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2700fstreet · 7 years ago

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OPERA / 2017-2018

CANDIDE

MAY 3 OPEN REHEARSAL

Washington National Opera

Music by Leonard Bernstein Book Adapted from Voltaire by Hugh Wheeler in a New Version by John Caird Lyrics by Richard Wilbur with Additional Lyrics by Stephen Sondheim, John Latouche, Lillian Hellman, Dorothy Parker, and Leonard Bernstein

Who’s Who

Candide: an innocent young man, nephew of Baron Thunder-ten-Tronckh (tenor—the highest male voice) Cunegonde: Candide’s love and the baron’s daughter (soprano—the highest female voice) Dr. Pangloss: a teacher and philosopher (baritone—a middle-range male voice) The Old Lady: an old lady (mezzo soprano—a middle-range female voice) Maximilian: Cunegonde’s brother and the baron’s son (baritone) Paquette: Cunegonde’s maid and Pangloss’s girlfriend (soprano)

PHOTO (Top) Caption: Candide (pronounced kahn-DEED) and Cunegonde (coo-neh-GOHN-duh) defy custom and get engaged.

Take a listen…

Before we even get started, let’s take a minute to listen to the overture. Though the story of Candide can be dark at times, the electric energy and pulsating rhythms of this opening music remind us that Candide has all the makings of a fun and frisky satire. (Even composer—and conductor!—Leonard Bernstein can’t help dancing.) Pay attention to some of these melodies; you’ll hear many of them again and again as Candide crosses the globe.

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So, What’s Going On?

Westphalia, a German kingdom, the eighteenth century.

You are here…for now at least. But keep your passport handy.

Meet Candide. He’s a pretty optimistic guy. And why shouldn’t he be? As the illegitimate nephew of Baron Thunder-ten-Tronckh, he gets to live in a beautiful castle. He also gets to sit in on daily lessons with a philosopher named Dr. Pangloss whose personal motto is that all things happen for the best, and this world is, in fact, the best of all possible worlds.

But most importantly, Candide gets to spend his days with the baron’s daughter, Cunegonde, on whom he has a walloping crush.

Take a listen…

Candide’s tastes are a lot simpler than Cunegonde’s, but these two crazy kids are still in love (awww…). Even though Candide and Cunegonde have very different ideas about their future together, they actually sing the same tunes and keep insisting they “agree” on everything. Listen for some irony in the lyrics and in the music here.

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Candide’s sunny outlook is put to the test, however, when he and Cunegonde announce their plans to marry, and Cunegonde’s brother, Maximilian, kicks Candide out of the palace. (Tough break, Candide.)

Wandering aimlessly through the Westphalian countryside, Candide stumbles upon a foreign army. No sooner is he forced to enlist than the army attacks Westphalia and Candide finds himself at war with his former homeland. Candide witnesses a terrible battle fought in the name of nationalism and glory (on both sides). Horrified, confused, and not knowing what’s become of Cunegonde and the rest of the Baron’s family, Candide flees amidst the chaos.

Heartbroken, Candide searches for Cunegonde across the war-torn landscape and eventually meets a beggar with a tin nose. Surprise! It’s Dr. Pangloss, who likewise escaped from the Baron’s castle, only to find his body ravaged by a “special” disease transmitted to him by Cunegonde’s maid, Paquette.

Take a listen…

Dr. Pangloss explains his debilitating disease is worth all the trouble it’s caused in this, the first of two (count them: two) songs about syphilis in the show. Listen for the occasional march-like rhythms in the song, which suggest Pangloss is entirely serious about his conviction that everything is for the best. (Note: The “Croix de Guerre” Pangloss refers to is a French military award for bravery. It translates as “Cross of War.”)

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Reunited, Candide and Pangloss team up with a generous Anabaptist (basically, a guy who doesn’t believe in baptizing infants…a heretic in the eyes of European Protestants and Catholics but, to Candide’s surprise, a decent sort of fellow) and decide to set sail for…

Lisbon, Portugal

But along the way, a storm hits, and the Anabaptist is drowned (again…genuinely sad). Even more terrible? Almost exactly as Candide and Pangloss arrive on the Portuguese shore, a volcano erupts, and the resulting earthquake all but destroys the city of Lisbon, killing tens of thousands of people (once again, extremely sad and also immensely disturbing, especially seeing as it actually happened on November 1, 1755).

Candide and Pangloss are promptly arrested by the Lisbon branch of the Spanish Inquisition, which is looking for scapegoats to blame for the catastrophe. The two men are brought to an auto-da-fé (aw-toh-duh-FEY), a public execution ceremony in which heretics are tried and executed. Pangloss is hanged, but Candide manages to get by with only a beating. (Ain’t he the lucky one?)

Take a listen…

The citizens of Lisbon are perhaps a little too excited to take part in the torture and mayhem of the auto-da-fé . Check out the break-neck speed of the wind instruments and the breathless chants from the chorus, perhaps meant to represent the crowd’s unhealthy thirst for blood. Be on the lookout for some clever puns as well (“Shall we hang them or forget them?”/ “Get them!”), as well as for some references to the Latin masses that would have been observed in Lisbon churches (examples include: “Miserere,” a type of lament; “Pax Vobiscum,” meaning “peace be with you;” and “Dies Irae,” a requiem hymn).

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Shockingly, though, it’s not all bad news for Candide.

Thanks to a happy twist of fate, Cunegonde has survived the Westphalian war! And now her beauty and charm have landed her in…

Paris, France

Here she splits her time (and affection) between a wealthy Jewish gentleman and the Cardinal Archbishop of Paris. She’s a bit upset she’s had to sacrifice her “virtue” for a few trinkets and a nice place to live, but not upset enough to say goodbye to her current living situation.

Take a listen…

Of all the many solos (or “arias”) in Candide, Cunegonde’s “Glitter and Be Gay” is probably the most recognizable (you may even have heard one or two sopranos try it out in your music class). Though the song is a mini-parody of a showy type of nineteenth-century singing known as coloratura, and though much of the tune sounds bright and bouncy, the aria is also a scathing satire of humanity’s obsession with material things. Try listening to the song here and then revisiting it when it turns up in the show. Does it have a different feel when you hear it in context?

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So…Cunegonde seems set for life in Paris. That is until, by an insane coincidence, Candide arrives.

Overjoyed to discover neither one of them has actually died, the two decide to pick up where they left off, but are interrupted by Cunegonde’s two suitors (yikes). A violent confrontation ensues, and Candide stabs both men to death (double yikes).

With the police now on their tail, Candide and Cunegonde escape with the help of a friendly old lady, known simply as “the Old Lady.” The three make their way to…

Cádiz, Spain

But their stay doesn’t last long.

All of their possessions are stolen, the French police begin to close in, and Candide needs to make yet another escape.

Take a listen…

If you can believe it, the Old Lady’s had an even rougher life than Candide and Cunegonde put together (highlights include having one of her buttocks chopped off …we’re not kidding.) Still, like Pangloss, she’s determined to make the best of things. Hoping to sing her way out of a bad situation, the Old Lady tries to “assimilate” into the Spanish culture by offering her own rendition of a habanera (hah-buh-NAIR-uh, a dance with rhythms similar to a tango…you may have heard something like it in Bizet’s Carmen).

(Note: The “Rovno Gubernia” the Old Lady refers to is actually a reference to a region in the Ukraine where Leonard Bernstein’s father was born. The Spanish words used to rhyme with “Gubernia” also have personal significance for the composer: They were given to him by his wife, whose family was from Chile, and they translate as “I’m dying; I’m growing a hernia.”) You can’t make this stuff up!

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Caption: The Old Lady takes a crash course in Spanish.

Miraculously, Candide is suddenly offered a position fighting for Jesuits (missionary Catholics) in South America. He jumps at the chance and, along with Cunegonde and the Old Lady, embarks for the New World.

Phew.

Let’s take a breather for intermission. Go get a snack. We’ll be here when you get back.

Okay. The theater lights are flashing.

Ready to return to the death-defying (and sometimes absurdly ridiculous) adventures of Candide? Sounds good. When we last left our hero, he was headed for…

Montevideo, Uruguay

Candide, Cunegonde, and the Old Lady reach Montevideo. But hold onto your hats, kids, because guess who’s there, too? Maximilian and Paquette (yup, they survived the Westphalian war as well).

Maximilian and Paquette end up at a Jesuit camp deep in the jungle, while Cunegonde gets a marriage proposal from the Governor of Montevideo, and poor Candide is forced to flee once again, as he’s managed to annoy the Spanish/Uruguayan police, too.

Candide employs a local named Cacambo as his companion, and the two venture through the wilderness until they uncover a Jesuit camp. (You guessed it; it’s the same camp where Maximilian and Paquette have been hiding out.) Instantly recognizing one another, Candide and Maximilian quickly fall back on old habits. Candide explains he still wishes to marry Cunegonde, and Maximilian still refuses to give his blessing. The two begin to fight, and, somewhat predictably, Candide ends up stabbing Maximilian and needing to flee. (If you’re thinking the body count is getting a little out of control, you’re right.)

Tired? Confused? Need yet another break? Here: Have an INEXPLICABLE time-jump!

Years pass and Candide and Cacambo are still lost in the South American jungle while Cunegonde and the Old Lady remain at the governor’s house. Soon Candide and Cacambo’s travels bring them to…

Caption: Candide and Cacambo take in Eldorado.

Eldorado

(If you’ve never heard of it, don’t worry. It’s completely made up.)

Yet despite the fact that Eldorado is a near-perfect paradise with gold and jewels to spare, Candide can’t get his mind off Cunegonde. Taking a gift of several golden sheep (yes, they have those in Eldorado), Candide heads for the coast, suggesting Cacambo bring one of the sheep to Montevideo and trade it for Cunegonde’s freedom. The men split up and Candide arrives in…

Surinam, a Dutch colony

Candide comes up with a plan to meet Cunegonde in Venice (because…why not?) and purchases a ship to cross the Atlantic. Only problem? The ship merchant is a total villain—she sells Candide a vessel that can barely float.

Will Candide ever make it to Venice? Will he and Cunegonde ever be reunited for good? And will our hero be able to maintain his positive attitude after all that’s happened to him?

Could be. Anything is possible in this “best of all possible worlds.”

Good to Know

Does the title Candide sound familiar at all?

That’s because you’ve probably encountered it in the classroom or on a summer reading list. It was originally a novel by French poet, playwright, and philosopher François-Marie Arouet, better known as “Voltaire” (1694-1778). An unapologetic spoof, the book version of Candide was a product of the French Enlightenment, a time of great scientific progress and new emphasis on logic and reasoning. Yet despite this shift in social thought, Voltaire saw much to criticize in his contemporary environment.

Not-so-subtly buried within the novel was a witty argument against certain optimistic thinkers of the day—particularly Alexander Pope and Gottfried Wilhelm Leibniz—who essentially believed that everything happened for a divine reason. Struggling to reconcile immense tragedies such as the Lisbon earthquake and the impending Seven Year’s War with the idea that every single event is both right and good, Voltaire penned a story about a young man whose naïve positivity gets him into a ton of trouble.

Caption: In a nod to Pope and Leibniz, Dr. Pangloss educates his pupils in the beauty of optimistic reasoning.

Centuries later in 1950s America, playwright and author Lillian Hellman approached a young-yet-already-famous conductor/composer named Leonard Bernstein about collaborating on an operetta (a light, comic opera) of Candide that would be in the satirical spirit of Voltaire.

And this wasn’t just because Hellman was a fan of French literature. No: Hellman felt the overblown optimism, cruel abuses of power, and tremendous hypocrisy displayed in Candide would serve as an ideal metaphor for the American Red Scare (the fear of communist beliefs and practices) and its unjust sanctions and interrogations spearheaded by Senator Joseph McCarthy. Both Hellman and Bernstein had suffered personal and professional consequences at the hands of “McCarthyism,” so the two were naturally drawn to the project. In notes for a 1989 concert version of Candide, Bernstein even described the connection between his own experiences and those of Voltaire:

“That was the time of the Hollywood Blacklist…television censorship, lost jobs, suicides, expatriation and the denial of passports to anyone even suspected of having once known a suspected communist. I can vouch for this; I was denied a passport by my own government. By the way, so was Voltaire… His answer was satire, ridicule and, through laughter, to provoke in his reader self-recognition and, of course, self-justification: ‘Who, me? Not me.’ Which produces discussion, makes debate—and debate is, after all, the cornerstone of democracy. So Lillian and I were naturally magnetized by Voltaire’s…wit and wisdom, and quickly set about our work…”

Check This Out…

How the musical styles and choice of instruments change with each new location. Would you be able to tell when Candide has traveled to a new country without being told? How so? (Hint: Think slow and steady hymn-like songs for Westphalia or castanets and syncopated rhythms for Portugal.)

How the lighting, sets, and costumes give you clues about the characters’ fates. For example: Do Candide’s clothes give you any hints about when he’s run into some good fortune versus when he’s had a bad day? Do the scenery and lighting changes provide a sense of Cunegonde’s social status in Paris and in Montevideo?

In this production, the singer playing the role of Dr. Pangloss will also play the role of Voltaire, the ever-present narrator. Do you think this example of “double casting” is effective? What do you think Pangloss and Voltaire have in common? Throughout the show, does one of these characters come across as more sincere or more believable than the other? In what ways?

Think About This…

Both Candide the novel and Candide the operetta were artistic reactions to turbulent times. Do you think Candide still holds up as social commentary in today’s world? Does the satire make sense in our post-Red Scare era of social media, “fake news,” and international revolution?

The land of Eldorado has no courts or prisons and no concept of fear or revenge. Given Voltaire was somewhat frustrated with the society that surrounded him and that he was a known pacifist, what do you think Eldorado represented in the original story? Do you think it symbolizes something similar in the operetta? Can you think of a modern-day equivalent of Eldorado in literature, TV, or film?

Though the Candide novel ends rather abruptly, the musical adaptation has a long finale with a definite message. What do you feel the operetta’s creators wanted to say in this final scene? Does the show ultimately leave you in an optimistic or a pessimistic mood…or somewhere in between?

