#molly who never got the chance to heart caleb's story. the only one out of everyone.

[dent-de-leon]

....hmmm....and what if. in animated nein. after Molly's whole "Long may I reign" scene, he stumbles out into the hall laughing and full of joy and runs right into Caleb Widowgast. Caleb, choked up, teary-eyed, and looking as though he's about to have another panic attack, still reeling from the pain of confessing everything.

What if Molly tries to talk to him, even if he wouldn't listen. Ask if he's alright. Try to reach out again. What if he gave him another forehead kiss, or asked if he'd want some company--

Out of everyone in the Nein, Mollymauk is the only one who never learns of Caleb's past--the tragedy that so painfully mirrors Lucien's--but. What if, this time, he gets more of a glimpse of that--

[lesferatu]

Just some thoughts on second chances that I wrote the night of the CR campaign finale but forgot to post till right now. As such, it is a reflection on the campaign before the wrap up and I really don't feel like going through it to see if my opinion changed after the wrap up, so here ya go.

Spoilers for character arcs through out the campaign and episode 141 (as well as a Long Post) below cut

The Mighty Nein campaign has been a story of second chances and living beyond your past while staying true to who you are. And love...lots of it.

Fjord was a sailor who followed more than he lived for himself. Vandren showed him how to be a sailor and how to be the man he grew into and, in the end, he tried to become Vandren. Fjord's second chance came twice with a sword and a patron. His first second chance was a false start but one that let him reach his true self through trial, error, and struggle. His second second chance was a much softer beginning; surrounded by friends who loved him for all he was and could be, with a Goddess who cares at his back and a purpose of his own choosing to drive him. He found someone who loved him for who he was, not how he presented himself to the world.

In the end, Fjord is still a sailor but one who lives and loves on his own terms and fjorges his own way.

Jester lived a sheltered life but one full of love and chaos. It was never bad or one not worth living, but for her it was incomplete. Her mother hid her from the world with good intent but it left her naïve of the true nature of the world; books can only teach you so much about life and often it is a romanticized version. Jester's second chance came of her own making early on and yet took a long time to come to fruition. She locked that man on the balcony and, in the end, was shunted into a world she knew about in theory but was clueless of in practice: the real story her books were based on. She spent the campaign becoming disillusioned with the idea of story book love and life and yet found a real love and life along the way. 

Jester never loses her love of romance, stories, and fantasy but found the truth in them all the same that made life real.

Yasha lived a life given and taken from her against her will for many decades. Her clan dictated so much of her destiny that, when she chose to find her own pocket of happiness within it, said destiny was ripped from her along with that happiness. That loss became the chains that a new given destiny used to bind her against her will once more; her mind was taken as well as her life so that no pockets of happiness could be found again. Yasha's second chance came with Mollymauk, then the Mighty Nein, then Beau; choices upon choices that given destiny tried to take once more but, in the end, free will won. 

Yasha lost so much because of love–or rather because of other's reaction to said love–but love saved her in the end. She loved so hard, she found her own destiny, broke the chains that held her, and now her pockets of happiness are overflowing.

Beau's life was one of bucking the system and ignoring expectations. She was forced to live her father's regret and fear and rebelled hard against both. Her rebellion got her trapped by the system she tried to escape. That system taught her much and yet, when she was let loose from it, she rebelled once more. Anger and snark can only get you so far and, in the end, it was love and learning that got her farther. She thought her fists were her best quality but her mind was as sharp as her strikes and tongue. Once she let herself use it to its fullest, she cut through every mystery in her way. Beau’s second chance came through her friends and understanding how the world wasn't always out to get her and, when it is, it is possible to fight it in a way that changes the world and doesn’t just spite it. She grew into a friend, a lover, and a revolutionary; she went her own way and the system had to struggle to keep up with her. Closure she didn't know she needed was given to her but her second chance was something she made herself.

Beau is still angry and rebellious but she has a true family and influence to back it up. She allowed herself to be soft and it made her strong.

Caleb life was forged for him through pain–his own and others–and manipulation. He was naïve in a destructive way; loyal and trusting to a fault...but to the wrong man, the wrong cause. His trust got his parents killed and his life ruined. He didn't want a second chance–didn't think he deserved one–but one came to him anyway in the form of a wild group of chaotic idiots and love in many forms. It came in the form of his friends, of a chance to right wrongs–though not his own for the longest time–and in seeing himself in another and offering the forgiveness his new family offered him. It came in the form of an unexpected fight and a legal battle, both fought with his new family at his side. He got revenge for his old self, his old family and loves.

Caleb is not Bren–not truly...anymore–but Caleb can live with that. He found his purpose in making sure that no more Brens have to become Calebs and finding forgiveness and love–however bittersweet in the end–with his narrative foil and the friends who dragged him to redemption.

Veth is another who's life was taken from her. Yes, eventually by death but first by bullies. She was made to hate herself by the cruelty of society and, though she found love and happiness through that, she never let herself be all she could; she could only see what she was not. And Nott she became and she hated Nott. But love saved her; not love for who she used to be, nor who she could be in the future, but who she was right at that moment. It was the love of her friends, her husband, and herself that saved her. Her second chance was finding her way back to her first, but with an understanding of who she truly is; brave, true, smart, and a great mother.

