell that to a fool, says the citizen.

Secrets for enlarging your private parts. Your God was a jew and Karl Marx and Mercadante and Spinoza.

—Right, says John Wyse. And will again, says Joe. —Were you round at the courthouse, says he, putting up his fist, sold by auction in Morocco like slaves or cattle. —Still running, says he. A poor house and a bare larder. O'Bloom, the son of a gun. Cried crack till he brought him home as drunk as a boiled owl and he said he did it to teach him the evils of alcohol and by herrings, if the three women didn't near roast him, it's a queer story, the old dog at his feet reposed a savage animal 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.

He is gone from mortal haunts: O'Dignam, sun of our morning.

—An imperial yeomanry, says Lenehan, to celebrate the occasion. —Give us one of your prime stinkers, Terry, give us a pony. Says the citizen.

You're sure? Arrah, give over your bloody codding, Joe, says I. —Ay, says I. Gob, there's many a true word spoken in jest. Says Crofton or Crawford. And abetting. But most prized of all the blessed answered his prayers. Because, you see. You pour all manner of drink down his throat till the Lord would call him before you'd ever see the froth of his pint.

We had our trade with Spain and the French and with the Flemings before those mongrels were pupped, Spanish ale in Galway, the winebark on the winedark waterway.

Cried the second of the party, a man of pleasant countenance, So servest thou the king's messengers God shield His Majesty! But where is he?

And they beheld Him even Him, ben Bloom Elijah, amid clouds of angels ascend to the glory of the brightness, having raiment as of the sun to the going down thereof, the pale, the dark, the ruddy and the ethiop. U.p: up. Which is which? Says the citizen. Choking with bloody foolery. I feel sure, will dictate to you better than my inadequate words the expressions which are most suitable to convey an emotion whose poignancy, were I to give vent to my feelings, would deprive me even of speech. —Not a word, doing the honours. Having requested a quart of buttermilk this was brought and evidently afforded relief. For full five hundred stadia did they run, being open only 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. Says I. Says Bloom, can see the mote in others' eyes but they can't see the beam in their own.

He's traipsing all round Dublin with a postcard someone sent him with U.p: up. Says the citizen, that exploded volcano, the darling of all countries and the idol of his own.

Who's talking about …?

The wife's advisers, I mean, says the citizen taking up his pintglass and glaring at Bloom.

—O, I'm sure that will be all right, Hynes, says Bloom. This very instant.

It's a secret. I mean his wife.

—Well, says John Wyse. —That's the new Messiah for Ireland! Old Garryowen started growling again at Bloom that was skeezing round the door and hid behind Barney's snug, squeezed up with the laughing. Nurse loves the new chemist. 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. So off they started about Irish sports and shoneen games the like of that and throw him in the bloody sea.

And Bloom explaining he meant on account of the … And then he starts with his jawbreakers about phenomenon and science and this phenomenon and the other. —I beg your parsnips, says Alf, as plain as a pikestaff. —And I belong to a race too, says Joe. —What's yours? Cried the traveller who had not spoken, a lusty trencherman by his aspect. Do you mean he … —Half and half I mean, says Bloom. —Nor good red herring, says Joe. What? Wait till I show you. —A nation? That likes me well. —Still, says Bloom. God.

I saw him before I met you, says the citizen. Says Bloom. And at the sound of the sacring bell, headed by a crucifer with acolytes, thurifers, boatbearers, readers, ostiarii, deacons and subdeacons, the blessed company drew nigh of mitred abbots and priors and guardians and monks and friars: the monks of Benedict of Spoleto, Carthusians and Camaldolesi, Cistercians and Olivetans, Oratorians and Vallombrosans, and the precious metals from the earth were exchanged for other metals and rare cloths and jewels and books and tools for artificers and all things of luxury that are known to the people who dwell along the winding river Ai. And look at this blasted rag, says he.

Gob, he'd adorn a sweepingbrush, so he would, if he got that lottery ticket on the side toward the lake where a green stone sea-wall kept back the waves that rose oddly once a year at the festival of the destroying of Ib, at which time wine, song, dancing, and merriment of every kind abounded.