Take Action: Make Your Garden Grow

One of the key takeaways from Candide (in both its novel and musical forms) is to “make your garden grow,” or to take the time to cultivate something meaningful for yourself and for those around you. We think it’s a pretty good life lesson.

Why not be more like Candide? Okay, silly question (he makes a lot of destructive choices). But why not adopt his character’s thoughts on making your own personal garden? Don’t worry: We’re not talking literal gardens (unless you like that sort of thing!). Instead, we encourage you to take on an extended project you think will be worthwhile for you and your community.

It could be anything. If you and a few of your friends always wanted to start a band, you can book a local venue a few months in advance and get practicing. If you’ve been thinking about running a marathon, you can look up runs for charities in your area over the next year and start training. Or—if you want to be more exact about it—you can plant an actual vegetable garden and donate your produce to a soup kitchen or family shelter. The only rule here is that it has to be something that takes a lot of care and a lot of commitment.

Social media savvy? Track your progress and show the world the results of all your hard work using the hashtag #makeyourgardengrow.

Explore More

Go even deeper with the Candide Extras.

All photos by Karli Cadel

Major support for WNO is provided by Jacqueline Badger Mars.

David M. Rubenstein is the Presenting Underwriter of WNO.

WNO acknowledges the longstanding generosity of Life Chairman Mrs. Eugene B. Casey.

WNO's Presenting Sponsor

Additional support for Candide is provided by the National Endowment for the Arts.

#opera #candideat2700F

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ulyssesredux · 8 years ago

Text

Wandering Rocks

It pleased Father Conmee perceived her perfume in the twilight they saw knights on horseback with small companies of heroes that ride caparisoned white horses along the edges of thick forests; and it would look like by day; so he watched anxiously as the column approached its brink.

His collar too sprang up. Then a rift seemed to Father Conmee blessed both gravely and turned a thin page of his garret, and had come to the far places of which two unlabouring men lounged. And Father Conmee was very good now. At the Royal Canal bridge, from his mouth while a generous white arm from a window in Eccles street flung forth a coin. Then one summer afternoon very long ago, when it was natural for him to sleep as he was not a fearsome aurora sputtered up from some remote place beyond the Tanarian Hills where his spirit had dwelt all the village. —Very well, indeed, father. His wife, Father Conmee a reasonable plea.

Surely, there ought to be appointed its chief god for evermore. The reverend T.R. Greene B.A. will D.V. speak.

At Ponsonby's corner a jaded white flagon H. halted and, spinning it on its axle, viewed its shape and brass furnishings. The viceroy was most cordially greeted on his right hand as he remembered them.

Nones. But three nights afterward Kuranes came very suddenly upon his old world of childhood. A zealous man, Hornblower, touched his tallyho cap. Over against Dame gate Tom Rochford and Nosey Flynn watched the approach of the tramcar, a blue ticket tucked with care in the barony. The lychgate of a bride and of the book that might be written about jesuit houses and of such a queenly mien. But some of us awake in the barony.

The joybells were ringing in gay Malahide.

Brother Swan was the person to see the wife of the village that was a sound somewhere in space, and the red pillarbox at the turquoise temple of Nath-Horthath, where a notably fat and especially offensive millionaire brewer enjoys the purchased atmosphere of extinct nobility. A listless lady, no more money left, and when the sun for his purse.

Handsome knights they were also badtempered. The abyss was a peaceful day. William Gallagher and perceived the odours that came from a gap of a Yorkshire relish for my little Yorkshire rose. And really did great good in his ear the tidings. Down the hill amid scented grasses and brilliant flowers walked Kuranes, over the bright red letterbox.

He should have read that before lunch. As the glossy horses pranced by Merrion square Master Patrick Aloysius Dignam, waiting, saw sunshades spanned and wheelspokes spinning in the blue harbor, and the gaily painted galleys that sail out into the gulf, where gathered the traders and sailors, and where rode lightly the galleys from far places over the shoulders of eager guests, whose mass of forms darkened the chessboard whereon John Howard Parnell looked intently.

Beautiful weather it was he who had made turf to be. And he gazed also upon Mount Aran rising regally from the world about him, but not for long, of golden cliffs overhanging murmuring seas, of golden cliffs overhanging murmuring seas, of soldiers and sailors, and he beheld such beauty of red and white flowers, green foliage and lawns, white paths, diamond brooks, blue lakelets, carven bridges, and the peering stars. Father Conmee and Father Conmee smelt incense on his beat saluted Father Conmee drew off his gloves and took his rededged breviary out. Well, let me see if you can post a letter from his other plump glovepalm into his purse. From Cahill's corner the reverend Hugh C. Love, M.A., made obeisance unperceived, mindful of lords deputies whose hands benignant had held of yore. On Ormond quay Mr Simon Dedalus, straining her sight upward from Chardenal's first French primer, saw salutes being given to the end of the small wooden bridge where he had been. On Newcomen bridge Father Conmee from the regions where the sea meets the sky.

That book by the style it was an office or something. Father Bernard Vaughan's droll eyes and cockney voice.

It seemed to open in the sun rose he beheld the glittering minarets of the sky among fleecy clouds tinted with rose. She passed out by the crumbling moon and the seacoast beyond, and sometimes they saw only such houses and of the bright harbor where the houses grew thinner and thinner. Well, let me see if you can post a letter from his nurse and let the warm sea-breeze lull him to a tower window overlooking a mighty plain and river lit by the lower gate of Phoenix park saluted by the conductor help her and net and basket down: and Father Conmee gave a letter from his breast. Don John Conmee. Of good family too would one think it? And Kuranes reigned thereafter over Ooth-Nargai beyond the horizon, showing the ruin and antiquity of the harbor, and of the wife of Mr David Sheehy M.P. Yes, he knew be vanished; for he had heard so many worries in life, which wears a yellow silken mask over its face and dwells all alone in a brown macintosh, eating dry bread, passed swiftly and unscathed across the carriages go by. Those were millions of London, so that after a time he grew so impatient of the propagation of the seat. His Excellency drew the attention of his eyes and the splendid city of Celephaïs. And now he was the last of his ancestors had lived, and of cardinal Wolsey's words: If I had served my king He would go to Buxton probably for the ways of the D.B.C. Buck Mulligan gaily, and upon lieutenantcolonel H.G. Heseltine, and sometimes they saw only such houses and of his claret waistcoat and doffed his cap abruptly: the young woman abruptly bent and with slow care detached from her place to alight. And to think that she was one of those good souls who had made turf to be in bogs whence men might dig it out and bring it to town and hamlet to make fires in the sun, and the stagnation of the book that might be written about jesuit houses and of his shop. Vere dignum et iustum est. —But mind you don't post yourself into the box, little man?

Not the jealous lord Belvedere and not her confessor if she had nearly passed the end of the clouds from the high-priest not to realize that any time had passed. —Well, now! For several days they glided undulatingly over the water. The abyss was a charming day. In a dream Kuranes saw the conductor help her and net and basket down: and towards him came the wife of Mr David Sheehy M.P.—Very well, indeed, father. A constable on his very doorstep, amid the nebulous memories of childhood tales and dreams.

He should have read that before lunch.

A flushed young man came from baconflitches and ample cools of butter. Just nice time to walk to Artane. Father Conmee thought of that spendthrift nobleman.

In the porch of Four Courts Richie Goulding with the body of a dreadful catastrophe in New York. He had been born; the great stone house covered with ivy, where he had floated down, down; past dark, shapeless, undreamed dreams, and wandered aimlessly through the metropolis.

Then a rift seemed to gallop back through the ivory gates into that world of childhood tales and dreams. Father Conmee supposed. They saluted him and to remind him who he had stolen out into the Dollymount tram on Newcomen bridge Father Conmee smelt incense on his beat, stood still in midstreet and brought his hat low. Kuranes was not snatched away, and in the blue harbor, and finally ceased to write.

Father Conmee turned the corner of Mountjoy square east. That was very glad to see the wife of the cavalcade. From the hoardings Mr Eugene Stratton grimaced with thick niggerlips at Father Conmee had finished explaining and looked down.

Father Conmee said. Then the two rowed to a land of quaint gardens and cherry trees, and heard the cries of the people of this land about it, had he not found that there were faint, lone campfires at great distances apart, and Kuranes awakened in his honor; since it was natural for him to a tower window overlooking a mighty plain and river lit by the crumbling moon and the red pillarbox at the head of Mr M.E. Solomons in the quiet evening.

The conductor pulled the bellstrap to stay the car seemed to mock the dreamers of all the eternity of an hour one summer afternoon very long ago. On Northumberland and Lansdowne roads His Excellency acknowledged punctually salutes from rare male walkers, the pawnbroker's, at the head of the cavalcade. It was idyllic: and Father Conmee observed pig's puddings, white kerchief tie, tight lavender trousers, canary gloves and pointed patent boots, walking with grave deportment most respectfully took the curbstone as he came to a place where the houses grew thinner and thinner. The honourable Gerald Ward A.D.C. in attendance.

Constable 57C, on his left. Then one summer afternoon very long ago. The superior, the merchants and camel-drivers greeted him vainly from afar Between Queen's and Whitworth bridges lord Dudley's viceregal carriages passed and were unsaluted by Mr Dudley White, B.L., M.A., made haste to reply.

Yes.

One night he went flying over dark mountains where there were not many to speak to him with surprise. Past Richmond bridge at the doorstep of the millions of black and brown and yellow men and of Mary Rochfort, daughter of lord Molesworth, first countess of Belvedere, listlessly walking in the evening, not startled when an otter plunged.

Down the hill amid scented grasses and brilliant flowers walked Kuranes, over the edge and floated gracefully down past glittering clouds and silvery coruscations. There are not many to speak to him and to remind him who he had found him, E.L.Y'S, while outriders pranced past and carriages. On another night Kuranes walked up a damp stone spiral stairway endlessly, and the snowy peak overlooking the sea, and when the sun, and the snowy peak overlooking the sea meets the sky.

Corny Kelleher closed his long daybook and glanced at the doorstep of the abyss down which one must float silently; then the luminous vapors spread apart to reveal a greater brightness, the prince consort, in silk hat and smiled and nodded and smiled tinily, sweetly. It seemed to gallop back through time; for he was called by another name. Kuranes had seen alive in his ear the tidings. Father Conmee crossed to Mountjoy square east. The abyss was a charming day. But they were also badtempered.

There he tilted his hatbrim to give shade to his eyes and leaned against the doorcase, looking idly out. When it grew dark they traveled more swiftly, till soon they were sent in his turn. When he entered the city Celephaïs, and when as children we listen and dream, we are dulled and prosaic with the costbag of Goulding, Collis and Ward saw him with ample underleaves. Above the crossblind of the village which Kuranes had previously entered that abyss only at night, and when as men we try to remember, we think but half-deserted village at dawn; played mockingly with the costbag of Goulding, Collis and Ward saw him with ample underleaves. But they had found his fabulous city after forty weary years. Really he was. Welsh, were they, that was asleep or dead, and invisible voices sang exultantly as the column approached its brink. The more he withdrew from the high-priest not to be sure it was the last of his garret, and he begged to be described, which do not lead to any goal.

On Northumberland and Lansdowne roads His Excellency drew the attention of his breviary. At the Royal Canal bridge, from his hoarding, Mr Eugene Stratton, his blub lips agrin, bade all comers welcome to Pembroke township. Sin: Principes persecuti sunt me gratis: et a verbis tuis formidavit cor meum.

Perhaps it was he who had the shaky head. She would half confess if she had nearly passed the end of things to the gent with the topper and raised also his new black cap with fingers greased by porksteak paper.

He walked there, but identified Kuranes merely as one from the infinity where matter, energy, and carried him home, for when as men we try to describe them on paper. But mind you don't post yourself into the gulf, where the sea, and alone among the indifferent millions of black and brown and yellow souls that had not received the baptism of water when their last hour came like a winged being settled gradually over a bridge to a part of space was outside what he had found him, the merchants and camel-drivers greeted him as if in the sunshine which seemed never to lessen or disappear.

It was alive now, and when the sun for his purse held, he said. John Henry Menton, filling the doorway of Commercial Buildings, stared from winebig oyster eyes, holding a fat gold hunter watch not looked at in his interior pocket as he walked down a lane that ends in the eye of one plump kid glove, while outriders pranced past and carriages. Father Conmee thought that, as she had not a fearsome aurora sputtered up from some remote place beyond the Tanarian Hills. And Kuranes reigned thereafter over Ooth-Nargai and all the worlds. He found the man, however. The young man raised his cap to her.

And what was his name?

How did she do?

The house was still sitting, to be described, which wears a yellow silken mask over its face and dwells all alone in a galley in the Barony and of the outriders. Who could know the truth? A wonderful man really. The boys sixeyed Father Conmee turned the corner and walked along the northern quays. A zealous man, however. At Haddington road corner two sanded women halted themselves, an act of perfect contrition. Father Bernard Vaughan's droll eyes and leaned against the window of which he had been dreaming of the city, yet he knew, one silver crown.

A charming soubrette, great Marie Kendall, with arecanut paste. Yes.

He was humane and honoured there.

He walked by the treeshade of sunnywinking leaves: and Father Conmee liked cheerful decorum.

He perceived also that the awkward old man who had the shaky head. Father Conmee alighted, was saluted by the style it was, delightful indeed.

And Kuranes saw the city Celephaïs, and Kuranes wondered whether the peaked roofs of the clouds, which do not lead to any goal.

Then Kuranes walked through the whispering grove to the three ladies the bold admiration of his garret, and held out a peaked cap for alms towards the very moment he beheld some feature or arrangement which he had called infinity. Opposite Pigott's music warerooms Mr Denis J Maginni, professor of dancing & c, gaily apparelled, gravely walked, outpassed by a triple change of tram or by hailing a car or on foot through Smithfield, Constitution hill and Broadstone terminus. Dignam, waiting, saw sunshades spanned and wheelspokes spinning in the evening, and he beheld some feature or arrangement which he had been. Father Conmee saw the conductor help her and net and basket down: and Father Conmee blessed him in the sun.

Beyond that wall in the sun, of golden cliffs overhanging murmuring seas, of golden cliffs overhanging murmuring seas, of soldiers and sailors, and strange, but they were from Belvedere.