Veth was Nott but she was not...not and by finding the truth in that statement, Nott became Veth. Veth chose the soft life once more in the end but this time of her own volition and it was her found courage that allowed her to do it. 

Caduceus is another sheltered soul but this time of his own choice, though he didn't really think of it that way. He thought he needed to wait for someone to tell him his purpose and he thought someone had when grieving chaos fell upon his doorstep. He helped them find vengeance and closure and that could have been it, but he stayed, sure that he was supposed to. In doing so, he found his family twice–both metaphorically in the Nein and physically at the Menagerie– and found both his purpose and his choice. He led another to salvation just by being himself and a good friend. Caduceus's second chance came by figuring out his given destiny was given by himself, by the adventure he found along the way, and the chosen purpose he found in the end.

Caduceus is the favorite of the Wild Mother and the best friend anyone could ever want, and he chose to be so by following the first chaos he found.

Essek life was, sadly by Dynasty standards, his own; he was not a lost soul given life once more but a new one given power. Knowledge was his driving force and it led to the ruin of many; He wasn't allowed to do what he wanted...so he did what he wanted anyway and it inadvertently started a war. He was okay with that, truly, until the Mighty Nein stumbled into his life and suddenly he was very much not. It was not a betrayal really–though he was definitely guilty of treason–but it was the loss of the Mighty Nein's trust that he feared the most and felt the most when he finally lost it, however briefly. He thought he has lost the only true family he had but really he had found a life to live. His second chance came when he chose to live that life.

Essek's life wasn't given to him so he took it for himself and it ruined him...but love built him back up and showed him that it was better to live life to change than it was to wallow in guilt.

Molly's life, in itself, was a second chance, though not one asked for by Lucien. He forged forward and made it his own. He loved and he created and he left everywhere he went better than when he got there. We never got to see the true end of his new start. Life is not always fair and not every second chance works out in the end...that is, until the end of Lucien. Molly fought to make his new life his own and how dare his original self try and tear down his progress!

Molly's second chance was cut short when he died for his friends and he died once more helping his friends make sure his first chance didn't ruin it.

Kingsley's life, again, was an enforced second chance, though one Molly would approve of. Molly didn't dwell on the past and neither will his brother, his new self. Kingsley saw the love in the Mighty Nein's eyes and never questioned it; all he asked was that he could learn it on his own. He woke up to chaos and love and he embraced it. Molly would have never wanted to be dwelled upon in a way that stifled change and Kingsley lived that. Kingsley's second chance came in the form of a new life and a new coat, but the same friends. He grew into his own self before learning what was taken from the group he had learned to love. The Mighty Nein could have seen him as Molly, could have tried to force him into the hole in their heart and he probably wouldn't have blamed them, yet he was Kingsley in their eyes and he loved them all the more for it. 

Kingsley's life lives true to Molly's ideas of the past: forget it and continue forward and live every second of it to the fullest. His second chance is in the works but he's not hesitating for one second.

The Mighty Nein were a group a fuck ups from the start; barely contained chaos which changed and grew and erupted at every turn. They were volatile at the beginning yet as ride or die as any adventuring party should be. They did not experience the world separately but as a team; each second chance a member got–whether it was sought after or not–was a chance to learn and grow together and grow closer. Their second chance came when a leetle teifling girl walked over to engage with a smelly man and a “halfling” and a purple man and an angel convinced them all to go to the circus

They will always be a chaotic bunch of assholes, no matter how far apart they travel, but now they are a family and nobody can take that from them.

[intergalacticwanderer]

(Part one, part two. This fic is pretty much a mash up of this post about tiefling virtue names and this post about Molly’s tattoos, because apparently I couldn’t stop thinking about it even after making them. Some small references are made to the prior fics but all that’s really needed is that Kingsley recently got all of Molly’s memories and is dealing with that.)

The weather and the seas that day were remarkably calm - not that good for sailing, but good for tasks that required steadier footing or hands. And if the doldrums did stay longer than was welcome, Fjord and Jester both had some tricks to get them out of it, so, nothing to really worry about. There were plenty of things he could do on a day like today.

In that moment he was in Jester’s cabin, sitting on a cushion beside her bed, while she sat on the bed above him and carded her fingers through his hair.

“So what do you want to do this time? Something fancy? Ohh, maybe adventurous? Beau’s here, maybe we could try shaving it!”

Kingsley chuckled, relaxing back into the touch as she gathered up the hair. “Just the usual trim for now. We’ll see about the rest once that's done.”

“Hmm, if you say so,” Jester said, bringing out her small pair of shears and starting on the bottom of the hair while her tail idly brushed against his own. “I do think you’d look really cool with shaved sides though.”

He gave a little hum, letting his tail wrap around hers. “Probably. But trim first.”

“Okaaaaay,” Jester said, mock exasperated, but he could hear the smile in her voice. Soon enough she settled into her rhythm, pulling up individual sections of hair and the quiet snip of the shears the only sound for a moment.

The first time Jester had trimmed his hair had been, while not a disaster, not the best either. At the time however he’d been too aggravated by his long hair to really care, and soon enough it’d become a regular thing, Jester improving with the additional practice. In the grand scheme of things a haircut might not be a huge deal, but at the same time? That first haircut in Nicodranas had been one of the first times he’d really been able to really take control of his own appearance, feel comfortable in how he looked, and he was forever grateful to Jester for helping him continue that. Plus, it was a great way for them to have some time to gossip. Speaking of which...