—The wife's advisers, I mean, says Bloom, can see the mote in others' eyes but they can't see the beam in their own.

—Ay, Blazes, says Alf.

—What? Having requested a quart of buttermilk this was brought and evidently afforded relief.

Thus of the very ancient and secret rite in detestation of Bokrug, the water-lizard; before which they danced horribly when the moon was a jew. An illuminated scroll of ancient Irish vellum, 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 ornament, a work which reflects every credit on the makers, Messrs Jacob agus Jacob. Little Alf Bergan popped in round the door.

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. 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 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 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 Todi and S. Martin of Todi 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 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 Todi 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 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. —What's that?

As he awaited the fatal signal he tested the edge of his horrible weapon by honing it upon his brawny forearm or decapitated in rapid succession a flock of sheep which had been mislaid, interpreting and fulfilling the scriptures, blessing and prophesying.

You did it, Alf? On which the sun never rises, says Joe, God between us and harm. Through all the land of Mnar is very still, and remote from most other lands, both of waking and of dream.

And the two shawls killed with the laughing. His rightwiseness.

—Twenty to one, says Martin. Handed him the father and mother of a beating.

But what about the fighting navy, 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.

—Bloody wars, says I to myself says I.

—Put it there, citizen, says Joe. Says Bloom.

Tarbarrels and bonfires were lighted along the coastline 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 mastodontic pleasureship slowly moved away saluted by a final floral tribute from the representatives of the fair sex who were present in large numbers while, as it happens. As true as I'm drinking this porter if he was at his last gasp he'd try to downface you that dying was living.

It was a historic and a hefty battle when Myler and Percy were scheduled to don the gloves for the purse of fifty sovereigns. And as for the Prooshians and the Hanoverians, says Joe.

Senhor Enrique Flor presided at the organ with his wellknown ability and, in addition to the day's entertainment and a word of praise is due to the Little Sisters of the Poor for their excellent idea of affording the poor fatherless and motherless children a genuinely instructive treat. 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. With onyx were they paved, save those whereon the horses and camels and elephants trod, which were paved with granite. Good health, citizen. And Willy Murray with him, the two of them there near whatdoyoucallhim's … What? Then he was telling us there was an ancient Hebrew Zaretsky or something weeping in the witnessbox with his hat on with a shoehorn. Sure, he's out in John of God's off his head, poor man. —Well, it's a queer story, the old one was always thumping her craw and taking the lout out for a walk. —That's so, says Ned. —When is long John going to hang that fellow in Mountjoy? He's over all his troubles.

We are a long time waiting for that day, citizen, says Joe. —You saw his ghost then, says Ned, that keeps our foes at bay?

I dare him, says he, I'll brain that bloody jewman for using the holy name. And for ourselves give us of your best for ifaith we need it.

So of course Bob Doran starts doing the weeps about Paddy Dignam, true as you're there.

I'd train him by kindness, so I will, says he, I dare him, says he, all the spectators, including the venerable pastor, joining in the general merriment. —Hello, Joe.

Perhaps it should be told to his dear son Patsy that the other boot which he had been looking for was at present under the commode in the return room and that the pair should be sent to Cullen's to be soled only as the heels were still good. —We'll put force against force, says the citizen.

—Yes, says Alf.

—Those are nice things, says the citizen, prowling up and down there for the last time.

Tonguetied sons of bastards' ghosts. Not even the mines of precious metal remained.

So of course Bob Doran starts doing the bloody fool with him: Give us a squint at her, says I, I'll be in for the last gospel. —Who? 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 two eyes. Do you see that straw?

Says he, looking for you.

Beggar my neighbour is his motto.

Says Bloom. This the young warriors, the slingers and the spearmen and the bowmen, marched against Ib and slew all the inhabitants thereof, pushing the queer bodies into the lake; the gray stone city of Ib, for why those sculptures lingered so late in the world, even until the coming men, none can tell; unless it was because the land of Mnar, and suited to the palate of every feaster.

—Could you make a hole in another pint?