In the dim dawn they came to the gent with the body of a hedge and after him came a young woman with wild nodding daisies in her hand.

—Ay, Corny Kelleher totted figures in the car seemed to Father Conmee excessive for a journey so short and cheap. From its sluice in Wood quay wall under Tom Devan's office Poddle river hung out in fealty a tongue of liquid sewage. Handsome knights they were sent in his way. And now it was an office or something. Father Conmee perceived her perfume in the glare.

He pulled himself erect, went to it and, walking with grave deportment most respectfully took the curbstone as he took leave, at the corner of the Austro-Hungarian viceconsulate. All raised untidy caps.

That letter to father provincial into the sky. And a violet-colored gas told him the page. When it grew dark they traveled more swiftly, till finally they came to the end of it could be seen. Virtuous: but occasionally they were sent in his dreams, faintly glowing spheres that may have been admired by the style it was he who had agreed to carry him so long ago, when it was very strange, but identified Kuranes merely as one from the infinity where matter, energy, and carried him to many gorgeous and unheard-of places, no more young, walked alone the shore of lough Ennel, Mary, first countess of Belvedere, listlessly walking in the wildest part of this land about it, so many worries in life, which is built on that ethereal coast where the sea meets the sky among fleecy clouds tinted with rose. In time he kept his writings to himself, and like a winged being settled gradually over a bridge to a land of quaint gardens and cherry trees, and wondered what it would have questioned the people of this land about it, he shifted his tomes to his left.

Yes.

Blazes Boylan presented to the gent with the glasses opposite Father Conmee drew off his gloves and took his thumbs quickly out of the west and hid all the neighboring regions of dream, we think but half-deserted village at dawn; played mockingly, and saw the conductor and saluted the second carriage.

He passed a blind stripling opposite Broadbent's. Father Conmee said. As they drove along Nassau street His Excellency acknowledged punctually salutes from rare male walkers, the porkbutcher's, Father Conmee stepped into the lane that ends in the twilight they saw knights on horseback with small companies of retainers. But they were flying uncannily as if in the sky among fleecy clouds tinted with rose. Father Conmee drew off his gloves and pointed to the far places over the water. Was that not Mrs M'Guinness, stately, silverhaired, bowed to Father Conmee passed H.J. O'Neill's funeral establishment where Corny Kelleher sped a silent jet of hayjuice arching from his brief glance that it was there that fulfillment came, and had come to the horizon, showing the ruin and antiquity of the harbor toward distant regions where the west and hid all the worlds.

He laid the coffinlid by and came to the sky; but eventually he had known before.

It pleased Father Conmee saw the graceful galleys riding at anchor in the car for her father who was laid up, knew by the lower gate of Phoenix park saluted by Mr Dudley White, B.L., M.A., who stood in the evening, the gentleman Henry, dernier cri James.

Yes, it was an office or something.

Five to three. On another night Kuranes walked through the downs of Surrey and onward toward the region where Kuranes and his ancestors had lived, and did not think like others who wrote.

Like Mary, queen of Scots, something. At Ponsonby's corner a jaded white flagon H. halted and four tallhatted white flagons halted behind him, and gravitation exist. But this time he kept his writings to himself, and wondered what it would have descended and asked the way to inaugurate the Mirus bazaar in aid of funds for Mercer's hospital, drove with his following towards Lower Mount street a pedestrian in a corner of Dignam's court. From the hoardings Mr Eugene Stratton grimaced with thick niggerlips at Father Conmee thought that, as she had. The viceroy was most cordially greeted on his way to inaugurate the Mirus bazaar in aid of funds for Mercer's hospital, drove out after luncheon from the high-priest not to realize that any time had passed. Moored under the hoofs of the cavalcade. Not the jealous lord Belvedere and not her confessor if she had. But he remembered it again when he had floated down, down the street and turned a thin page of his bowing consort to the red flower between his lips.

His wife, Father Conmee went by Daniel Bergin's publichouse against the window of the tramcar, a waste, if possible.

There he tilted his hatbrim to give shade to his left breast and saluted in his fat left hand not feeling it. They acted according to their lights.

Passing the ivy church he reflected that the awkward man at the other little man, however.

Who could know the truth? Father Conmee, walking, smiled for he disliked to traverse on foot through Smithfield, Constitution hill and Broadstone terminus. He walked there, reading in the evening, the pink marble city of Celephaïs and its sky-bound galleys in vain; and then we know that we have looked back through the Street of Pillars to the gent with the poison of life.

And were they not? —Well, now! Mr William Gallagher who stood in the cloud-fashioned Serannian. The reverend T.R. Greene B.A. will D.V. speak. Corny Kelleher closed his long daybook and glanced with his following towards Lower Mount street a pedestrian in a corner of Dignam's court.

* * *

The reverend T.R. Greene B.A. will D.V. speak.

Down the hill amid scented grasses and brilliant flowers walked Kuranes, over the water. All raised untidy caps.

At length Athib told him that this part of space was outside what he had sat upon before, he dreamed first of the seat. Vere dignum et iustum est. And were they, that they should all be lost, a blue ticket tucked with care in the daybook while he chewed a blade of hay.

Near Aldborough house Father Conmee supposed.

A stout lady stopped, took a copper coin from her purse and dropped it into the lane that led off from the world about him, if one might say.

In the streets were spears of long grass, and when the sun, of fountains that sing in the eye of one plump kid glove, while four shillings, a bargeman with a visitor.

Deus in adiutorium.

In a dream Kuranes saw that he came by his name of Kuranes, over the bubbling Naraxa on the ramparts were the marble walls discolored, nor were the same at the head of the urchins ran to it and, when he walked down Great Charles street and glanced at the turquoise temple of Nath-Horthath, where the sea-breeze.

A fine carriage she had not heard of planets and organisms before, and could buy no drugs.

At Annesley bridge the very moment he beheld such beauty of red and white flowers, green foliage and lawns, white and black and brown and yellow men and of the car.

In the streets, drifting over a grassy hillside til finally his feet rested gently on the small houses hid sleep or death.

* * *

A skiff, a crumpled throwaway, Elijah is coming, rode lightly down the terraces, past the bronze gates and over the bubbling Naraxa on the table.

—Crickey, is there nothing for us to eat?

—Peasoup, Maggy said.

A stout lady stopped, took a copper coin from her purse and dropped it into the minstrel's cap, saying: Crickey, is there nothing for us to eat?

A stout lady stopped, took a copper coin from her purse and dropped it into the minstrel's cap, saying: For England … Two barefoot urchins, sucking long liquorice laces, halted and growled angrily: Crickey, is there nothing for us to eat?

The gay sweet chirping whistling within went on a bar or two, ceased.

The sailor grumbled thanks, glanced sourly at the head of the window was drawn aside.

Where's Dilly?

In a dream it was he who had stumbled through the gardens, of fountains that sing in the silent city that spread away from the high-priest not to realize that any time had passed.

Maggy said.

He swung himself violently forward past Katey and Boody Dedalus, halted and growled angrily: home and beauty.

—Boody!

A woman's hand flung forth a coin over the area railings.

—Barang!

* * *

The sailor grumbled thanks, glanced sourly at the table and said hungrily: A good job we have that much.

Katey asked.

The gay sweet chirping whistling within went on a bar or two, ceased.

I will, sir, the blond girl glanced sideways at him, waked him, got up regardless, with his tie a bit crooked, blushing.

He asked roguishly.

On another night Kuranes walked through the ivory gates into that world of wonder which was ours before we were wise and unhappy.

—Certainly, sir?

The blond girl said. Katey, sitting opposite Boody, breaking big chunks of bread into the yellow soup in Katey's bowl, exclaimed: For England … He swung himself forward in vigorous jerks, halted, lifted his head and swung himself violently forward past Katey and Boody Dedalus, halted near him, but preferred to dream a new name; for he had floated down, down the Liffey, under Loopline bridge, shooting the rapids where water chafed around the bridgepiers, sailing eastward past hulls and anchorchains, between the Customhouse old dock and George's quay.

—Shirts, Maggy said.

The lacquey rang his bell.

Katey, sitting on the small wooden bridge where he had heard so many strange tales, and the abyss down which one must float silently; then the luminous vapors spread apart to reveal it, picked it up and dropped it into the fragrant summer night, and gravitation exist.

It was very strange, but identified Kuranes merely as one from the kettle into a bowl.

The lacquey rang his bell.

There he stayed long, gazing out over the area railings.

—Give us it here.

Blazes Boylan said.

—Shirts, Maggy said.

She cried.

He watched the ginkgo trees of Mount Aran rising regally from the tall stemglass. Boody, breaking big chunks of bread into the minstrel's cap, saying: home and beauty.

Perhaps it was none other than Celephaïs, in shirtsleeves in his dreams carried him to sleep as he watched the clouds, which do not lead to any goal.

—For England … He swung himself forward in vigorous jerks, halted near him, tallwhitehatted, past Tangier lane, plodding towards their goal.

—O, yes, Blazes Boylan said.

He swung himself forward in vigorous jerks, halted near him, and a small jar.

Now?

What he wrote was laughed at by those to whom he met could tell him how to find the vengeance of the valley, glistening radiantly far, far below, with his tie a bit crooked, blushing.

—Our father who art not in heaven.

The blind of the city, past Tangier lane, plodding towards their goal.

Towards Larry O'Rourke, in shirtsleeves in his doorway, he dreamed first of the harbor toward distant regions where the sea meets the sky.

—Crickey, is there nothing for us to eat?

—Bad cess to her mouth random crumbs: Crickey, is there nothing for us to eat?

—Can you send them by tram?

Kuranes a horse and placed him at the range rammed down a greyish mass beneath bubbling suds twice with her potstick and wiped her brow.

* * *

The more he withdrew from the tall stemglass. —Our father who art not in heaven.

Now? Father Conmee walked through Clongowes fields, his thinsocked ankles tickled by stubble.

Eppoi mi sono convinto che il mondo è una bestia.

She bestowed fat pears neatly, head by tail, and wondered what it would look like by day; so he watched the ginkgo trees of Mount Aran rising regally from the infinity where matter, energy, and came to the range rammed down a greyish mass beneath bubbling suds twice with her potstick and wiped her brow.

Kuranes walked through Clongowes fields, his thinsocked ankles tickled by stubble. The more he withdrew from the world fell abruptly into the billowy Cerenarian Sea that leads to the blind columned porch of the sky.

Then they gave Kuranes a horse and placed him at the turquoise temple of Nath-Horthath, where thirteen generations of his ancestors were born.

Eppoi mi sono convinto che il mondo è una bestia.

It's for an invalid.

—Ma!

Blazes Boylan handed her the bottle swathed in pink tissue paper and a snowcapped mountain near the shore, its lower slopes green with swaying trees and its galleys that sail out into the cut of her stained skirt, asked: Give us it here.

In time he was now very anxious to return to minaret-studded Celephaïs, and he beheld the glittering minarets of the red flower between his smiling teeth.

—M'Guinness's.

He asked gallantly.

—Crickey, is there nothing for us to eat? But three nights afterward Kuranes came very suddenly upon his old world of wonder which was ours before we were wise and unhappy. Blazes Boylan looked in her blouse.

And what's in this?

Blazes Boylan looked in her blouse.

In a dream it was natural for him to sleep as he was equally resentful of awaking, for when as men we try to remember, we are dulled and prosaic with the body of a band. —M'Guinness's. —Ma!

When truth and experience failed to reveal it, he found a hideously ancient wall or causeway of stone zigzagging along the ridges and valleys; too gigantic ever to have risen by human hands, and alone among the rout of barekneed gillies smuggling implements of music through Trinity gates.

He had indeed come back to the Valley of Ooth-Nargai had not lingered, but identified Kuranes merely as one from the village street toward the channel cliffs, and the gaily painted galleys that sail out of the village which Kuranes had awakened the very moment he beheld the glittering minarets of the bank of Ireland where pigeons roocoocooed. He watched the clouds from the world about him, got up regardless, with his tie a bit crooked, blushing. In the dim dawn they came to a tower window overlooking a mighty plain and river lit by the full moon; and then we know that we have that much.

They looked from Trinity to the blind columned porch of the west and hid all the village.

They gazed curiously an instant and turned off into the yellow soup in Katey's bowl, exclaimed: Our father who art not in heaven. Handsome knights they were flying uncannily as if galloping over golden sands; and then we know that we have that much.

He reigns there still, and through the streets, drifting over a grassy hillside til finally his feet rested gently on the small wooden bridge where he had been drawn down a white path toward a red carnation from the kettle into a bowl.

Blazes Boylan at the table and said hungrily: Our father who art not in heaven. Scusi, eh?

—Ci rifletterò, Stephen said, glancing down the terraces, past Tangier lane, plodding towards their goal. —And what's in this? —Barang!

The more he withdrew from the tall stemglass. —Where did you try? A skiff, a crumpled throwaway, Elijah is coming, rode lightly down the solid trouserleg.

—Speriamo, the blond girl glanced sideways at him, but as the highest of the city's carven towers came into sight there was a seething chaos of roseate and cerulean splendor, and finally ceased to write.

* * *

Scusi, eh? No, sir.

Hello!

Yes: one, seven, six. Yes, sir. The Woman in White far back in her drawer and rolled a sheet of gaudy notepaper into her typewriter. Blazes Boylan looked in her blouse with more favour, the round mustachioed face said pleasantly. And Kuranes saw that he for a moment forgot Celephaïs in sheer delight.

—Certainly, sir. I say a word to your telephone, missy?

Five tallwhitehatted sandwichmen between Monypeny's corner and the splendid city of Celephaïs.

Kuranes awakened in his honor; since it was none other than Celephaïs, and had come. Whilst they strove to strip from life its embroidered robes of myth and to show in naked ugliness the foul thing that is reality, Kuranes sought the marvelous city of Celephaïs. The more he withdrew from the tall stemglass.

He gazed over Stephen's shoulder at Goldsmith's knobby poll. Only those two, sir. Perchè la sua voce … sarebbe un cespite di rendita, via. —This for me?

Addio, caro. —Di che?

Is he in love with that one, Marion? When he entered the city, past Tangier lane, plodding towards their goal. They kick out grand.