“So I heard something from Beau the other day.”

“Ohhh? What kind of thing?” He felt her lean forward a little, tail coming free from his to swing back and forth.

“Well, one thing, she told me to ask about a story, but I'm not doing that part yet.”

“Aww! Why not?”

“Cause I don't want to get accidentally stabbed if I laugh at the wrong time.” As if to emphasize his point he felt the shears trimming some hair closer to his ear. “Besides, I can ask about it afterwards, something to look forward to.”

“But you could still do nowww,” Jester said, and even without seeing her face he could hear her pouting.

“It’s not you, it’s me,” he said dramatically and he was rewarded with a giggle.

“Okay, fine. What’s the other part?”

“She was talking about members of the Nein having different names, besides me?” He stretched out his arms in front of him and bowed his back a little before relaxing again, making sure not to move his head while he did it. “I know about Nott and Veth, and there were those sketchy assassin wizard people calling Caleb Bren when all that went down, but she also mentioned you? Said I should ask you about it.” He did his best to seem blasé but his tail betrayed him, curling and thrashing along the floor. He reached over and stilled it with his hand, hoping she hadn’t noticed.

“Oh!” Her voice was surprised, and the shears stopped for a moment. “Did she. Um. Say what it was?”

Kingsley almost shook his head but stopped himself in time. “Nah. Probably figured it wasn’t her place to share, and I’d agree. Won’t say I’m not curious but up to you.”

Understatement. Painful understatement. But he wasn’t going to force it either, no matter how much he wanted to know. It was less about the name itself and more just... the confirmation that she’d had a different name at some point. Something that could maybe help him feel a little less alone with the tangled mess of two names bouncing around in his head these past couple days.

The sound of the shears started back up again. “... Genevieve. But my name is Jester.”

“Never said it wasn’t dear,” Kingsley said, feeling himself relax. “What made you want to change it?”

There was another pause, longer than he expected. “... do you not know about virtue names? Wait, what am I saying?” He felt Jester shift on the bed and a few moments later she was climbing down onto the floor and sitting in front him, hands settling into her lap. “I forget sometimes that you don’t know about certain tiefling stuff.”

Kingsley blinked a few times at the sudden change in set up. “And?”

“So I guess it’s my job to teach you!”

“Am I still getting the rest of my haircut?” He held up a lock of untrimmed hair.

She swatted his arm. “Yes! But this is important enough that I want to talk to you about it face to face.”

Jester shifted to make herself comfortable then clapped her hands together in front of her. “So! What I know about this I learned from my mama, so I don't know everything but what I do know is preeetty cool. The easy version is that virtue names are naming yourself what you want to be!”

Kingsley raised an eyebrow. “That’s it?”

That earned him another swat on the arm. “There’s more to it than that, silly! Or...” She paused, then shrugged. “Actually, that is pretty much it, but that doesn’t mean it’s not important.”

“See, a virtue name isn’t just what you want to be, it’s thinking about who you are. What you want to strive for, what’s important to you, who you are as a person.” Jester placed a hand on her chest. “For me, Jester was something I thought sounded cool, and I liked that they made other people laugh. And, okay, maybe those reasons are a little simple, but it’s still me, and because it’s me it’s important.”

Kingsley thought over what she’d said. “I... take it Marion isn’t a virtue name?”

Jester shook her head. “Nope, my mama liked the name she had. But she still told me I could choose whatever name I wanted, you know? Even if she didn’t change it herself she wanted me to have that choice. And I did, and I’m happy being Jester.”

“Anyway, that’s tiefling virtue names!” She straightened, about to stand back up when she stopped, something seeming to occur to her. “Wait.” And then Jester pointed at him, face brightening. “Kingsley’s kind of like a virtue name!”

His current confused mess about names did a weird flip in his stomach. “Uh-?”

“You mentioned feeling kingly, and you even have your goal of maybe becoming the Plank King someday! That's so cool!” Jester grinned at him, hands clasped together, but a few moments later her smile fell away. “... Kingsley?”

Even with being addressed directly Kingsley glanced behind him (which, of course, was just the bed), wondering what suddenly had her looking so worried. Was something on his face?

“I’m fine,” he said, maybe a little too quickly. It was when he looked to the side that he caught the culprit - his godsdamned tail again. His hand snapped out, stilling it, but he knew that this time she'd definitely seen it. His heart hammered in his chest.

“Kingsley.” Her voice had softened. “What’s wrong?”

For a split second he considered lying, but the thought died quickly. Jester had already caught him, and... yeah, he didn't like lying to her. Not about important stuff at least. He took a deep breath and exhaled.

“I... I think the name talk might be wigging me out a little.” And he’d even been the one to bring it up in the first place.

“Do you want to talk about something else?”

Kingsley shook his head. “Nah, it’s just- Beau told me about the others changing their names, probably to try and make me feel better?” He ran a hand through his partially trimmed hair, while the thumb on his other hand worried at his nails. “And it helped but right now all I can think about is how I'm different. Caleb was a random alias that stuck, Veth was stuck in a different body, and you-” He gestured at her- “got a chance to really think about what you wanted. And all of you were still, well- you.”