Even so did they come and set them, those willing nymphs, the undying sisters.

O God, I've a pain laughing. You were talking to?

—As treeless as Portugal we'll be soon, says John Wyse. You see any green in the white of my eye? And the dirty scrawl of the wretch, says Joe, Field and Nannetti are going over tonight to London to ask about it on the floor of the house. —Put it there, citizen, says Joe. As true as I'm telling you.

Each year there was celebrated in Sarnath the feast of the destroying of Ib. Blazes?

—Nannan's going too, says Bloom. All for number one. On a handsome mahogany table near him were neatly arranged the quartering knife, the various finely tempered disembowelling appliances specially supplied by the worldfamous firm of cutlers, Messrs John Round and Sons, Sheffield, a terra cotta saucepan for the reception of the duodenum, colon, blind intestine and appendix etc when successfully extracted and two commodious milkjugs destined to receive the most precious victim. Collector of bad and doubtful debts.

Then he starts scraping a few bits of old biscuit out of the bottom of a Jacobs' tin he told Terry to bring some water for the dog and he asks Terry was Martin Cunningham there. —Look at him, says Crofter the Orangeman or presbyterian.

The Night before Larry was stretched in their usual mirth-provoking fashion. Give us that biscuitbox here.

And Bloom, of course, with his cruiskeen lawn and his load of papers, working for the cause by drumhead courtmartial and a new Ireland and new this, that and the shoneens that can't speak their own language and Joe chipping in because he stuck someone for a quid and Bloom putting in his old goo with his twopenny stump that he cadged off of Joe and talking about bunions. Ow! Virag, the father's name that poisoned himself with the prussic acid after he swamping the country with his baubles and his penny diamonds. —Three cheers for Israel!

… And then he collapses all of a sudden, twisting around all the opposite, as limp as a wet rag.

—Ay, 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. Old Whatwhat.

Many were the pillars of the palaces the floors were mosaics of beryl and lapis lazuli and sardonyx and carbuncle and other choice materials, so disposed that the beholder might fancy himself walking over beds of the Barrow and Shannon they won't deepen with millions of acres of marsh and bog to make us all die of consumption? Is that Alf Bergan? And says Bob Doran. Show us, Joe, says I. —But it's no use, says he.

How's that, eh? —Well, his uncle was a jew like me. From shoulder to shoulder he measured several ells and his rocklike mountainous knees were covered, as was likewise the rest of his body wherever visible, with a strong growth of tawny prickly hair in hue and toughness similar to the mountain gorse Ulex Europeus. The milkwhite dolphin tossed his mane and, rising in the golden poop the helmsman spread the bellying sail upon the wind and stood off forward with all sail set, the spinnaker to larboard.

—Ah, well, says Joe, sticking his thumb in his pocket: It's the Russians wish to tyrannise.

Blazes? —Still, says Bloom. That idol, enshrined in the high temple at Ilarnek, was subsequently worshipped beneath the gibbous moon throughout the land of Mnar, dark shepherd folk with their fleecy flocks, who built Thraa, Ilarnek, and Kadatheron on the winding river Ai and beyond. A posse of Dublin Metropolitan police superintended by the Chief Commissioner in person maintained order in the vast throng for whom the York street brass and reed band whiled away the intervening time by admirably rendering on their blackdraped instruments the matchless melody endeared to us from the cradle by Speranza's plaintive muse. The departing guest was the recipient of a hearty ovation, many of those who had fled from Sarnath, and caravans sought that accursed city and its precious metals no more. —Barney mavourneen's be it, says Alf. The baby policeman, Constable MacFadden, summoned by special courier from Booterstown, quickly restored order and with lightning promptitude proposed the seventeenth of the month as a solution equally honourable for both contending parties. He said and then lifted he in his rude great brawny strengthy hands the medher of dark strong foamy ale and, uttering his tribal slogan Lamh Dearg Abu, he drank to the undoing of his foes, a race of mighty valorous heroes, rulers of the waves, who sit on thrones of alabaster silent as the deathless gods. 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.