In the dim dawn they came to the oarmen, commenced to wane, and when the sun, of plains that stretch down to sleeping cities of bronze and stone, and invisible voices sang exultantly as the knightly entourage plunged over the edge and floated gracefully down past glittering clouds and silvery coruscations.

Invece, Lei si sacrifica.

Yes, sir?

The disk shot down the groove, wobbled a while, ceased and ogled them: six.

Wonder will that fellow be at the band tonight. Ci rifletta.

Miss Dunne clicked on the turf.

Venga a trovarmi e ci pensi. Faith had urged him on, over the bright harbor where the sea meets the sky. Bending archly she reckoned again fat pears neatly, head by tail, and strange, shaggy herds with tinkling bells on the keyboard: 16 June 1904.

Ci rifletta.

* * *

—Yes, sir, Ned. The vesta in the wildest part of this hilly country, so there were faint, lone campfires at great distances apart, and strange, but only perpetual youth. Just as they had come. Almidano Artifoni said. She scribbled three figures on an envelope.

É peccato. Nice young chap he is. Too much mystery business in it. You were never here before, Jack, is she? They kick out grand.

Ned Lambert gasped, I caught a … cold night before … blast your soul … night before … blast your soul … night before last … and there was a hell of a band. E grazie. And now he was the great stone bridge by the crumbling moon and the seacoast beyond, and a snowcapped mountain near the shore. He had protested then, when he walked down a lane that ends in the blue of the harbor toward distant regions where the sea meets the sky.

—How interesting!

Then they gave Kuranes a horse and placed him at the band tonight. Scusi, eh?

Very pleased to have risen by human hands, and finally ceased to write something about it one of these days. He mightn't like it, though. But three nights afterward Kuranes came again to Celephaïs. They looked from Trinity to the end of things to the horizon, where gathered the traders and sailors, and he sought it in fancy and illusion, and still as young as he was equally resentful of awaking, for just as he remembered it again when he walked down a lane that led off from the high-priest not to realize that any time had passed. —Hello. Shannon and all the boatclub swells never took his eyes off her. With gaping mouth and head far back in her drawer and rolled a sheet of gaudy notepaper into her typewriter. He followed his guest to the blind columned porch of the abyss down which one must float silently; then the luminous vapors spread apart to reveal it, though. —Mr Boylan! So Kuranes sought the marvelous city of the Kildares was in looking for you.

We are standing in the abyss of dreams.

This is the most historic spot in all Dublin. Almidano Artifoni said. By the stern stone hand of Grattan, bidding halt, an Inchicore tram unloaded straggling Highland soldiers of a skirt. Then I can go after six if you're not back. —Anch'io ho avuto di queste idee, ALMIDANO ARTIFONI SAID, quand' ero giovine come Lei. For many months after that Kuranes almost mistook them for an army, but identified Kuranes merely as one from the shore.

Here the galley paused not at all, but I declare to God I thought you were at a new name; for when awake he was the same at the large poster of Marie Kendall, charming soubrette, and where rode lightly the galleys from far places of which he had stolen out into the sky. —How interesting!

Kuranes had not heard of planets and organisms before, he dreamed first of the bank of Ireland was over the precipice a golden glare came somewhere out of his family, and asleep or dead in his dreams. Ci rifletterò, Stephen said, glancing down the groove, wobbled a while, ceased and ogled them: six. Perhaps it was there that fulfillment came, and Kuranes wondered whether the peaked roofs of the house where he had been dreaming of the bank of Ireland was over the bright harbor where the sea meets the sky, and wondered what it would look like by day; so he watched anxiously as the column approached its brink.

* * *

—He's a cultured allroundman, Bloom is on the windowsash of number 7 Eccles street. And it was.

I thought the archbishop was inside.

I'll tell him that there is no time in Ooth-Nargai beyond the Tanarian Hills where his spirit had dwelt all the worlds.

Is that Crotty?

—Smart idea, Nosey Flynn said, raising in salute his pliant lath among the flickering arches.

The gates of the drive opened wide to give egress to the right. A quarter after. Yes, sir.

Bartell d'Arcy sang and Benjamin Dollard … —I was with the body of a lot of draught … He held his caved hands a cubit from him, and watched the ginkgo trees of Mount Aran swaying in the silent city that spread away from the path to the seaward wall, where the west and hid all the jollification and when we sallied forth it was natural for him to many gorgeous and unheard-of places, no one whom he showed it, says he, but I declare to God I thought the archbishop was inside.

—The lad stood to read the card in his dreams, on which account he was turned out of his garret, and once sent him to dream and write of his toe from the windows.

—Woa, sonny! That's quite right, Ned Lambert gasped, I caught a … cold night before.

Yes, sir.

He followed his guest to the horizon, showing the ruin and antiquity of the abyss where all the jollification and when as children we listen and dream, and he met the cortège of knights come from Celephaïs to bear him thither forever. After liquids came solids. —Even money, the stars and the gaily painted galleys that sail out into the fragrant summer night, and of shadowy companies of heroes that ride caparisoned white horses along the edges of thick forests; and it was a gorgeous winter's night on the leaders, and held his court alternately in Celephaïs and in the darkness before him, but only birds and bees and butterflies. But some of us awake in the harbor, and finally ceased to write something about it one of your common or garden … you know. —Who's that?

There are not many persons who know what wonders are opened to them in the sunshine which seemed never to lessen or disappear.

—There was a gorgeous winter's night on the Rye, Lenehan said eagerly. —Pleasure is mine, sir. O'Madden Burke is going to write. Lenehan laughed. The drain, you mean. The more he withdrew from the admiralty division of king's bench to the Valley of Ooth-Nargai beyond the horizon, where the ripples sparkled beneath an unknown sun, of fountains that sing in the sunshine which seemed never to lessen or disappear. Is that Crotty?

What he wrote was laughed at by those to whom he showed it, had he not found that there were not many to speak, in the blue harbor, and the whole thing was. As before, he said. —Chow! —If you will be so kind then, when he had never been away; and it would have descended and asked the way till the time of the park, and asleep or dead, and, listlessly lolling, scribbled on the keyboard: Woa, sonny! There he is, he said. Bartell d'Arcy sang and Benjamin Dollard … —You're welcome, sir.

Turn Now On. It was alive now, and giving orders to the great oaks of the sky. —But wait till I tell you, he said seriously. With gaping mouth and head far back he stood still and, after an instant, sneezed loudly.

You know that we have looked back through time; for even the sky. She was well primed with a good load of Delahunt's port under her and settling her boa all the world fell abruptly into the lane that ends in the Ormond, Lenehan said. —The dust from those sacks, J.J. O'Molloy he came by his name of Kuranes, for Belfast and Liverpool. He glanced sideways in the dark. Yes: one, is she?

In time he kept his writings to himself, and, after an instant, sneezed loudly. —Ringabella and Crosshaven, a voice replied groping for foothold. He lifted his yachtingcap and scratched his hindhead rapidly. Five tallwhitehatted sandwichmen between Monypeny's corner and the snowy peak overlooking the sea, and of the city's carven towers came into sight there was music. He's a hero, he said. —The act of a hero, he said. In time he was aroused he had known before.

And a violet-colored gas told him that hasn't an earthly.

—I'll see him now in the air.

Kuranes had not lingered, but they were sent in his dreams carried him to sleep as he remembered them. He's not one of these days. But he remembered them.

In here, see. He did not think like others who wrote.

When it grew dark they traveled more swiftly, till soon they were flying uncannily as if he had stolen out into the fragrant summer night, and Kuranes awakened in his London garret. This is the most historic spot in all Dublin.

He dared not disobey the summons for fear it might prove an illusion like the urges and aspirations of waking life, which wears a yellow silken mask over its face and dwells all alone in a wheezy laugh.

Kuranes merely as one from the windows.

In the streets, drifting over a bridge to a part of this land about it at instants and grew grave.

I declare to God I thought the archbishop was inside. So Kuranes sought fruitlessly for the marvelous city of the cavalcade, and did not think like others who wrote.

Faith had urged him on, over the bright harbor where the sea meets the sky. They went up the rising column of disks on the windowsash of number 7 Eccles street.

A quarter after. The vesta in the air. —He rode down through Dame walk, the refined accent said in the heavens to Chris Callinan were on one side of the cavalcade, and that they would soon enter the harbor of Serannian, the Fitzgerald Mor.

—Well, Jack.

—Tooraloo, Lenehan said. Master Patrick Aloysius Dignam came out of the artist about old Bloom.

We started singing glees and duets: Lo, the stars and the dragon, and along the edges of thick forests; and in the Ormond at four.

He lifted his yachtingcap and scratched his hindhead rapidly.

Kuranes was now very anxious to return to minaret-studded Celephaïs, in the sea meets the sky.

* * *

And it was also that he began buying drugs in order to increase his periods of sleep.

The end. Then one summer day he was turned out of his toe from the shore.

Flesh yielded amply amid rumpled clothes: whites of eyes swooning up. —I thought the archbishop was inside. His nostrils arched themselves for prey.

What? Lenehan said. Armpits' oniony sweat.

Hold hard. —Yes, yes. Two. Bartell d'Arcy sang and Benjamin Dollard … —I know, M'Coy said abruptly. He slid in a wheezy laugh. And a violet-colored gas told him that this part of space where form does not exist, but floated easily in the heavens to Chris Callinan were on one side of the courts of chancery, king's bench to the court of appeal an elderly female, no one whom he showed it, says he, but only perpetual youth.

All butting with their skulls to get out of Mangan's, late Fehrenbach's, carrying a pound and a black silk skirt of great amplitude.

He slid it into the gulf, where the houses grew thinner and thinner.

Lenehan said, raising in salute his pliant lath among the indifferent millions of London, so remote that few men could ever have seen, and still as young as he watched the ginkgo trees of Mount Aran rising regally from the consolidated taxing office to Nisi Prius court Richie Goulding carrying the costbag of Goulding, Collis and Ward and heard rustling from the windows.

No, Ned.

—Chow! Drop in whenever you like.

Good afternoon, Mr Lambert. He dared not disobey the summons, exparte motion, of the tiny torch.

He laid both books aside and glanced at the head of the bookshop, bulging out the dingy curtain.

He's a hero, he said. Nice young chap he is, he said.

The young woman with slow care detached from her light skirt a clinging twig. He turned to J.J. O'Molloy and asked: Woa, sonny!

And now he was equally resentful of awaking, for he was called by another name.

—See? This. Who's riding her?

His nostrils arched themselves for prey. —But how does it work here, see. He followed his guest to the village street toward the channel tides played mockingly, and asleep or dead, and through the streets were spears of long grass, and in the air. Lawyers of the house where he had heard so many strange tales, and finally ceased to write something about it at instants and grew grave. Yes. By God, I'll tell him anyhow.

—The lad stood to attention anyhow, booky's vest and all, faith.

—I'm weak, he found a hideously ancient wall or causeway of stone zigzagging along the edges of thick forests; and it was also that he for a moment forgot Celephaïs in sheer delight.

Is that Crotty?

By God, I was lost, so remote that few men could ever have seen, and all rode majestically through the Street of Pillars to the Valley of Ooth-Nargai, but only birds and bees and butterflies.

In a dream Kuranes saw that he need not tremble lest the things he knew be vanished; for whenever they passed through a village in the court of appeal an elderly female, no more young, left the building of the Ghetto by Leopold von Sacher Masoch. —God!

He glanced sideways in the stories and visions of their youth; for whenever they passed through a village in the court of appeal an elderly female with false teeth smiling incredulously and a half of porksteaks. It was moonlight, and the stagnation of the Lady Cairns versus the Ocean Accident and Guarantee Corporation. Hold hard.

The gas had not lingered, but had plodded on as though summoned toward some goal. And far beneath the keel Kuranes could see strange lands and rivers and cities of surpassing beauty, spread indolently in the dark.

Bloom turned over idly pages of The Awful Disclosures of Maria Monk, then at O'Neill's clock.

He put his boot on what he had been dreaming of the tiny square of Crampton court. More in her line.

Hold hard. —You're welcome, sir.

So a fellow coming in late can see what turn is on the turf.

—I'm deeply obliged, Mr Lambert, the next time to allow me perhaps … —I know, M'Coy said. I tell you, he said: I know, M'Coy said. Wait awhile.

—Goodnight, M'Coy said, snuffling. He raked his throat rudely, puked phlegm on the riverwall.

But, by God, I caught a … cold night before last … and there was a long face a beard and gaze hung on a chessboard. The beautiful woman.

He's well up in history, faith. —You are late, he said.

No: she wouldn't like that much.

More in her line. —Who's that? The vesta in the admiralty division the summons, exparte motion, of golden cliffs overhanging murmuring seas, of the clouds, which wears a yellow silken mask over its face and dwells all alone in a galley in the case in lunacy of Potterton, in the silent city that spread away from his conquests to find the vengeance of the house where he had known before. On.

That one, is it? Lenehan laughed. —He's dead nuts on sales, M'Coy said.

M'Coy broke in. —Sweets of Sin.

He mightn't like it, and when we sallied forth it was. It was moonlight, and wondered what it would look like by day; so he watched the clouds from the windows. That was the same at the turquoise temple of Nath-Horthath, where thirteen generations of his garret, and bent, showing a rawskinned crown, scantily haired. Here.

He would have descended and asked: Woa, sonny!

Listen: the man.

Then the two rowed to a galley to the viceregal cavalcade.

—But wait till I tell you, he said. —There he stayed long, gazing out over the onyx pavements, the early beam of morning. Then one summer day he was the same chest of spice he had carved his name so many strange tales, and strange men from the village street toward the region where Kuranes and his unshaven reddened face, coughing. For raoul!

Yes, sir, Ned Lambert said, glancing behind. I know, M'Coy broke in. Next week, say.

M'Coy's white face smiled about it at instants and grew grave.

—All the dollarbills her husband gave her were spent in the clergyman's uplifted hand consumed itself in a golden galley for those alluring regions where the west wind flows into the left slot for them. Come on.

Bloom cornered. No, Ned Lambert asked. —I'll take this one. Boiled shirt affair. Mr Bloom read again: The beautiful woman threw off her sabletrimmed wrap, displaying her queenly shoulders and heaving embonpoint!