Kingsley let out a sigh, hands dropping into his lap. “It’s... dumb but, I almost feel weirdly guilty about my name right now? I like it but I picked it when I didn’t remember and-”

“Kingsley no.” She reached forward and grabbed his hand with both of hers. “Don't ever feel guilty about that, okay?”

Kingsley jumped a little, surprised at her intensity. “I- okay?”

“You said you like your name, right?” Jester squeezed his hand.

A small pause. “Yes?”

“And you still believe in the reasons you picked your name?”

“...yyyes?”

“Then it's your name.” She held his gaze. “You can add to it if you want, but please don’t feel like you have to change it.” Her face softened again and she gave a small smile. “You’re allowed to like your name and who you are. That’s okay.” She patted the back of back of his hand. “And... maybe you can just think of it as your actual virtue name? If you want to. I was allowed to make that choice, and so can you. And you could totally just have two names if you wanted. It's up to you.”

It took several long moments for him just to process. “...Huh.” Thinking about the name Kingsley. Keeping it, but maybe now as a virtue name, a deliberate choice, showing who and what he wanted to be. Knowing he could still keep the other name too if he wanted. “Huh.” He nodded to himself. “Actually... yeah. I like that. I like that a lot. Thank you Jester.”

Jester finally grinned again, giving one more squeeze to his hand and a small nod in return. “Happy to help.”

She clambered back up to her spot on the bed, brushing his hair back to where it’d been before she’d climbed down. “Anything you want to talk about next?”

“I think I’d like to just relax for a bit, if that’s okay.”

“Sounds good to me!” Jester said.

Things settled into a comfortable sort of quiet, Jester humming a small tune and sounds of the ocean filtering in from the outside. That was one experience he'd never gotten to have before, at least, and it'd helped to serve as a good touchstone these past couple days. An easy dividing line for before and after. But in that moment, with the quiet intent work, someone else changing something on his body on his behalf, a new memory ran through his mind - or rather, new to him.

Sitting backwards on a chair, shirt off and resting his arms on the chair back, hair somehow even shorter than it was now. People talking around him, friendly, asking what he wanted and what he had in mind, before a prickling burning pain started on his right shoulder. The pain continuing down his arm, but there was a satisfaction to it, knowing that this scar, this tattoo was his own mark. Laying claim to a body that was unfamiliar and foreign, blotting out an eye that wouldn't stop staring and wouldn't go away.

That pain was distant now, separated not only by time but death and revival as well, but Kingsley still found himself looking down at the snake tattoo wrapping around his arm, the scales bordered and adorned by numerous scars. He hadn't paid much attention to it when he'd first woken up (outside of wondering about questionable decisions) or even really in the immediate time afterwards. Now it was almost like double vision looking at it - a tangible reminder of someone screaming to the world that he was alive, he was here, he existed.

He gave a quiet snort. A reminder of life, but it'd still stuck around when he was very much not alive and buried in the ground. Then again...

A few tufts of hair dropped onto his shoulder and Jester brushed them off for him, continuing to hum as she worked. Sure, he'd been dead and in the ground, but he wasn't anymore. And even when he hadn't remembered different things, the tattoos had still been there. Proof that Molly had existed.

Kingsley held up his right hand in front of him towards the light shining through the open door, examining the blank spot in the snake’s head, before flipping to his palm and looking at the blank spot there as well. He hadn't ever been bothered by those before - in fact, the sight had been a relief. But right now, those voids on his hand, scattered around other various body parts and tattoos... it was making him itch. It wasn’t complete.

“Hey Jester?” He continued to hold his hand in front of him, tail tapping on the floor.

“Hmmm?”

“You still practicing tattoos?”

Jester gave a little gasp. “Oh my gosh YES! I can-”

“Hair!” Kingsley yelled when he felt her start to move off the bed again. “Hair first!”

“Ack, okay, just-” There was a small scramble as she readjusted course, but soon enough she was back in place, Kingsley mercifully un-stabbed by flailing shears. “But you have to tell me what you’re thinking about!”

He laughed. “Okay, okay.”

His tail continued to tap on the floor as he thought, his left hand coming up to his chin. “So, we were just talking about names, right? And how Kingsley can be my virtue name, but I can still keep the other if I want?”

“Yeah?” Jester hadn't started cutting his hair again yet, too caught up in what he was saying.

He held his right hand up into her view, poking at the blank spot on its back. “I want to see if I can do something like that with these? If that makes sense? It sounded better in my head.”

A pause.

“... okay, I’m really sorry, I know you said hair first but I have to come back down there for this,” Jester said and she slid off the bed to plop down next to him, sketchbook somehow already in her hand. “Cause that idea is amazing and we gotta talk about it.”

Kingsley gave the most over the top sigh he could. “I guess I’m going to have half cut hair forever.”

“I know, I’m sorry, but I don’t want you to forget what you’re thinking about!”

He bumped his shoulder into hers, grinning. “Nah, I getcha. Just know it’ll be even longer until I ask about that story,” he said, winking.

This time, he was actually able to see Jester pouting at that.

“Fiiiine. Now tell me about the tattoos!!”

“Alright, alright, I'm getting there,” he said with another laugh, shifting his position to where it was more comfortable to talk.