Talking about new Ireland he ought to go and get a new dog so he ought. 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. Says Joe, from bitter experience. 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. Shall have been duly paid by the said purchaser, his heirs, successors, trustees and assigns of the one part 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 workingman's friend. And look at this blasted rag, says he, honourable person. 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.

—Heart as big as a lion, says Ned, that keeps our foes at bay? It's a secret. They took the liberty of burying him this morning anyhow. —I heard So and So made a cool hundred quid over it, says I, your very good health and song.

So anyhow in came John Wyse Nolan and Lenehan with him with a left hook, the body punch being a fine one.

—Give us the paw! —Did I kill him, says Crofter the Orangeman or presbyterian. Here, citizen. No security. —Saint Patrick would want to land again at Ballykinlar and convert us, says Jack.

Says J.J. One of the bottlenosed fraternity it was went by the name of Moses Herzog, of 13 Saint Kevin's parade in the city hall at their caucus meeting decide about the Irish language and the corporation meeting and all to that. There rises a watchtower beheld of men afar. Such is life in an outhouse. —Come in, come on, he won't eat you, says Martin. Is it Paddy? —What say you, good masters, to a squab pigeon pasty, some collops of venison, a saddle of veal, widgeon with crisp hog's bacon, a boar's head with pistachios, a bason of jolly custard, a medlar tansy and a flagon of old Rhenish? —And here she is, says Joe, tonight. Insulted.

Never forget her hero boy who went to his death with a song on his lips as if he were but going to a hurling match in Clonturk park.

Gob, it'd turn the porter sour in your guts, so it would.

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

—Who won, Mr Lenehan? These men indeed went to the cupboard.

The work of salvage, removal of débris, human remains etc has been entrusted to Messrs Michael Meade 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 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 that's dead to tell her that.

In ordered terraces rose the green banks, adorned here and there with bowers of vines and sweet blossoms, and seats and benches of marble and porphyry.

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. In that palace there were also many galleries, and many amphitheaters where lions and men and elephants battled at the pleasure of the kings. Yes, says Alf. That's the whole secret. Lofty and amazing were the seventeen tower-like temples of Sarnath, but Sarnath stands there no more. That's quite true. —The French!

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 M'Gillicuddy's reeks the inaccessible and lordly Shannon the unfathomable, and from which were hung fulgent images of the sun, fair as the moon and to shroud in a sinister haze the towers and the domes of fated Sarnath. I just went round the back of the yard to pumpship and begob hundred shillings to five while I was letting off my load gob says I to Lenehan. He let out that Myler was on the beer to run up the odds and he swatting all the time.

—Who is Junius? —We know him, says he. Martin? God in you seeing something was up but the citizen gave him a kick in the ribs. In summer the gardens were cooled with fresh odorous breezes skilfully wafted by fans, and in winter they were heated with concealed fires, so that all the visiting princes and travelers fled away in fright. —But what about the fighting navy, says Ned, that keeps our foes at bay? Dirty Dan the dodger's son off Island bridge that sold the same horses twice over to the biscuit tin Bob Doran left to see if Martin is there. —No, says the citizen. Show us the entrance out. —He is, says Alf. —That's all right, citizen, says Joe. Are you codding? —Three cheers for Israel!

—Honest injun, says Alf, you can cod him up to the throne of grace fervent prayers of supplication.

The housesteward of the amalgamated cats' and dogs' home was in attendance to convey these vessels when replenished to that beneficent institution.

—Give it a name, citizen, says Ned.

Because he was up one time in a knacker's yard. Then about! —Ireland, says Bloom, that is hated and persecuted. Christ!

For so close to life were they that one might swear the graceful bearded gods themselves sate on the ivory thrones. Wonderful likewise were the gardens made by Zokkar the olden king. —O hell!

Gerty MacDowell loves the boy that has the bicycle. Perhaps it should be added that the effect is greatly increased if Owen's verse be spoken somewhat slowly and indistinctly in a tone suggestive of suppressed rancour. Read them.

But what did we ever get for it? Says Joe.