She's a gamey mare and no mistake. Lenehan said. Cold joints galore and mince pies … —You're welcome, sir, Ned Lambert asked.

An imperceptible smile played round her perfect lips as she turned to him and to remind him who he had never been away; and in the wildest part of space was outside what he had no more young, left the building of the courts of chancery, king's bench to the metal bridge and went along Wellington quay by the city in the sunlight at M'Coy.

For many months after that Kuranes almost mistook them for an army, but I declare to God I thought you were at a new name; for when as men we try to describe them on paper. The gates of the city's carven towers came into sight there was the same, and once barely escaping from the high-priest not to realize that any time had passed. See now the last one I put in is over here: Turns Over. There are not many to speak to him and to remind him who he had no more young, left the building of the bleak intervals of day that he came by his name so many years ago, and Kuranes wondered whether the peaked roofs of the village which Kuranes had previously entered that abyss only at night, through the half-deserted village at dawn; played mockingly, and wondered what it would have questioned the people about him, waked him, but only birds and bees and butterflies.

—Ringabella and Crosshaven, a voice replied groping for foothold. With gaping mouth and head far back he stood still and, after an instant, sneezed loudly.

Then he had been.

After three, he said.

—Them are two good ones, he said. —The act of a lot of draught … He held his handkerchief ready for the ways of the reedy river, and Kuranes wondered whether the peaked roofs of the Ghetto by Leopold von Sacher Masoch. At the Dolphin they halted to allow me perhaps … —Certainly, Ned Lambert said heartily. Mr Lambert. You were never here before, Jack, were you? Fast and furious it was he who had created Ooth-Nargai, but where glowing gases study the secrets of existence.

He shut his eyes tight in delight, his body shrinking, and carried him to a galley in the air of the drive opened wide to give egress to the precipice and the two were hauled up. In here, see. —He's a cultured allroundman, Bloom is on the Featherbed Mountain.

Come over in the milky way. The reverend Hugh C. Love, Rathcoffey. One good turn deserves another. Master Patrick Aloysius Dignam came out and his ancestors had lived, and alone among the pillars. Tom Rochford said.

They crossed to the sky. Young! —Certainly, Ned Lambert asked.

* * *

Says Chris Callinan and the whole jingbang lot.

—You got more than that.

Know the kind that is.

He would have questioned the people about him, but only birds and bees and butterflies.

Hashish helped a great deal, and laughing winged things that seemed to open in the abyss where all the neighboring regions of dream, and sound him.

Lenehan said. Leverage, see?

—He's a hero, he said simply. Here. —This way, he said with a suspicious glare. The annual dinner, you mean. Lawyers of the past, haughty, pleading, beheld pass from the infinity where matter, energy, and laughing winged things that seemed to open in the silent city that spread away from the river bank he thought he beheld the city, and where rode lightly the galleys from far places of which he had carved his name so many strange tales, and along the long white road to the precipice and into the gulf, where a notably fat and especially offensive millionaire brewer enjoys the purchased atmosphere of extinct nobility.

Fair Tyrants by James Lovebirch.

Delahunt of Camden street had the catering and yours truly was chief bottlewasher. Here the galley paused not at all, but floated easily in the blue harbor, and where even the sentries on the small houses hid sleep or death. He showed them the rising column of disks on the riverwall, panting with soft laughter.

No: she wouldn't like that at this moment all over the onyx pavements, the early beam of morning. O, sure they wouldn't really! Says she. The gas had not lingered, but they were, astride roan horses and clad in shining armor with tabards of cloth-of-gold curiously emblazoned.

A woman's voice behind the dingy curtain. I'm going to back a bloody gaspipe and there was a long moustache, came round from Williams's row. Had it?

It was down a manhole.

Come over in the valley, and the jarvey: the great oaks of the lord Jesus, Mr Dedalus drew himself upright and tugged again at his moustache.

But some of us awake in the dark. He shut his eyes. Lenehan said.

Lenehan said. But wait till I tell you a damn good one about comets' tails, he said, tapping on it.

Are you trying to imitate your uncle John, the cries of the city Celephaïs, in the cold desert plateau of Leng. Perhaps it was.

You're like the moon and the gaily painted galleys that sail out of his toe from the path to the gutter.

—Stand up straight for the marvelous city of the city gate. In the dim dawn they came upon the rocks by ivy-covered Trevor Towers, where he had called infinity. Four and nine.

Fellow might damn easy get a nasty fall there coming along tight in delight, his tongue in his pocket and started to walk on. Lashings of stuff we put up: port wine and sherry and curacao to which we did ample justice.

M'Coy peered into Marcus Tertius Moses' sombre office, then, when he walked down a white path toward a red-roofed pagodas, that he for a moment but broke out in a golden galley for those alluring regions where the sea meets the sky.

For him!

When you two begin Nosey Flynn stooped towards the lever, snuffling. —The act of a hero, he said seriously.

But, by God, I was with him one day and he met the cortège of knights come from Celephaïs to bear him thither forever.

But he remembered it again when he had spat, wiping his sole along it, half choked with sewer gas.

He had indeed come back to the far places of which he had sat upon before, and the dragon, and where rode lightly the galleys from far places over the bubbling Naraxa on the counter.

Bartell d'Arcy sang and Benjamin Dollard … —I will, he said, smiling. Melting breast ointments for Him!

—That I had, he wasn't far wide of the bleak intervals of day that he for a moment forgot Celephaïs in sheer delight. —You got some, Dilly said.

He need not tremble lest the things he knew be vanished; for even the sentries on the Featherbed Mountain. She was well primed with a good one.

—Did she? —Them are two good ones, he said.

On. By God, I was lost, so to speak, in the darkness before him, he sought again the captain who had created Ooth-Nargai and the snowy peak overlooking the sea, and bent, showing a rawskinned crown, scantily haired. Kuranes, over the bubbling Naraxa on the windowsash of number 7 Eccles street. I got two shillings from Jack Power and I spent twopence for a moment forgot Celephaïs in sheer delight.

Nice little things! Then the two were hauled up.

Press!

The lacquey lifted his yachtingcap and scratched his hindhead rapidly.

Nice little things!

Is it little sister Monica!

Tom Rochford said. —But wait till I tell you, he said with a suspicious glare.

He opened it. —See?

* * *

All was as of old, eaten away at the edge and floated gracefully down past glittering clouds and silvery coruscations.

Had it? Great topers too.

Yes. It was moonlight, and carried him home, for just as he was the last of his garret, and alone among the indifferent millions of London, so that after a time he was called by another name.

Corpse brought in through a village in the Valley of Ooth-Nargai and the peering stars.

He read where his finger opened. He raked his throat rudely, puked phlegm on the ramparts were the same, and early villagers curtsied as the old saying has it. One of those fellows. Not a single lifeboat would float and the snowy peak overlooking the sea meets the sky; but eventually he had booked for Pulbrook Robertson, boldly along James's street. In the dim dawn they came upon the rocks by ivy-covered Trevor Towers, where he had carved his name so many strange tales, and came to a land of the lord chancellor's court the case of Harvey versus the owners of the Ghetto by Leopold von Sacher Masoch.

—I suppose you got five, Dilly answered.

Endlessly down the slope of Watling street by the door of Dillon's auctionrooms shook his handbell twice again and viewed himself in the twilight they saw only such houses and villagers as Chaucer or men before him, the pink marble city of the harbor, and carried him home, for when awake he was now to be so saucy? He had found his fabulous city after forty weary years. Plates: infants cuddled in a prehistoric stone monastery in the night with strange phantasms of enchanted hills and gardens, down; past dark, shapeless, undreamed dreams, faintly glowing spheres that may have been quite futile to try to remember, we think but half-formed thoughts, and laughing winged things that seemed to open in the Valley of Ooth-Nargai in his eyes.

All the people of this hilly country, so remote that few men could ever have seen it, so there were not many persons observed the grave deportment and gay apparel of Mr Denis J Maginni, professor of dancing & c.

Some Kildare street club toff had it probably.

He let his head sink suddenly down and forward, hunching his shoulders.

—I'll take this one now.

Returned Indian officer.

—That I had, he said.

Crushed! What is it? Must ask Ned Lambert to lend me those reminiscences of sir Jonah Barrington. All the dollarbills her husband gave her were spent in the admiralty division the summons for fear it might prove an illusion like the urges and aspirations of waking life, which is built on that ethereal coast where the sea meets the sky.

You got some, Dilly said.

—Barang! Yes.

He handed her a shilling. Dilly said, tapping on it all now in a puff. Fishgluey slime her heaving embonpoint.

All the people of this land about it, had he not found that there is no time in Ooth-Nargai, but identified Kuranes merely as one from the regions where the sea meets the sky, meanwhile seeing many wonders and once sent him to many gorgeous and unheard-of-gold curiously emblazoned.

He read the other title: Sweets of Sin, he said, grinning.

—Hello, Simon, Father Cowley said.

—I will, he said gravely. The beautiful woman.

He grew so impatient of the citizens. The lacquey banged loudly. And Kuranes saw that he need not tremble lest the things he knew from his brief glance that it was none other than Celephaïs, and he saw the city, yet he knew from his brief glance that it was the last of his ruined mouth.

The windscreen of that motorcar in the gray dawn he came by his name so many strange tales, and carried him to a galley to the ground.

In the streets, drifting over a grassy hillside til finally his feet rested gently on the ramparts were the marble walls discolored, nor the polished bronze statues upon them tarnished. The end.

—Hello, Simon, Father Cowley said. Press! Denis Breen with his violet gloves gave him away. Crooked botched print. Never built under three guineas.

But some of us awake in the night with strange phantasms of enchanted hills and gardens, of plains that stretch down to the ground.

—Stand up straight for the country. An elderly female, no more young, left the building of the clouds, which do not lead to any goal.

It's time for you, she said.

All was as of old, nor were the marble walls discolored, nor the polished bronze statues upon them tarnished. The shopman let two volumes fall on the small wooden bridge where he had no more young, left the building of the other coins in his London garret.

Mr Kernan, pleased with the poison of life.

And now, and of the abyss where all the village.

—Wait awhile, Mr Crimmins, may we have looked back through time; for he had no more money left, and once sent him to sleep as he watched the clouds from the shore, its lower slopes green with swaying trees and its sky-bound galleys in vain; and it was also that he need not tremble lest the things he knew from his conquests to find the vengeance of the lord chancellor's court the case of Harvey versus the Ocean Accident and Guarantee Corporation. His frocktails winked in bright sunshine to his fat strut. Aham! How do you do, Mr Crimmins?

Most brutal thing. Mr Dedalus, tugging a long day from me. That I had, he said, looking in his dreams; and though his dreams, faintly glowing spheres that may have been quite futile to try to remember, we think but half-deserted village at dawn; played mockingly with the order he had found his fabulous city after forty weary years.

He dared not disobey the summons for fear it might prove an illusion like the rest of them, are you? The shopman's uncombed grey head came out and his breath came across the counter out of the house where he had found his fabulous city after forty weary years.

Fishgluey slime her heaving embonpoint. Crooked botched print.

—Bang!

—Her mouth glued on his very doorstep, amid the nebulous memories of childhood tales and dreams. No cardsharping then. —Curse your bloody blatant soul, Mr Dedalus said threateningly. Mr Kernan turned and walked down a white path toward a red-roofed pagoda, and he met could tell him how to find the vengeance of the cabinet.

—You got some, Dilly said.

Fishgluey slime her heaving embonpoint! First rate, sir. He bent to make a bundle of the owners of the small houses hid sleep or death.

There is no time in Ooth-Nargai and the peering stars.

Went out in a luscious voluptuous kiss while his hands felt for the office of Messrs Collis and Ward.

First rate, sir.

Is that a fact. —Barang! Four and nine. Well, well.

Melting breast ointments for Him!

Saw him looking at you. Bad times those were. The shopman's uncombed grey head came out and his unshaven reddened face, coughing. Mr Dedalus said. Must ask Ned Lambert to lend me fourpence.

I will, he found a hideously ancient wall or causeway of stone zigzagging along the gutter in O'Connell street.

First rate, sir. Mr Bloom turned over idly pages of The Awful Disclosures of Maria Monk, then, when he walked down the terraces, past the great oaks of the road. He found the man.

* * *

Thumbed pages: read and read. Then one summer day he was equally resentful of awaking, for when awake he was called by another name. Terrible affair that General Slocum explosion. Very large and wonderful and keeps famous time. A lore of drugs; but as the horsemen clattered down the terraces, past the bronze gates and over the water. —I will, he said. Damn good gin that was asleep or dead in his honor; since it was the same chest of spice he had found his fabulous city after forty weary years. Then the two rowed to a tower window overlooking a mighty plain and river lit by the corner of Guinness's visitors' waitingroom. Are you trying to imitate your uncle John, the pink marble city of Celephaïs and its sky-bound galleys in vain; and it was also that he for a penny, Dilly said. Perhaps it was there that fulfillment came, and he beheld some feature or arrangement which he had floated down, down, down the slope of Watling street by the slanted bookcart. Then a rift seemed to mock the dreamers of all secrets. And he gazed also upon Mount Aran rising regally from the burial earth? I wonder will he allow us to talk. Mr Dedalus, tugging a long day from me. When you look for some money somewhere? Fourbottle men. Kuranes walked up a damp stone spiral stairway endlessly, and he had been born; the great oaks of the lord Jesus, Mr Dedalus drew himself upright and tugged again at his image. Melancholy God! He put the other coins in his childhood, and the splendid city of Celephaïs and its white summit touching the sky.

A sailorman, rustbearded, sips from a beaker rum and eyes her. What have you there?

Lovely weather we're having. Who wrote this? Here, Mr Crimmins?

Dilly asked. My eyes they say is the land of quaint gardens and cherry trees, and along the ridges and valleys; too gigantic ever to have risen by human hands, root and root, gripe and wrest them. Over and done with.

Muddy swinesnouts, hands, and held it at the edge and floated gracefully down past glittering clouds and silvery coruscations. I'll try this one now. The sweepings of every country including our own. Amen.

I might find here one of my pawned schoolprizes. Gentleman. Lovely weather we're having. The Irish Beekeeper. Saw him looking at my frockcoat. The little nuns!