“Okay, so, I know part of the reason these tattoos are here was to hide the red eyes.” He held up his right hand and wiggled his fingers. “It's great that they're gone but I kinda want to give them just one more f-you by filling them in with my own thing, make it look like it was supposed to be like that all along.”

“Oooo, I like it,” Jester said, starting to sketch out a replica of the snake on his hand and the associated blank spot. “Do you know what you want in there instead?”

“Hmm. Not really? The idea just popped into my head, so-” He gave a shrug. “We know there's nine of them at least.”

“Neeeeein!” Jester’s response was almost entirely out of habit, but a moment later her eyes widened, Kingsley broke out into a grin, and the two of the pointed at each other at the same time.

“Mighty Nein!” It was together but not at all in unison and the two of them dissolved into muffled laughter.

“That sounded terrible! I love it!”

“I knooow!” Jester said and she broke into further giggles. “But that could be it! Something with the Mighty Nein!”

“Picture this,” Kingsley said, gesturing dramatically with his palms facing down. “Instead of the eyes of nine we have... the eyes of NEEEIN!”

“YES!” Jester pumped her arms into the air. “It could even be in everyone’s eye colors! And little hidden designs inside if we want to get fancy!”

“Oh we always want to get fancy,” Kingsley said, showing off a fanged grin. “That settles it! Operation replace eyes of nine with the Mighty Nein is a go!”

“Awesome!!” Jester whipped her sketchbook up in front of her, poised to start drawing. “Let’s start with your Mighty Nein eye!”

Kingsley lifted his hand, ready to throw out ideas - and hesitated.

“... actually, the red might make things a little weird.”

Jester winced. “Ooooh, right. Maybe not.”

“But!” Kingsley said, perking up, “Yasha has two eye colors. So it’d still work either way. I’ll think about it.”

“Yeah!” Jester nodded, some of her enthusiasm returning. “And we can totally figure out some other stuff for now.” She wrote down a few notes in her sketchbook. “Do you know where you’d want people? Like, matching with tattoos, who’s near each other, that sort of thing?”

“I think I’ve got a couple in mind?” He tapped the back of his neck, where he knew the gap in the all seeing eye tattoo was. “Beau’s can go here. Can’t let her get the last word, after all,” he said, grinning, but there was something vulnerable to it.

The first time he had made the connection between Beau’s tattoo and the one on the back of his own neck his feelings had been... mixed. Weirdly flattered, but also feeling like a bit of a cheat, like he was taking credit for something he didn’t deserve. Now, though, he knew that there was no obligation to it. While they’d had their hiccups the Mighty Nein weren’t going to sacrifice him on the pyre of memory, and they loved him for who he was.

Him adding to the tattoo, wrapping it back around to being a tribute to Beau, assigning his own meaning away from hiding the somnovem? Kingsley rubbed the back of his neck, smile now softer. It would be his. Still building off of who he’d been before, that was still part of him, but now it could be his.

“That’s the only one I know for sure, right now. But I’ll keep thinking on the rest.”

Another nod. “Okay! Do you want to get the tattoos as you think of them? Or all at once? And do you want to tell anyone else about it before you do it?”

“All at once, works better to make sure they fit. Plus I don’t want to get accused of playing favorites,” he said with another grin. “As for the other... hmm. Input is nice, but I do like surprising people. I’d say that’s another think about it.”

“Got it!” Jester said, and he saw her starting to sketch the all seeing eye tattoo beside the snake head. “This is going to be amazing.”

“Of course it will, you’re involved.”

Jester ducked down behind the sketchbook a little but she was smiling as well. “If you say sooo.”

“I do. And Jester?”

“Yeah?”

“Thanks.” He didn’t specify for what this time, but he figured it’d get through. There was still a lot he needed to figure out but now at least he had some new touchstones, the promise of even more in the future, and good company right in that moment. It was more than enough for him to be thankful for.

It did, however, seem like it was going to be awhile until he finished that haircut. But in the mean time...

“... okay, I’m too curious, Beau said I had to ask you about really early Xhorhas disguises?” Kingsley said and he saw Jester's face absolutely light up.

A few minutes later, over in his own cabin, Fjord swore and almost dropped something on his foot at Kingsley’s sudden loud cackling, and he just sighed and shook his head.

(Part Four)

[cadaceus]

C2E141

One last time, y’all. This campaign and these characters have meant so much to me, and this seven hour finale was definitely an emotional rollercoaster. (Yes, I shed actual tears at one point, which rarely happens to me with media. But this is a special occasion.) These liveblogs are nearly as long as the episode itself, so grab a snack! With that being said, here are my very last liveblogs for Campaign 2 of Critical Role. As always, major spoilers below, so beware. 

- Veth taking a level in Wizard, god I am really gonna cry ten minutes into this thing...  😭

- We got our first “stay with us” to Essek, I am emo...

- I was fully not expecting to say goodbye to Frumpkin, but now I’m on the verge of tears... farewell dear fey friend (Marisha saying “that wasn’t supposed to be what broke me” me too me too)

- “You’re a good person.” “I could be.” “You are.”

- “I think you’re a good person” I never thought that I’d hear Beau say that about Essek and this genuinely might be what breaks me... she thinks he’s a good person.... redemption is possible.... maybe love is real....