Give him a rousing fine kick now and again where it wouldn't blind him. But begob I was just lowering the heel of the pint. Says Alf. We're all in a cart. Are you talking about the Irish language and the corporation meeting and all to that 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 dog smelling him all the time I'm told those jewies does have 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 there came a voice out 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 line of Lambert. Tell that to a fool, says the citizen taking up his pintglass and glaring at Bloom. And up unending steps of zircon was the tower-chamber, wherefrom the high-priest Gnai-Kah who first saw the shadows that descended from the gibbous moon throughout the land of Mnar, another city stood beside the lake; the gray stone city of Ib, which was wont to rear high above it near the shore, was almost submerged. 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. —Well, says J.J. We have Edward the peacemaker now. —Health, Joe, says I.

—And there's more where that came from, says he, honourable person.

—Yes, says J.J. And Bloom letting on to be modest.

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, who had been responsible for the carrying out of the question of my honourable friend, the member for Shillelagh, may I ask the right honourable sir Hercules Hannibal Habeas Corpus Anderson, K.G., K.P., K.T., P.C., K.C.B., 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.U.I., F.R.C.P.I. and F.R.C.S.I.

—Who is Junius?

In summer the gardens were cooled with fresh odorous breezes skilfully wafted by fans, and in the morning the people found the idol gone and the high-priests looked out over the city and the plains and the lake by day; and at the cryptic moon and significant stars and planets, and their reflections in the lake, and 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. —Well, says J.J.—There he is sitting there. However this may be, it is certain that they worshipped a sea-green stone idol chiseled in the likeness of Bokrug, the water-lizard. —I will, for trading without a licence, says he.

And says John Wyse. A most romantic incident occurred when a handsome young Oxford graduate, noted for his chivalry towards the fair sex, stepped forward and, presenting his visiting card, bankbook and genealogical tree, solicited the hand of the Royal Donor. Gara. After him, Garry! Have you time for a brief libation, Martin?

—Expecting every moment will be his next, says Lenehan, to celebrate the occasion. —My wife? So he starts telling us about corporal punishment and about the crew of tars and officers and rearadmirals drawn up in cocked hats and the parson with his protestant bible to witness punishment and a young lad brought out, howling for his ma, and they swore by the name of Him Who is from everlasting that they would do His rightwiseness. Many were the pillars of the palaces the floors were mosaics of beryl and lapis lazuli and sardonyx and carbuncle and other choice materials, so disposed that the beholder might fancy himself walking over beds of the rarest flowers. —What's that?

And they were surmounted by a mighty dome of glass, through which shone the sun and moon and stars and planets, and their reflections in the lake, at night.

Says Joe. But half buried in the rushes was spied a curious green idol; an exceedingly ancient idol chiseled in the likeness of Bokrug, the water-lizard? I went in with a fellow into one of their musical evenings, song and dance about she could get up on a truss of hay she could my Maureen Lay and there was a fellow with a Ballyhooly blue ribbon badge spiffing out of him and Joe and little Alf round him like a leprechaun trying to peacify him.

Since the poor old woman told us that the French were on the sea and landed at Killala. —Qui fecit coelum et terram.

Taking what belongs to us by right.

—What is your nation if I may ask? The water rate, Mr Boylan. Read them.

A nation is the same people living in the same place. Drive ahead. —And I belong to a race too, says Bloom. Frailty, thy name is Sceptre.

J.J., but the truth, so help you Jimmy Johnson. But the Sassenach tried to starve the nation at home while the land was full of crops that the British hyenas bought and sold in Rio de Janeiro.

—That can be explained by science, says Bloom, for an advertisement you must have repetition. Handed him the father and mother of a beating.

Says the citizen, letting on to be all at sea and up with them on the bloody jaunting car. Now what were those two at? Old Garryowen started growling again at Bloom that was skeezing round the door and they holding him and he bawls out of him would give you the bloody pip.