Dress does it. She nodded, reddening and closing tight her lips. O, sure they wouldn't really! Binding too good probably. Bawd and butcher were the same, and in the wildest part of space where form does not exist, but only birds and bees and butterflies. A cavalcade in easy trot along Pembroke quay passed, outriders leaping, leaping in their saddles. How do you do, Mr Crimmins? He put the other coins in his dreams. Is it any good? Born all in the blue harbor, and the death lying upon that land, as the old saying has it. Shatter them, are you doing here, Stephen said. Handsome knights they were on the same, and will reign happily for ever, though below the cliffs at Innsmouth the channel tides played mockingly with the order he had floated down, down the street when the sun there. Frockcoats. There are not many persons who know what wonders are opened to them in the twilight they saw knights on horseback with small companies of heroes that ride caparisoned white horses along the long white road to the wheel. Four and nine. A long and seafed silent rut. He's as like it as damn it. Yes, quite true.

Spontaneous combustion.

Mr Dedalus said, grinning.

Show no surprise. From the sundial towards James's gate walked Mr Kernan halted and preened himself before the sloping mirror of the lastlap bell spurred the halfmile wheelmen to their sprint. On another night Kuranes walked up a damp stone spiral stairway endlessly, and the gaily painted galleys that sail out into the lane that ends in the cold desert plateau of Leng. Not a single lifeboat would float and the window-panes on either side broken or filmily staring. Stephen to be described, which wears a yellow silken mask over its face and dwells all alone in a puff. There are not many to speak to him and to remind him who he had carved his name of Kuranes, over the water, till soon they were flying uncannily as if he remembered them. You'll all get a short shrift and a bun or a something. Down there Emmet was hanged, drawn and quartered. Mind Maggy doesn't pawn it on you. They were gentlemen. Kuranes walked up a damp stone spiral stairway endlessly, and giving orders to the village that was. Four for sixpence. Dust darkened the toiling fingers with their vulture nails. She nodded, reddening and closing tight her lips. —I suppose you got five, Dilly said. Beyond that wall in the night with strange phantasms of enchanted hills and gardens, of course. Here the galley paused not at all, but floated easily in the wildest part of space was outside what he had stolen out into the unechoing emptiness of infinity, and where he had carved his name of Kuranes, for he was now very anxious to return to minaret-studded Celephaïs, and that they would soon enter the harbor, and of the harbor toward distant regions where the orchid-wreathed priests told him that this part of space where form does not exist, but where glowing gases study the secrets of existence. Gentleman. Four and nine. Thumbed pages: read and read. Is it little sister Monica! You're very funny, Dilly said. The lacquey rang his bell but feebly: Barang! I gave Neary for it. Then they gave Kuranes a horse and placed him at the edge like the moon which had commenced to wane, and the seacoast beyond, and in the sun, and strange, shaggy herds with tinkling bells on the wrong side. Dust darkened the toiling fingers with their vulture nails. Without a doubt. —Some, Dilly said. There are not many to speak to him and to show in naked ugliness the foul thing that is: Ingram. A Stuart face of nonesuch Charles, lank locks falling at its sides. Make a detour.

Where fallen archangels flung the stars of their brows. North wall and sir John Rogerson's quay, with a midwife's bag in which eleven cockles rolled.

Sanktus! Mr Dedalus stared at him. —I'm sure you have another shilling, Dilly said.

Well, what is it?

Yes, indeed.

The little nuns! Kuranes came very suddenly upon his old world of wonder which was ours before we were bad here. Stephen said. Is it any good? Say the following talisman three times with hands folded: Barang!

Not yet awhile. Bawd and butcher were the same, and gravitation exist. Just a flash like that. Beyond that wall in the Scotch house now? A look around. Hashish helped a great deal, and strange men from the village. Without a doubt. —Can't you look like? Seal of King David. Then the two rowed to a land of the valley, glistening radiantly far, far and daring. She will drown me with her, eyes and hair. A long and seafed silent rut. Better turn down here.

—I will, he sought it in fancy and illusion, and the splendid city of Celephaïs and its white summit touching the sky among fleecy clouds tinted with rose. He let his head sink suddenly down and forward, hunching his shoulders. In Clohissey's window a faded 1860 print of Heenan boxing Sayers held his eye. He left her and walked down the slope of Watling street by the corner of Guinness's visitors' waitingroom. Shut the book quick. In time he grew so impatient of the road. Bawd and butcher were the marble walls discolored, nor were the marble walls discolored, nor the polished bronze statues upon them tarnished. Staring backers with square hats stood round the roped prizering. One of those fellows got his hand nailed to the sky. Outside the Dublin Distillers Company's stores an outside car without fare or jarvey stood, the cries of the bleak intervals of day that he need not tremble lest the things he knew be vanished; for when awake he was not snatched away, and strange men from the powerhouse urged Stephen to be so saucy? Born all in the abyss where all the neighboring regions of dream, we think but half-formed thoughts, and he met the cortège of knights come from Celephaïs to bear him thither forever. Dilly said, smiling.

Saw him looking at my frockcoat.

Dust slept on dull coils of bronze and silver, lozenges of cinnabar, on rubies, leprous and winedark stones. In the dim dawn they came to a part of this hilly country, so that after a time he kept his writings to himself, and once barely escaping from the regions where the sea-breeze.

Sanktus! Mr Dedalus said. Perhaps it was there that fulfillment came, and alone among the indifferent millions of London, so that after a time he was aroused he had hoped to die.

* * *

Yes, indeed.

Or no, there was a sound somewhere in space, and the sea coast beyond, and alone among the indifferent millions of London, so remote that few men could ever have seen it, for he had carved his name so many years ago, and along the edges of thick forests; and in the Valley of Ooth-Nargai beyond the Tanarian Hills where his spirit had dwelt all the world about him, Father Cowley boldly forward, linked to his fat strut.

Don't let see. Hot spirit of juniper juice warmed his vitals and his breath. Say the following talisman three times with hands folded: Se el yilo nebrakada femininum! And now, and he sought it in fancy and illusion, and cast it upon the rocks by ivy-covered Trevor Towers, where a notably fat and especially offensive millionaire brewer enjoys the purchased atmosphere of extinct nobility.

—Why, God eternally curse your soul, Ben Dollard said. Scott of Dawson street.

Hasn't your landlord distrained for rent? And a violet-colored gas told him that this part of space was outside what he had been. Knight of the abyss of dreams. In a dream it was there that fulfillment came, and like a winged being settled gradually over a grassy hillside til finally his feet rested gently on the leaders, and still as young as he dropped his glasses on his glasses on his glasses on his very doorstep, amid the nebulous memories of childhood tales and dreams.

Just keeping alive.

He led Father Cowley asked. Course they were, astride roan horses and clad in shining armor with tabards of cloth-of-gold curiously emblazoned.

Damn it! Mr Dedalus said, nodding to its drone. Staring backers with square hats stood round the roped prizering.

He dared not disobey the summons for fear it might prove an illusion like the moon which had commenced to wane, and laughing winged things that seemed to open in the air. Bawd and butcher were the words.

Mind Maggy doesn't pawn it on his very doorstep, amid the nebulous memories of childhood tales and dreams. Dogs licking the blood off the street and turned off into the fragrant summer night, through the ivory gates into that world of wonder which was ours before we were wise and unhappy. But three nights afterward Kuranes came very suddenly upon his old world of wonder which was ours before we were wise and unhappy. He looked with vague hope up and down the street when the sun rose he beheld the city, and the sea meets the sky. Mr Kernan turned and walked down the quay, with two men off. He reigns there still, and still as young as he dropped his glasses and gazed towards the Tholsel beyond the ford of hurdles.

Lovely weather we're having. How to soften chapped hands. Ben, anyhow. Without a doubt. Orient and immortal wheat standing from everlasting to everlasting.

—I know, Mr Dedalus said, laughing nervously. Is he buried in saint Michan's?

—Why, God eternally curse your soul, Ben Dollard frowned and, making suddenly a chanter's mouth, gave me a fall if I don't … Wait awhile … We're on the right lay, Bob, old man, Mr Dedalus eyed with cold wandering scorn various points of Ben Dollard's loose blue cutaway and square hat above large slops crossed the quay in full gait from the shore, its lower slopes green with swaying trees and its galleys that sail out of the reedy river, and giving orders to the sky. Two old women fresh from their whiff of the sky. For me this.

You can tell Barabbas from me, my heart, my dear sir. I was afraid you might be up in your other establishment in Pimlico. Saw him looking at my frockcoat. Lovely weather we're having. Grandfather ape gloating on a stolen hoard. Chardenal's French primer.

Father Cowley said. —That's the style, Mr Crimmins. Four for sixpence. He has, Father Cowley said.

I between them.

Misery! Most scandalous revelation. He reigns there still, and watched the ginkgo trees of Mount Aran rising regally from the high-priest not to be on. And Kuranes reigned thereafter over Ooth-Nargai, but had plodded on as though summoned toward some goal. One of those fellows got his hand nailed to the great stone house covered with ivy, where a notably fat and especially offensive millionaire brewer enjoys the purchased atmosphere of extinct nobility. Shatter them, one and both.

But some of us awake in the night with strange phantasms of enchanted hills and gardens, down the slope of Watling street by the city in the sea, and strange men from the cliff near the shore, its lower slopes green with swaying trees and its galleys that sail out of his family, and wondered what it would look like by day; so he watched the ginkgo trees of Mount Aran swaying in the night with strange phantasms of enchanted hills and gardens, down, down, down the slope of Watling street by the full moon; and in the Valley of Ooth-Nargai beyond the Tanarian Hills where his spirit had dwelt all the neighboring regions of dream, and that they would soon enter the harbor of Serannian, the merchants and camel-drivers greeted him as if he had slipped away from the village. He came by his name so many strange tales, and wandered aimlessly through the hamlet of Donnycarney, murmuring, glassyeyed, strode past the Kildare street club toff had it probably. Men trampling down women and children.

He put on his glasses and gazed towards the shopfronts led them forward, blowing pursily.

Dress does it.

Chardenal's French primer.

Amor me solo! His money and lands were gone, and giving orders to the subsheriff's office, led his wife over O'Connell bridge, bound for the country somewhere.

She nodded, reddening and closing tight her lips. Ben Dollard frowned and, making suddenly a chanter's mouth, gave me a very sharp eye yesterday on Carlisle bridge as if he remembered it again when he walked down the quay in full gait from the shore, its lower slopes green with swaying trees and its white summit touching the sky. Course they were, astride roan horses and clad in shining armor with tabards of cloth-of places, no one whom he met could tell him how to find Ooth-Nargai beyond the Tanarian Hills where his spirit had dwelt all the village and all rode majestically through the streets were spears of long grass, and he sought again the captain who had stumbled through the whispering grove to the subsheriff's office, he muttered sneeringly: They were made for a bailiff. Well, well. —O, Father Cowley asked.

Show no surprise. Dust darkened the toiling fingers with their vulture nails. Let me see. Returned Indian officer. Greasy black rope.

Stop! What is this? —Bad luck to the precipice and the snowy peak overlooking the sea meets the sky, meanwhile seeing many wonders and once barely escaping from the world about him, and when as children we listen and dream, and he did not think like others who wrote.

Yes, sir.

Mind Maggy doesn't pawn it on you. Secret of all secrets. Between two roaring worlds where they swirl, I said quietly, just like that. She is drowning. High colour, of fountains that sing in the silent city that spread away from the high-priest not to realize that any time had passed. Amen. Who is it? —What are you sure of that? John Rogerson's quay, a dangling button of his family, and carried him to a part of space was outside what he had been born; the great stone bridge by the city, past Shackleton's offices.

Here the galley paused not at all, but had plodded on as though summoned toward some goal. All against us. And you who can. Here the galley paused not at all, but floated easily in the wildest part of this hilly country, so remote that few men could ever have seen it, so remote that few men could ever have seen it, for just as he wiped away the heavy shraums that clogged his eyes to hear aright.

North wall and sir John Rogerson's quay, a big apple bulging in his health, Ben Dollard said. And America they say was the last of his family, and the sea coast beyond, and increased his doses of drugs; but eventually he had been dreaming of the most blessed abbot Peter Salanka to all true believers divulged. Grandfather ape gloating on a stolen hoard. My eyes they say she has. —What are you sure of that? Binding too good probably.

It's all right.

Some Tipperary bosthoon endangering the lives of the people about him, and he sought it in fancy and illusion, and red-roofed pagodas, that he need not tremble lest the things he knew be vanished; for he had booked for Pulbrook Robertson, boldly along James's street, past the Kildare street club toff had it probably. What a pity! For me this.

The village seemed very old, eaten away at the point of his garret, and he met could tell him, and Kuranes awakened in his health, Ben Dollard frowned and, making suddenly a chanter's mouth, gave forth a deep note. —Come along.

—Some, Dilly said.

Mind Maggy doesn't pawn it on you.

America, I. Where?

Dress does it. For several days they glided undulatingly over the bright harbor where the houses grew thinner and thinner.

—What have you there? How to win a woman's love. The same, Simon, with hulls and anchorchains, sailing westward, sailed by a skiff, a big apple bulging in his dreams; and it would look like by day; so he watched anxiously as the column approached its brink. The more he withdrew from the burial earth? He's as like it as damn it. A small gin, sir. Terrible, terrible! Most scandalous revelation. His money and lands were gone, and where rode lightly the galleys from far places over the water, till soon they were, astride roan horses and clad in shining armor with tabards of cloth-of-gold curiously emblazoned. Cream sunshades. As before, and Kuranes wondered whether the peaked roofs of the briny trudged through Irishtown along London bridge road, one with a midwife's bag in which eleven cockles rolled.

* * *

Do others see me so? Orient and immortal wheat standing from everlasting to everlasting.

More than ever Kuranes wished to sail in a foul gloom where gum bums with garlic. There he stayed long, gazing out over the edge like the moon which had commenced to sail in a galley in the darkness. One night he went flying over dark mountains where there were faint, lone campfires at great distances apart, and the seacoast beyond, and the abyss down which one must float silently; then the luminous vapors spread apart to reveal a greater brightness, the merchants and camel-drivers greeted him as if galloping over golden sands; and then we know that we have looked back through the webbed window the lapidary's fingers prove a timedulled chain. —That's right, Martin Cunningham spoke by turns, twirling the peak of his family, and where he stood.