- If I end up crying over wizards, look away

- Jester lifting up Fjord’s arm to snuggle beneath it made me say “awww” out loud  🥺

- VETH GOING FOR A DIP IN THE POND, I AM GENUINELY SO PROUD OF HER

- “Aahhh!! It’s me! Your wife!” I am going to miss Jester’s sending so much

- Okay that accent bit was so funny, I am going to miss all of them so much

- REAL MOLLY IS BACK REAL MOLLY IS BACK REAL MOLLY IS BACK

- Oh but he doesn’t remember them... and Yasha is trying so hard to help him remember, it’s so so sweet 

- Something about the way he said “Tealeaf’s nice” made me tear up... I was neutral on Mollymauk early campaign because I went into things knowing that he passed away, but this whole conversation with the Mighty Nein is So Much. Also “Kingsley Tealeaf” 

- “Everyone should have a brother” as someone with three of them, I vouch for this  🥺

- a) I love Marion Lavorre (and Jester ofc!) so very much and b) I can’t believe that Jester’s parent trap actually worked??

- “I do not think Exandria is ready for how you’re going to change it” got to me... and it’s also so true. jester has already changed the world just by being kind.

- Good bye Marion... I love and will miss you so much! (And many thanks to Laura and Matt for creating an agoraphic single mother who raised a wonderful child <3)

- Beau and Jester teasing Marion for having a complicated relationship with Babenon reminds me of Caleb saying he has a complicated relationship with Essek...

- LEAVE CALEB ALON E FUOIKJLKGKNL 

- THIS IS ....... SO MUCH WORSE THAN I THOUGHT IT WOULD BE.

- Caleb’s biggest trauma(s) coming back to haunt him, I am genuinely going to cry I’m not ready for this I’m not okay

- Beau saying to Jester “Thanks, cutie” I love themmmmm

- INITIATIVE AAGJASKHDKJ AAAAAHHHH

- Essek’s Gravity Sinkhole did nothing? uhhhhh Mr Stark...

- EADWULF???? HELLO?????

- Essek using his entire turn to save Caleb last battle 🤝 Caleb using his entire turn to save Essek this battle

- ASTRID???? I TRUSTED YOU??? WE ALL TRUSTED YOU????

- Another Counterspell chain sdfdghjkdl wizards !!!

- “It’s just business” is literally the Neutral Evil line, it always gives me chills when any character says it

- This hurts more after Liam confirming on Twitter that Astrid/Caleb/Eadwulf were all three a romantic item... please stop hurting Caleb, you loved him  😭

- THE FJORD VS EADWULF SWORD FIGHT IS SO CINEMATIC I LOVE IT HERE ACTUALLY

- Essek taking every opportunity to pull Caleb to safety makes me so emotional...  😭

- “You’re not the first student I’ve had to put down” I am burning with my anger for you, old man 

- THE DISPEL WORKED LET’S GO CALEB.....

- Remember when Matt said that Essek doesn’t openly show concern/emotion? And now he’s saying “I’m scared” in front of his closest friends and his worst enemies.... growth my love.....

- BEAU AND VETH LETS GO CHAOS CREW LETS MF GO BABEYYYY!!!

- FJORD COUNTERSPELLING THE DIMENSION DOOR..... and Matt having him describe it.... is this taking the place of a “HDYWTDT” *eyes emoji*

- CALEB GOING DOWN NO, THANK GOD FOR THAT DEATH WARD

- Veth’s illusion of Caleb’s parents flanking Caleb in the flames.... that got me too, Liam

- “Stay down.” yeah, okay, that was sexy

- ASTRID BEING THE ONE TO ACTIVATE THE COLLAR IS LITERALLY POETIC JUSTICE... Trent being beaten by the student who stuck with him longest I love this so much, she deserved that moment honestly

- Break Time, AKA Emma Makes Her Weekly Mug Brownie Interlude

- Sometimes I feel like “death is too good for you” is a copout, but in this case it fits so well, I want this mf’s reputation destroyed and the entire operation exposed and overthrown let’s goooo

- “I loved you both so much”.... Astrid and Eadwulf walking away.... oh, Blumendrei... I know this is not the end of your story. What’s past is prologue, loves

- The Empire Siblings are gonna burn down the whole system because it’s the system that enables individual corruption... I am so fulfilled by this, god i love them

- “I love you too” OH MY GOD I LOVE THEM SO MUCH, FJORESTER ARE THE CUTEST FOR REAL

- Jester and Essek’s friendship still means so much to me btw just in case anyone wanted a check-in

- Veth giving the flask to Kingsley!! Good for her, good for her!

- OH Blumenduo are back already! I truly thought that was going to be their last appearance of the Campaign, why is this taking me more by surprise than Trent’s appearance

- “[Caleb] notes how similar Eadwulf and Fjord are” this is Widofjord adjacent... this episode we have gotten Widomauk-adjacent, Widojest-adjacent, and Widofjord-adjacent (and Blumentrio ofc), now come through Shadowgast and we can get a full Bingo on the “Bisexual Maelstrom” card

- Speaking of relationships, I am lowkey into the Fjord/Jester/Kingsley dynamic LOL no one look at me I’m in hiding

- I’M NOT READY TO SAY GOODBYE TO VETH AND CAD 😭 It makes sense and the fact that they have their families back is beautiful but also consider this: I’m sad and I will miss them 

- The goodbyes to Caduceus..... I am going to cry aren’t I?