—Yes, sir, come up before me and ask me to make an Entente cordiale now at Tay Pay's dinnerparty with perfidious Albion? —What's that? 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 tragedy who was in capital spirits when prepared for death and evinced the keenest interest in the proceedings from beginning to end but he, with an abnegation rare in these our times, rose nobly to the occasion. And camels and elephants men from Thraa, Ilarnek, and Kadetheron, and all the gougers shuffling their feet to the tune the old cow died of. —Ay, says I. And he got them out as quick as he could, Jack Power and Crofton or whatever you call him and him in the private office when I was there with Pisser releasing his boots 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? I hadn't seen snoring drunk blind to the world up in a shebeen in Bride street after closing time, fornicating with two shawls and a bully on guard, drinking porter out of teacups.

Then sloping off with his five quid without putting up a pint of stuff like a man. Larches, firs, all the spectators, including the venerable pastor, joining in the general merriment.

Many were the pillars of Hercules, the Gibraltar now grabbed by the foe of mankind, with gold and Tyrian purple to sell in Wexford at the fair of Carmen? And Willy Murray with him, says Crofter the Orangeman or presbyterian. There's one thing it hasn't a deterrent effect on, says Alf.

A fellow writes that calls himself Disgusted One. And mournful and with a vengeance, no cravens, the sons of Granuaile, the champions of Kathleen ni Houlihan. Playing cards, hobnobbing with flash toffs with a swank glass in their eye, adrinking fizz and he half smothered in writs and garnishee orders. Jesus, he did. —Raimeis, says the citizen. —Good Christ! —And I'm sure He will, says Joe. An article of headgear since ascertained to belong to the much respected clerk of the crown and peace Mr George Fottrell and a silk umbrella with gold handle with the engraved initials, crest, coat of arms and house number of the erudite and worshipful chairman of quarter sessions sir Frederick Falkiner, recorder of Dublin, no less. For so close to life were they that one within might sometimes fancy himself beneath only the sky; yet when lighted with torches dipped in the oil of Dother their walls showed vast paintings of kings and armies, of a splendor at once inspiring and stupefying to the beholder. And says Joe: Could you make a hole in another pint? —Nannan?

Pistachios!

Growling and grousing and his eye all bloodshot from the drouth is in it and the hydrophobia dropping out of his gullet and, gob, he spat a Red bank oyster out of him, I promise you. This poor hardworking man! Cute as a shithouse rat. And he ups with his pint to wet his whistle. We're all in a cart. And lo, there entered one of the smutty yankee pictures Terry borrows off of Corny Kelleher.

Is it Paddy? Small whisky and bottle of Allsop. The fat heap he married is a nice old phenomenon with a back on her like a ballalley. Jumbo, the elephant, loves Alice, the elephant. And he shouting to the bloody dog: After him, Garry!

Cruelty to animals so it is to be feared all the occupants have been buried alive. Says Alf. —And the tragedy of it is, says Alf. And he wanted right go wrong to address the court only Corny Kelleher got round him telling him to get the handwriting examined first.

Hell upon earth it is.

Black Forest.

Or any other woman marries a half and half.

—Who made those allegations?

And this person loves that other person because everybody loves somebody but God loves everybody.

And up unending steps of zircon was the tower-chamber, wherefrom the high-priests in Sarnath but never was the sea—green stone idol chiseled in the likeness of Bokrug, the water-lizard. Lord Howard de Walden's. Tell him, says he, a chara, to show there's no ill feeling.

Says Ned.

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 Him Who is from everlasting that they would do His rightwiseness.

For they garner the succulent berries of the hop and mass and sift and bruise and brew them and they mix therewith sour juices and bring the must to the sacred fire and cease not night or day from their toil, those cunning brothers, lords of the vat. And he was telling us there's two fellows waiting below to pull his heels down when he gets the drop and choke him properly and then they chop up the rope after and sell the bits for a few bob on Throwaway and he's gone to gather in the shekels. Drive ahead.

True as you're there.

A most romantic incident occurred when a handsome young Oxford graduate, noted for his chivalry towards the fair sex who were present in large numbers while, 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 palaces; where gathered throngs in worship of Zo-Kalar and Tamash and Lobon. So we went around by the Linenhall barracks and the back of the courthouse talking of one thing or another.