Lank coils of bronze and silver, lozenges of cinnabar, on her gross belly flapping a ruby egg.

All I want is a little time.

Martin Cunningham said, arse and pockets. —What Dignam was that?

—There's Jimmy Henry said pettishly, about their damned Irish language. All turned where they swirl, I. He had indeed come back to the jewman that made them, one with a sanded tired umbrella, one with a nod, he quoted, elegantly. She is drowning.

Ben, anyhow.

He had indeed come back to the assistant town clerk.

I'm barricaded up, Simon, with two men prowling around the house where he had been about to sail in a prehistoric stone monastery in the country somewhere. —Jolly, Mr Dedalus said, as large as life. —What's that? I threw out more clothes in my time than you ever saw.

And now he was aroused he had been. Then he had hoped to die. Show no surprise. Father Cowley said. —Righto, Martin Cunningham spoke by turns, twirling the peak of his family, and laughing winged things that seemed to open in the sunshine which seemed never to lessen or disappear. Amor me solo! We. All against us.

In Clohissey's window a faded 1860 print of Heenan boxing Sayers held his court alternately in Celephaïs and its galleys that sail out of his beard. —Boyd? —Hold that fellow with the body of a dapper little man in his honor; since it was also that he for a penny, Dilly said, that he can put that writ where Jacko put the nuts. —That's a pretty garment, isn't it, had he not found that there is no time in Ooth-Nargai and all rode majestically through the Street of Pillars to the precipice and the showtrays. —I know, Mr Dedalus said, nodding. They were made for a summer's day?

Shatter them, one with a sanded tired umbrella, one with a smeared shammy rag burnished again his gem, turned it and held his peace.

He had been. But some of us awake in the jew, he sought again the captain who had agreed to carry him so long ago, when he walked down a lane that ends in the council chamber.

Then one summer day he was aroused he had been drawn down a lane that led off from the world fell abruptly into the sky; but eventually he had heard so many years ago, and wondered what it would have been quite futile to try to remember, we think but half-formed thoughts, and red-roofed pagodas, that he came near Mr Dedalus said. He signed to the far places of which he had known before.

You could try our friend, Mr Power followed them in.

Two old women fresh from their whiff of the ash clacking against his shoulderblade. And it was also that he need not tremble lest the things he knew from his lips. Long John Fanning filled the doorway he saw the city, and giving orders to the Valley of Ooth-Nargai beyond the horizon, showing the ruin and antiquity of the leaders, leaping leaders, rode outriders.

Beyond that wall in the council chamber. Testily he made room for himself beside long John Fanning in the twilight they saw only such houses and villagers as Chaucer or men before him. As he came by his name so many years ago, when he walked down a lane that ends in the jew, he sought it in fancy and illusion, and the subsheriff, while John Wyse Nolan opened wide eyes.

Amor me solo!

Long John Fanning filled the doorway where he had heard so many years ago, and where rode lightly the galleys from far places of which he had found his fabulous city after forty weary years.

A sailorman, rustbearded, sips from a beaker rum and eyes her.

I between them. Ben Dollard halted and stared, his joyful fingers in the valley, and through the ivory gates into that world of childhood. —And long John Fanning in the blow. —What Dignam was that?

Then our friend's writ is not worth the paper it's printed on, Ben Dollard frowned and, making for the marvelous city of Celephaïs and its galleys that sail to Serannian in the valley, and would have descended and asked the way to Ooth-Nargai, but identified Kuranes merely as one from the river bank he thought he beheld the glittering minarets of the doorway where he had found his fabulous city after forty weary years.

His money and lands were gone, and where rode lightly the galleys from far places over the bubbling Naraxa on the table, nothing in order to increase his periods of sleep.

Recipe for white wine vinegar. Mr Dedalus flicked fluff, saying: Hold him now, Ben, anyhow. Outside la Maison Claire Blazes Boylan waylaid Jack Mooney's brother-in-law, humpy, tight, making for the liberties. A sailorman, rustbearded, sips from a beaker rum and eyes her. She dances, capers, wagging her sowish haunches and her hips, on her gross belly flapping a ruby egg.

—What Dignam was that?

We had to. —I'll say there is no time in Ooth-Nargai and all rode majestically through the downs of Surrey and onward toward the channel tides played mockingly, and still as young as he remembered it again when he walked down a white path toward a red-roofed pagodas, that Kuranes sought fruitlessly for the marvelous city of the house trying to effect an entrance. Endlessly down the horsemen clattered down the horsemen floated, their chargers pawing the aether as if in the air.

How to win a woman's love.

Faith had urged him on, Ben Dollard said. The tall form of long grass, and where rode lightly the galleys from far places of which Mr Dedalus said, just heading for Kavanagh's. He withdrew from the regions where the sea, and when the sun rose he beheld the city of Celephaïs and its white summit touching the sky, and finally ceased to write. Late lieabed under a quilt of old, nor were the same chest of spice he had hoped to die. On another night Kuranes walked through the gardens, down the quay, a big apple bulging in his childhood, and strange men from the old chapterhouse of saint Mary's abbey past James and Charles Kennedy's, rectifiers, attended by Geraldines tall and personable, towards the Tholsel beyond the ford of hurdles.

More than ever Kuranes wished to sail in a shower of hail suit, who walked uncertainly, with hasty steps past Micky Anderson's watches. The same, Simon, with two men prowling around the house trying to effect an entrance.

Then a rift seemed to mock the dreamers of all the village. —I'll say there is no time in Ooth-Nargai had not heard of planets and organisms before, but as the riders went on up the rising ground to the oarmen, commenced to sail in a prehistoric stone monastery in the Valley of Ooth-Nargai and all the neighboring regions of dream, we think but half-formed thoughts, and he met the cortège of knights come from Celephaïs to bear him thither forever.

Thumbed pages: read and read.

Old Russell with a sanded tired umbrella, one and both.

* * *

The empty castle car wheeled empty into upper Exchange street.

In a dream it was none other than Celephaïs, in the night with strange phantasms of enchanted hills and gardens, down; past dark, shapeless, undreamed dreams, faintly glowing spheres that may have been partly dreamed dreams, on them first and on his mind, I shouldn't wonder if he did after all.

—God bless you, Martin Cunningham said, nodding also.

It was alive now, Ben Dollard growled furiously, I shouldn't wonder if he had heard so many strange tales, and like a winged being settled gradually over a bridge to a galley in the sky, meanwhile seeing many wonders and once sent him to take those two men off.

Then our friend's writ is not worth the paper it's printed on, over the precipice a golden galley for those alluring regions where the houses grew thinner and thinner.

Wandering Aengus I call him. —That's a pretty garment, isn't it, he said, thoughtfully lifting his spoon.

Love walked from the river bank he thought he beheld the glittering minarets of the west wind flows into the billowy Cerenarian Sea that leads to the waiting jarvey who chucked at the Mail office.

Clatter of horsehoofs sounded from the air. —There's Jimmy Henry made a grimace and lifted his left foot. The moral idea seems lacking, the more wonderful became his dreams, and Kuranes awakened in his childhood, and sometimes they saw only such houses and villagers as Chaucer or men before him, he sought it in fancy and illusion, and came to the assistant town clerk. As he came to a tower window overlooking a mighty plain and river lit by the full moon; and then the rift appeared again, and had come to the great stone house covered with ivy, where a notably fat and especially offensive millionaire brewer enjoys the purchased atmosphere of extinct nobility. He's going to write. Kuranes a horse and placed him at the edge and floated gracefully down past glittering clouds and silvery coruscations. In saddles of the city, yet he knew be vanished; for even the sentries on the leaders, and the death lying upon that land, as he watched anxiously as the knightly entourage plunged over the water, till finally they came upon the rocks by ivy-covered Trevor Towers, where a notably fat and especially offensive millionaire brewer enjoys the purchased atmosphere of extinct nobility.

Long way off, Haines said, nodding to its drone.

Martin Cunningham added. There he stayed long, gazing out over the water.

And long John Fanning made no way for them.

In a dream it was none other than Celephaïs, in Llandudno and little Lorcan Sherlock doing locum tenens for him.

—The youngster will be all right, Martin Cunningham said.

I don't think you knew him or perhaps you did, though.

Where was the marshal, he muttered sneeringly: That's the style, Mr Power.

Hell open to christians they were having, Jimmy Henry made a grimace and lifted his left foot. All I want is a little time.

For many months after that Kuranes almost mistook them for an army, but you missed Dedalus on Hamlet. All was as of old, eaten away at the turquoise temple of Nath-Horthath, where gathered the traders and sailors, and still as young as he wiped away the heavy shraums that clogged his eyes looked quickly, ghostbright, at his foe and fell once more upon a working corner. They went down Parliament street.

Here the galley paused not at all, but you missed Dedalus on Hamlet. Buck Mulligan whispered behind his Panama to Haines: Parnell's brother. —For a few days tell him, but they were sent in his health, Ben Dollard.

As they trod across the thick carpet Buck Mulligan slit a steaming scone in two and plastered butter over its smoking pith.

Martin, John Wyse Nolan answered from the village that was asleep or dead, and of the people about him, he said.

What few days tell him how to find the vengeance of the bleak intervals of day that he began buying drugs in order, no one whom he met the cortège of knights come from Celephaïs to bear him thither forever.

Then they gave Kuranes a horse and placed him at the area of 14 Nelson street: England expects … Buck Mulligan's primrose waistcoat shook gaily to his bulk.

John Wyse Nolan came down again.

The policeman touched his forehead.

Long John Fanning is here too, John Wyse Nolan Mr Power said, nodding. At length Athib told him that their journey was near its end, and sometimes they saw only such houses and villagers as Chaucer or men before him, waked him, waked him, waked him, and gravitation exist.

Such persons always have.

Ben!

—Ten years, he said, taking the list, came after them quickly down Cork hill. Martin Cunningham said, amid the nebulous memories of childhood tales and dreams.

He is going to say a word to long John Fanning blew a plume of smoke from his brief glance that it was the marshal, he said.

Uff! In a dream it was the same at the edge and floated gracefully down past glittering clouds and silvery coruscations.

They drove his wits astray, he quoted, elegantly.

All turned where they stood.

That's a pretty garment, isn't it, he muttered sneeringly: England expects … Buck Mulligan's watchful eyes saw the graceful galleys riding at anchor in the mirror.

John Wyse Nolan, lagging behind, reading the list, came after them quickly down Cork hill.

The abyss was a seething chaos of roseate and cerulean splendor, and Kuranes awakened in his childhood, and early villagers curtsied as the horsemen clattered down the quay in full gait from the world about him, and he met the cortège of knights come from Celephaïs to bear him thither forever. I threw out more clothes in my time than you ever saw.

Buck Mulligan's watchful eyes saw the horses pass Parliament street, harness and glossy pasterns in sunlight shimmering. —And long John Fanning in the Bodega just now and it would have been quite futile to try to describe them on paper. So numerous were they, that he can put that writ where Jacko put the nuts.

Ooo!

I want is a little time.

—Bad luck to the Valley of Ooth-Nargai and the peering stars.

On another night Kuranes walked through the ivory gates into that world of childhood. I'm just waiting for Ben Dollard growled furiously, I shouldn't wonder if he had stolen out into the fragrant summer night, through the half-formed thoughts, and by the full moon; and in the night with strange phantasms of enchanted hills and gardens, down, down; past dark, shapeless, undreamed dreams, and the abyss where all the eternity of an hour one summer day he was, Mr Power suggested backward. Mind!

As he came near Mr Dedalus greeted: That's right, Father Cowley said. I shouldn't wonder if he did not glance.

They went down Parliament street, harness and glossy pasterns in sunlight shimmering.

His money and lands were gone, and the ruddy birth.

He bit off a soft piece hungrily.

Kuranes, for just as he remembered them.

All I want is a little time.

Martin Cunningham asked, as they passed through a village in the cloud-fashioned Serannian.

The landlord has the prior claim.

And it was none other than Celephaïs, and came to a land of quaint gardens and cherry trees, and he met could tell him, Father Cowley boldly forward, linked to his bulk.

—He has, Father Cowley boldly forward, linked to his bulk.

* * *

Mind!

Long John Fanning filled the doorway where he had hoped to die. Long John Fanning made no way for them.

He found the man, Athib, sitting on the same chest of spice he had no more money left, and Hutchinson, the lord mayor, in Llandudno and little Lorcan Sherlock doing locum tenens for him. —God's curse on you, he said sourly, whoever you are! —I'll take a mélange, Haines said to the oarmen, commenced to sail in a golden glare came somewhere out of the valley, glistening radiantly far, far below, with stickumbrelladustcoat dangling, shunned the lamp before Mr Law Smith's house and, crossing, walked along Merrion square.

His eyeglass flashed frowning in the sun rose he beheld such beauty of red and white flowers, green foliage and lawns, white paths, diamond brooks, blue lakelets, carven bridges, and when the sun rose he beheld such beauty of red and white flowers, green foliage and lawns, white paths, diamond brooks, blue lakelets, carven bridges, and still as young as he was, Mr Power followed them in the air. Such persons always have.

Behind him Cashel Boyle O'Connor Fitzmaurice Tisdall Farrell, with hasty steps past Micky Anderson's watches.

In a dream it was natural for him to sleep as he was equally resentful of awaking, for he had sat upon before, but as the column approached its brink.

Almidano Artifoni walked past Holles street, grinding his fierce word. The empty castle car fronted them at rest in Essex gate.

The blind stripling turned his sickly face after the striding form.

—What was it?

All turned where they stood. —Two mélanges, Buck Mulligan said. He sank two lumps of sugar deftly longwise through the downs of Surrey and onward toward the region where Kuranes and his grey claw went up again to his laughter. With John Wyse Nolan said, chewing and laughing winged things that seemed to mock the dreamers of all minds that have lost their balance. They chose a small table near the village street toward the channel cliffs, and like a winged being settled gradually over a grassy hillside til finally his feet rested gently on the Metropolitan hall, frowned at Elijah's name announced on the turf.

Martin Cunningham said, as large as life.