- “If he’s anything like his mom, you won’t see him until it’s too late” Okay that made me giggle, I love Veth and I love Luc and I love their little family

- IS ESSEK LEAVING TOO? THAT’S GONNA BE WHAT BREAKS ME ISN’T IT

- If Essek leaves and we never see him again, getting a triple whammy of goodbyes I will be so incredibly sad, I cannot do this  😭

- If anyone is interested, no I am not doing well

- I was lowkey ready to get an Essek’s feelings for Caleb confirmation tonight, I guess it makes sense that we didn’t but I hope that this is not the last time we see Essek... I want to write another emo post about him and about how much he means to me but I will refrain

- CALEB BEING A TEACHER IS THE ENDGAME I WANT FOR HIM PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE

- Wow, I really was not ready to see Caduceus and Essek go for some reason... I really wanted this Campaign to end on the image of the Mighty Nein together as all nine of them... I’m feeling so numb right now having to say goodbye  😭

- Oh, we’re in the epilogue now!

- When Fjord said “[the sea] is my favorite place to be” I genuinely felt that on a spiritual level... the ocean is home, it truly is and always will be for me as well

- “I CAST MODIFY MEMORY” FJORD LMAOOOOOOO

- Okay, that Widobrave ending is what made me shed tears for the first time this episode... not to be Personal but my biological brother graduates High School tomorrow, and for some reason this conversation just reminded me so much of me and him and now I’m emotional

- NOT THE SYPHILIS BANDITS DSYUHDFJKLSFJ;DS OKAY I NEEDED THAT LAUGH

- “I’d like to hear about your friend” Kingsley aww

- Beau giving Kingsley her first diary to help him realize who they all are is actually so perfectly fitting, I love that!

- “The other eight and I, yes” Caleb counting all nine of them again  😭

- CALEB BEING OFFERED AN ASSEMBLY SEAT WTF AAAHHH

- Oh shit, Astrid took the Assembly seat... I’m not sure how I feel about this, I feel so bad for her for having to stay in the system that abused her for so long and I would have loved to see her burn the whole thing down, but I hope that she at least has a sense of contentment with this title

- “I go where you go, baby” Beauyasha.... my darling loves....

- Beau’s dad??? But also Beau being the one with power over her father is so Good, I’m glad that she got justice on that front as well!

- This talk with Artagan... “I didn’t want you to be a god. I wanted you to be my friend.” and in the process my love you created divinity... maybe divinity is the friends we made along the way

- OH SHIT WE ARE GETTING ALL THE VANDRAN LORE TONIGHT I’M READY LET’S GO LET’S GO

- VANDRAN AND AVANTIKA WERE AN ITEM???

- Wait crack theory: Sabian was a half elf right? Could he be the son of Vandren and Avantika? Or is that too much of a stretch? 

- Vandran going with them!!! Also I feel like that moment between Fjord and Vandran was lowkey a tease to a post-campain Uk’otoa one shot and I am ready for it already 

- THIS BEAUYASHA MOMENT... “i’ve never known anyone as deeply as i know you” & “explore every bit of you in multiple ways ;)” & “your past doesn’t scare me, it only makes you beautiful” .... this is so much they are so much i love them so much

- “I will have you and then some” Beauyasha   😭

- I’m torn between “oh my god there’s still half an hour left?” and “how is there only half an hour left??”

- “You will let this Skyspear live at least?” oh my god so Yasha killed the last Skyspear then? Oof...

- YASHA GIVING ZUALA(’S GRAVE) THE BOOK OF FLOWERS, OH DEAR HEART

- And Beau’s talk to Zuala about being the luckiest woman alive and sacrifice.... 😭  

- PLANTING FLOWERS AT ZUALA’S GRAVE... “NO BETTER GRAVE MARKER” THIS IS MAKING ME SO EMOTIONAL, I KNOW I’VE SAID THIS A LOT THIS EPISODE BUT THIS TRULY IS SO BEAUTIFUL

- So... I may or may not be crying again

- Shadowgast with a steel chair??

- Caleb’s plan for saving his parents... it’s clear he has thought of this so much, oh my darling love  😭

- Caleb burning down his chance to change his past is so symbolic and something he really needed to do, it does make me emotional though

- The other book was him writing to his parents?? Oh bby boy  😭  

- While I would have loved for Caleb to open his own magic school (especially with Essek, or the Mighty Nein, or someone else as well), I am so pleased that he stays with Veth and that their friendship continues for the rest of their life because again: they mean so so much to me, and in a way they remind me of me and my biological brother (which I never realized before this episode) and yeah. They just make me Emo

- Also. Caleb being a professor was my Number One Endgame Hope for him and the fact that it came true is just so surreal in the best way possible. I’m so used to being robbed of happy endings. The fact that the Mighty Nein all got theirs makes me incredibly happy. A story does not have to be sad to be impactful. Happy stories and happy endings, especially during a time period of tumultuous real life circumstances, have just as much value and meaning and they always will. Caleb is teaching the next generation magic, and he is teaching them to be Good, and he is nurturing them, and that just means so much

- MATT CRYING IS GONNA GET TO ME

- “Let’s do it again” Please, let’s.