He is gone from mortal haunts: O'Dignam, sun of our morning.

Devil a sweet fear!

Honoured sir i beg to offer my services in the abovementioned painful case i hanged Joe Gann in Bootle jail on the 12 of Febuary 1900 and i hanged … —Show us over the drink, says I, in his gloryhole, with his cruiskeen lawn and his load of papers, working for the cause.

What do the yellowjohns of Anglia owe us for our ruined trade and our ruined hearths? And this person loves that other person because everybody loves somebody but God loves everybody. Talking about hanging, I'll show you something you never saw.

So begob the citizen claps his paw on his knee and he says: Foreign wars is the cause of our old tongue, Mr Joseph M'Carthy Hynes, made an eloquent appeal for the resuscitation of the ancient games and sports of our ancient Panceltic forefathers. Jumbo, the elephant, loves Alice, the elephant.

Who's talking about …?

—They're all barbers, says he. Lofty and amazing were the seventeen tower-like temples of Sarnath, whose incense-enveloped shrines were as the thrones of monarchs. I will, for trading without a licence, says he, I'll brain that bloody jewman for using the holy name.

For trading without a licence, says he, putting up his fist, sold by auction in Morocco like slaves or cattle. The man in the brown macintosh loves a lady who is dead. We can't wait.

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 Todi 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 Berchmans 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. —Honest injun, says Alf. Mr Lenehan? She brought back to his recollection the happy days of blissful childhood together on the banks of Anna Liffey when they had indulged in the innocent pastimes of the young and, oblivious of the dreadful present, they both laughed heartily, all the spectators, including the venerable pastor, joining in the general merriment.

—Gold cup, says he.

Time they were stopping up in the City Arms pisser Burke told me there was an old one there with a cracked loodheramaun of a nephew and Bloom trying to get him to sit down on the buttend of a gun. Begob he was what you might call flabbergasted. Cried he of the prudent soul. —Arrah, give over your bloody codding, Joe, says I, was in the force.

And to the solemn court of Green street there came sir Frederick the Falconer. —Bi i dho husht, says he.

Doom. —Yes, sir, come up before me and ask me to make an Entente cordiale now at Tay Pay's dinnerparty with perfidious Albion? —Libel action, says he. Says Joe.

Frailty, thy name is Sceptre. —Ay, ay, and his own kidney too.

How's that for Martin Murphy, the Bantry jobber? —He's a bloody dark horse himself, says Joe. Defrauding widows and orphans. A most romantic incident occurred when a handsome young Oxford graduate, noted for his chivalry towards the fair sex, stepped forward and, presenting his visiting card, bankbook and genealogical tree, solicited the hand of the Royal Donor. —With Dignam, says Alf, laughing. Says I. —Where? —Who?

Blazes doing the tootle on the flute. Old Whatwhat. O jakers, Jenny, says Joe.

Then, close to 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 benefit of the wife and that a trust is created but on the other hand. Fleet was his foot on the bracken: Patrick of the beamy brow. —Short, painstaking yet withal so characteristic of the man. Give us that biscuitbox here.

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 breastplates bidding defiance to the world only Bob Doran. Because he was up one time in a knacker's yard.

—Only one, says Lenehan.

Leave the court immediately, sir.

—The poor bugger's tool that's being hanged, says Alf, trying to muck out of it: Or also living in different places. —Swindling the peasants, says the citizen. —It's on the march, says the citizen.

—Who's dead?

And then he starts with his jawbreakers about phenomenon and science and this phenomenon and the other give him a leg over the stile.

—Hold on, citizen, says Joe, handing round the boose. I saw him land out a quid O, as true as I'm telling you. You look like a fellow that had lost a bob and found a tanner.

Do you know what I'm telling you. Says he, all the spectators, including the venerable pastor, joining in the general merriment. —Well, that's a point, says Bloom, isn't discipline the same everywhere. Says the citizen.

Your God.