Here the galley paused not at all, but they were flying uncannily as if in the twilight they saw only such houses and villagers as Chaucer or men before him.

And bring us some scones and butter and some cakes as well.

—We call it D.B.C. because they have damn bad cakes.

He helped her to unload her tray. The tall form of long John Fanning in the wildest part of space was outside what he had heard so many strange tales, and found it on his very doorstep, amid the cheerful cups.

Then he had called infinity.

With John Wyse Nolan held his peace. He removed his large fierce eyes scowled intelligently over all their faces.

Ooo!

And put down the terraces, past the great oaks of the Ormond hotel. Long John Fanning could not remember him.

He bit off a soft piece hungrily. And bring us some scones and butter and some cakes as well. I tackled him this morning on belief. Rather strange he should have just that fixed idea. —Is that he need not tremble lest the things he knew be vanished; for whenever they passed out of the park, and laughing.

Long John Fanning filled the doorway he saw the waitress.

Long John Fanning made no way for them.

—Rather lowsized.

As before, he said, just heading for Kavanagh's.

Then the two rowed to a place where the sea coast beyond, and when the sun. You're blinder nor I am speculating what it would be likely to be imposed on. There he stayed long, gazing out over the precipice a golden glare came somewhere out of the leaders, rode outriders. I saw. Haines said to the stalwart back of long John Fanning ascending towards long John Fanning's flank and passed in and up the stairs. On the steps of the small houses hid sleep or death.

Long John Fanning filled the doorway where he had never been away; and in the sun.

As before, and would have questioned the people of this land about it, he dreamed first of the leaders, leaping leaders, leaping leaders, and the seacoast beyond, and of shadowy companies of heroes that ride caparisoned white horses along the ridges and valleys; too gigantic ever to have risen by human hands, and carried him home, for when as men we try to remember, we think but half-formed thoughts, and the subsheriff, while Martin Cunningham said.

Martin Cunningham said, amid an archipelago of corks, beyond new Wapping street past Benson's ferry, and the ruddy birth. —Are the conscript fathers pursuing their peaceful deliberations? The joy of creation … —Eternal punishment, Haines said, as all halted and greeted.

* * *

Still, I saw his tongue and his grey claw went up again and he sought again the captain who had agreed to carry him so long ago, and where even the sentries on the landing there bawling out for his boots to go out to Tunney's for to boose more and he listening to what the drunk was telling him and he tugged it down.

In Grafton street Master Dignam saw a red-roofed pagoda, and increased his doses of drugs; but eventually he had slipped away from his nurse and let the warm sea-breeze lull him to a tower window overlooking a mighty plain and river lit by the full moon; and then we know that we have looked back through time; for when awake he was standing on the Metropolitan hall, frowned at the area of 14 Nelson street: England expects … Buck Mulligan's primrose waistcoat shook gaily to his eye.

It's rather interesting because professor Pokorny of Vienna makes an interesting point out of him, dodging and all the time.

Myler Keogh, that's the chap sparring out to Tunney's for to boose more and he beheld such beauty of red and white flowers, green foliage and lawns, white paths, diamond brooks, blue lakelets, carven bridges, and like a winged being settled gradually over a grassy hillside til finally his feet rested gently on the Metropolitan hall, frowned at the two puckers. And they eating crumbs of the abyss of dreams. Buck Mulligan whispered behind his Panama to Haines: Parnell's brother. He is going to write.

He had protested then, when his body loses its balance. His money and lands were gone, and held his court alternately in Celephaïs and in the night with strange phantasms of enchanted hills and gardens, down the street and turned off into the unechoing emptiness of infinity, and Kuranes wondered whether the peaked roofs of the bleak intervals of day that he?

The onelegged sailor growled at the edge and floated gracefully down past glittering clouds and silvery coruscations. He had been drawn down a white bishop quietly and his ancestors had lived, and where he had been dreaming of the sky among fleecy clouds tinted with rose.

I couldn't hear the other things he said, by visions of hell.

* * *

Deep in Leinster street by Trinity's postern a loyal king's man, Hornblower, touched his tallyho cap. My girl's a Yorkshire girl.

John Henry Menton, filling the doorway of Commercial Buildings, stared from winebig oyster eyes, holding a fat gold hunter watch not looked at in his childhood, and alone among the indifferent millions of London, so that after a time he was standing on the Metropolitan hall, frowned at Elijah's name announced on the viceregal equipage over the edge and floated gracefully down past glittering clouds and silvery coruscations. I could easy do a bunk on ma. He reigns there still, and along the edges of thick forests; and it was also that he for a moment forgot Celephaïs in sheer delight. As they drove along Nassau street His Excellency acknowledged punctually salutes from rare male walkers, the Portobello bruiser, for when awake he was now very anxious to return to minaret-studded Celephaïs, and along the edges of thick forests; and it would look like by day; so he watched anxiously as the horsemen floated, their chargers pawing the pound and a half of Mangan's, late Fehrenbach's, porksteaks he had no more money left, and he did not think like others who wrote. And Kuranes saw that he began buying drugs in order to increase his periods of sleep. At Bloody bridge Mr Thomas Kernan beyond the horizon, showing the ruin and antiquity of the people about him, waked him, and Kuranes awakened in his London garret. Then a rift seemed to gallop back through the metropolis. In Lower Mount street a pedestrian in a golden glare came somewhere out of his ancestors had lived, and the gaily painted galleys that sail to Serannian in the window of the west and hid all the village and all. John Henry Menton, filling the doorway of Commercial Buildings, stared from winebig oyster eyes, holding a fat gold hunter watch not looked at in his shirt. Past Richmond bridge at the doorstep of the west wind flows into the paper tonight. He had indeed come back to the refrain of My girl's a Yorkshire girl. His Majesty. I hope he's in purgatory now because he went to confession to Father Conroy on Saturday night. It was very strange, shaggy herds with tinkling bells on the Metropolitan hall, frowned at Elijah's name announced on the same chest of spice he had been born; the great oaks of the city's carven towers came into sight there was a fly walking over it up to his other hand. Sure, the brightness of the pockets of his family, and like a winged being settled gradually over a bridge to a part of space where form does not exist, but only perpetual youth.

By the provost's wall came jauntily Blazes Boylan presented to the great stone bridge by the lower gate of Phoenix park saluted by obsequious policemen and proceeded past Kingsbridge along the long white road to the village and all rode majestically through the downs of Surrey and onward toward the region where Kuranes and his teeth trying to say it better. Myler Keogh, Dublin's pet lamb, will meet sergeantmajor Bennett, the brightness of the sky; but as the horsemen clattered down the terraces, past the great stone bridge by the wall the quartermile flat handicappers, M.C. Green, H. Shrift, T.M. Patey, C. Adderly and W.C. Huggard, started in pursuit. From the sidemirrors two mourning Masters Dignam gaped silently.

His collar too sprang up again and he met could tell him how to find the vengeance of the house said to have risen by human hands, and had come to the leaders' skyblue frontlets and high action a skyblue tie, a widebrimmed straw hat at a rakish angle and a half of Mangan's, late Fehrenbach's, porksteaks he had stolen out into the lane that ends in the wildest part of space where form does not exist, but only perpetual youth. Two bar entrance, soldiers half price.

Pa is dead.

William Humble, earl of Dudley, G.C.V.O., passed swiftly and unscathed across the carriages go by. When truth and experience failed to reveal it, had he not found that there is no time in Ooth-Nargai and all. Cashel Boyle O'Connor Fitzmaurice Tisdall Farrell walked as far as Mr Lewis Werner's cheerful windows, then turned and strode back along Merrion square, his blub lips agrin, bade all comers welcome to Pembroke township. In the following carriage were the same at the two puckers stripped to their pelts and putting up their props.

In the dim dawn they came to a land of quaint gardens and cherry trees, and like a winged being settled gradually over a grassy hillside til finally his feet rested gently on the ramparts were the same, and all the time. And he gazed also upon the rocks by ivy-covered Trevor Towers, where thirteen generations of his claret waistcoat and doffed his cap awry, his chin lifted, he said sourly, whoever you are! And far beneath the keel Kuranes could see strange lands and rivers and cities of bronze and stone, and had come to the three ladies the bold admiration of his family, and wandered aimlessly through the half-deserted village at dawn; played mockingly, and will reign happily for ever, though below the cliffs at Innsmouth the channel tides played mockingly, and could buy no drugs. So numerous were they, that Kuranes sought for beauty alone. Myler Keogh, that's the chap sparring out to him with the green sash. Faith had urged him on, over the onyx pavements, the blooming thing is all over. Pa was inside it and ma crying in the twilight they saw knights on horseback with small companies of retainers. I couldn't hear the other things he knew be vanished; for he was not modern, and upon lieutenantcolonel H.G. Heseltine, and the death lying upon that land, as it had lain since King Kynaratholis came home from his conquests to find Ooth-Nargai and the salute of Almidano Artifoni's sturdy trousers swallowed by a closing door. There he stayed long, gazing out over the bright harbor where the houses grew thinner and thinner. For many months after that Kuranes almost mistook them for an army, but where glowing gases study the secrets of existence. All was as of old, nor were the honourable Mrs Paget, Miss de Courcy and the stagnation of the city in the sun. I hope he's in purgatory now because he went to confession to Father Conroy on Saturday night. It was too small for the ways of the gods. Baraabum. Hashish helped a great deal, and the blind down and dawdled on. He found the man, Hornblower, touched his tallyho cap. Down the hill amid scented grasses and brilliant flowers walked Kuranes, for just as he was aroused he had known before. You're blinder nor I am, you bitch's bastard! His money and lands were gone, and he listening to what the drunk was telling him and he sought it in fancy and illusion, and the blind down and they all at their sniffles and sipping sups of the cottage fruitcake, jawing the whole blooming time and sighing. Poor pa. At Ponsonby's corner a jaded white flagon H. halted and four tallhatted white flagons halted behind him a blind stripling tapped his way from the river bank he thought he beheld some feature or arrangement which he had been about to sail in a golden galley for those alluring regions where the orchid-wreathed priests told him that this part of space was outside what he had hoped to die. Tom Rochford, seeing the eyes of lady Dudley, G.C.V.O., passed swiftly and unscathed across the viceroy's path.

* * *

All was as of old, eaten away at the shutup free church on his left turned as he passed lady Maxwell at the edge and floated gracefully down past glittering clouds and silvery coruscations. Beautiful weather it was. And now it was the last of his shop. And Kuranes reigned thereafter over Ooth-Nargai and the African mission and of a hedge and after him came the call to arms and she was maid, wife and widow in one day. The viceroy, on his very doorstep, amid the nebulous memories of childhood tales and dreams. Yes, he would certainly call. He met other schoolboys. In a dream it was, and strange, shaggy herds with tinkling bells on the turf. Such a … what should he say? The scrunch that was asleep or dead in his honor; since it was, delightful indeed. Handsome knights they were flying uncannily as if he had sat upon before, he said, and gravitation exist.

One of them mots that do be in the houses of poor people. —Well, let me see if you can post a letter from his other plump glovepalm into his purse held, he saw the graceful galleys riding at anchor in the silent city that spread away from his hoarding, Mr Eugene Stratton, his blub lips agrin, bade all comers welcome to Pembroke township. Father Conmee saluted the second carriage. Above the crossblind of the book that might be written about jesuit houses and of his ancestors were born. Off an inward bound tram. Here the galley paused not at all, but only perpetual youth. That was Mr Dignam, my father. That's me in mourning.

That was very glad indeed to hear that. At Annesley bridge the very reverend John Conmee S.J. reset his smooth watch in his ear the tidings. Surely, there ought to be. The solemnity of the village that was a peaceful day.

The boys sixeyed Father Conmee was wonderfully well indeed. An ivory bookmark told him that this part of this land about it, he saw the city, and had come to the three ladies the bold admiration of his ancestors were born. But three nights afterward Kuranes came very suddenly upon his old world of childhood tales and dreams. The gentleman with the poison of life. On Northumberland and Lansdowne roads His Excellency acknowledged punctually salutes from rare male walkers, the brightness of the wall the quartermile flat handicappers, M.C. Green, H. Shrift, T.M. Patey, C. Adderly and W.C. Huggard, started in pursuit. Father Conmee. Well, now! Father Conmee was wonderfully well indeed. Kuranes had awakened the very reverend John Conmee S.J. of saint Agatha's church, upper Gardiner street, stepped on to an outward bound tram for he was the last of his crutches, growled some notes. And Father Conmee stopped three little schoolboys at the shutup free church on his very doorstep, amid the nebulous memories of childhood tales and dreams. An ivory bookmark told him that there were no people there, but had plodded on as though summoned toward some goal. Father Conmee alighted, was saluted by the treeshade of sunnywinking leaves: and Father Conmee crossed to Mountjoy square. Kuranes had seen alive in his honor; since it was there that fulfillment came, and he did not think like others who wrote. The cavalcade passed out with her husband, the blooming thing is all over. He loved Ireland, he said but I saw his tongue and his teeth, he knew be vanished; for he thought he beheld such beauty of red and white flowers, green foliage and lawns, white kerchief tie, a bargeman with a background of sea and sky, and held his court alternately in Celephaïs and in the eye of one plump kid glove, while outriders pranced past and carriages.

Then came the wife of the ways of God which were not our ways.

Thither of the house said to have been absolved, pray for me. He felt it incumbent on him and he listening to what the drunk was telling him and were unsaluted by Mr William Gallagher who stood in the evening, and the seacoast beyond, and high action a skyblue tie, a bargeman with a background of sea and sky, meanwhile seeing many wonders and once sent him to dream and write of his shop. But the best pucker for science was Jem Corbet before Fitzsimons knocked the stuffings out of the D.B.C. Buck Mulligan gaily, and had come. For many months after that Kuranes almost mistook them for an army, but where glowing gases study the secrets of existence.

But though she's a factory lass and wears no fancy clothes. Uncle Barney said he'd get it round the bend. When truth and experience failed to reveal a greater brightness, the pawnbroker's, at the shutup free church on his way.

#Ulysses (novel)#James Joyce #1922 #automatically generated text #Patrick Mooney #Wandering Rocks #H.P. Lovecraft #weird fiction #horror #American authors #20th century #modernist authors #Celephaïs #1920

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