See the little kipper not up to his navel and the big fellow swiping. An animated altercation in which all took part ensued among the F.O.T.E.I. as to whether the eighth or the ninth of March was the correct date of the birth of Ireland's patron saint. Read Tacitus and Ptolemy, even Giraldus Cambrensis. Hanging over the bloody paper with Alf looking for spicy bits instead of attending to the general public.

After him, Garry!

—And I'm sure He will, says he. Lady Sylvester Elmshade, 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. The water rate, Mr Boylan. The king's friends God bless His Majesty! But do you know what that is. And the bloody dog woke up and let a growl. Defrauding widows and orphans.

Then suffer me to take your hand, said he with an obsequious bow. So I just went round the back 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 our old tongue, Mr Joseph M'Carthy Hynes, made an eloquent appeal for the resuscitation 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. And my wife has the typhoid.

Hand by the block stood the grim figure of the tragedy who was in capital spirits when prepared for death and evinced the keenest interest in the proceedings from beginning to end but he, with an abnegation rare in these our times, rose nobly to the occasion and expressed the dying wish immediately acceded to that the meal should be divided in aliquot parts among the members of the sick and indigent roomkeepers' association as a token of his regard and esteem. Li Chi Han lovey up kissy Cha Pu Chow.

In reply to a question as to his whereabouts in the heavenworld 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. —Na bacleis, says the citizen, jeering. —Heart as big as a lion, says Ned. 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. Do you see any green in the white of my eye? Big strong men, officers of the Duke of Cornwall's light infantry under the general supervision of H.R.H., rear admiral, the right honourable sir Hercules Hannibal Habeas Corpus Anderson, K.G., K.P., K.T., P.C., K.C.B., M.P., the cattle traders and taking action in the matter of the will propounded and final testamentary disposition in re the real and personal estate of the late lamented Jacob Halliday, vintner, deceased, versus Livingstone, an infant, of unsound mind, and another. I won't mention any names, says Alf.

—Yes, sir, come up before me and ask me to make an order!

And the beds of the rarest flowers. I was just lowering the heel of the pint.

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. Says he, a chara, says he, take them to hell out of my sight, Alf. He is gone from mortal haunts: O'Dignam, sun of our morning. M.B. loves a fair gentleman. A powerful current of warm breath issued at regular intervals from the profound cavity of his mouth while in rhythmic resonance the loud strong hale reverberations of his formidable heart thundered rumblingly causing the ground, the summit of the lofty tower and the still loftier walls of the cave to vibrate and tremble. 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. —All these moving scenes are still there for us today rendered more beautiful still by the waters of sorrow which have passed over them and by the rich incrustations of time. —A new apostle to the gentiles, says the citizen, the subsidised organ.

You? For a decade had it been talked of in the land of Mnar. —Who is the long fellow running for the mayoralty, Alf? —I will, says he. Mine host bowed again as he made answer: What I meant about tennis, for example, is the agility and training the eye. Says the citizen. Just a holiday.

And Joe asked him would he have another. —Dominus vobiscum. Lying up in the corner having a great confab with himself and that bloody mangy mongrel, Garryowen, and he waiting for what the sky would drop in the way of drink. That what's I mean, didn't serve any notice of the assignment on the company at the time of the catastrophe important legal debates were in progress, is literally a mass of ruins beneath which it is to let that bloody povertystricken Breen out on grass with his beard out tripping him, bringing down the rain. —What's yours? Says Alf. Declare to God I could hear it hit the pit of my stomach with a click.

Jumbo, the elephant. —Come in, come on, he won't eat you, says Bloom. —Right, says John Wyse. —He's a bloody dark horse himself, says little Alf. May your shadow never grow less. —Well, that's a good one if old Shylock is landed.

That's an almanac picture for you. That's the whole secret. —Whose God? —An imperial yeomanry, says Lenehan. —Keep your pecker up, says Joe. Then he starts scraping a few bits of old biscuit out of the interment arrangements.

#Ulysses (novel)#James Joyce #1922 #automatically generated text #Patrick Mooney #Cyclops #H.P. Lovecraft #weird fiction #horror #American authors #20th century #modernist authors #The Doom that Came to Sarnath #1919

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