- Okay, everyone. I made it all seven hours in one piece with surprisingly minimal tears (though who knows, this might all sink in tomorrow.) I already wrote my thoughts earlier today about how much the Mighty Nein mean to me and how much this show and these characters have kept me holding on during quarantine and today... I’m still not ready to let them go, but I know that I can always revisit to say hello and to say thank you for changing me. Until then though... I love you all more than you could ever know. And for the last time of Campaign 2... is it Thursday yet?

Good night 💗

[luckyjak]

abandoned fic: Caleb the Time Traveler

I’m not ever going to finish this fic (rest in peace Molly) but I like what I have, so I thought I’d share it with you all. The plan was for it to be an eventual Widomauk piece, but I’m just not inspired to write Widomauk anymore, given that Molly is dead and has been for 2 years now.

In the end, it was all frighteningly simple, really.

Killing Trent had been easy. Most things were for a high powered wizard, which Caleb was at this point in his life. And while disintegration was too quick and too kind of a death for a man who had caused as much pain at Trenk Ikithon had, Caleb didn’t dare try to take any chances.

He would have thought there would be more to it. Maybe the gods themselves would intervene and stop him, or maybe someone else, a mysterious figure from an even worse timeline would try to stop him, but no. One quick spell, and Caleb had altered the timeline for the better.

He sat on his hands for a while after that, not quite sure what to do now that Trent no longer existed and could be the focus of all evil in both the world and in Caleb’s mind. But there was still corruption in the Empire, and there was still darkness, even at the Soltryce Academy. 

So he rolled up his sleeves, and he got to work.

Little by little, he changed the world. By the time a young Bren enrolled at the Academy, it was a legitimate school for magic learners, and the Empire was a brighter, better place. There was an Empress now instead, a distant cousin of King Bertrand, and while she made mistakes occasionally, she had a good heart--of that Caleb was deadly certain. 

After that, he got more selfish in his pursuits. Traveling back to this time had been a one-time deal: he would never go back to his own timeline. Theoretically, such a timeline no longer existed. He would never see his friends again.

Therefore, he did what he could to make their lives better in this timeline.

Bren was taken care of: Bren would have parents and a girlfriend and a boyfriend and hopefully never be any more ambitious than teaching at the Academy for the rest of his days. Honestly, Caleb could hope for nothing more for his younger, alternate self. 

But the rest of the Mighty Nein? He did what he could, for them and their happiness.

He couldn’t stop Fjord from being bullied or from being an orphan, but he could modify Vandren’s memory and make him think he was Fjord’s biological father. It was a lie, but a small one, and it ultimately made both men’s lives better. In Caleb’s world, that was a lie worth telling, a spell worth casting. From there, it took only the wise words of a “friend” to encourage Vandren to give up on the orbs for Ukatoa, and to take an interest in his young son instead. A gentle nudge, a small trade of coin, and the Tide’s Breath would find it’s port in Nicodronas instead of Port Damali instead. Another nudge, another slight but gentle push, and a young Fjord would find himself drawn into long midnight conversations with the mysterious Sapphire of the Sea, standing beneath the window to the Lavish Chateau one evening when he could not sleep, and neither could she. They would become fast friends, and while Caleb could not fix all the world’s problems, he could make sure that two of his friends were no longer lonely. 

He could only help Jester so much: he respected Marion too much to modify her memories, and no silver tongue could convince the woman to let her daughter have just a bit more freedom. So he sent Fjord her way instead, and before that, when she was younger, Caleb would visit her, often, under the guise of night and with a heavy cloak of magic. It was a small thing, keeping a young girl company, and he liked the tricks and jokes she learned to play from him. If she happened to call him the Traveler--well, that was her name for him, not his. As far as the actual Traveler was concerned, he must have found it amusing, because Jester still became a cleric in the end. When she ran away from Nicodronas, Fjord’s father offered her a job on his ship, and she learned all she needed to from a Tortle named Orly. 

Beauregard was a trickier friend to help: he could not make her parents into better people, nor could he ever guarantee that they would love her the way she deserved. So instead he kidnapped her as a baby, and left her with his own parents instead. A rational decision that took little convincing, in his mind. It was surprisingly easy, no more difficult that killing Trent, and Beau would be happier for it. His parents were loving and kind and had always wanted another child, although they had never been able to afford one. They were surprised to find the infant girl and the sack of gold on their front steps, but they loved her nonetheless. And Bren could do with a sister: lord knows it had helped Caleb, in time. The only oddity was when he stopped by occasionally to check in, and heard Beau’s rough voice grow up with a Zemnian accent. 

He fixed other things, too. When Caduceus Clay was eleven, making mud pies in the backyard with his sisters, his parents received a letter telling them exactly what was causing the corruption in their woods, and how to fix it. When the goblins attacked Felderwyn, Veth and Yeza Brenatto were on their honeymoon in Whitestone, an unexpected gift they hadn’t planned on that they had received anonymously in the mail. When Yasha and Zuela ran away to be together, they found they suddenly had the money and transportation and paperwork to make it to the Empire together, far from the consequences of their clan.

Caleb was, at last, at peace. The world would be well. 

He “retired” after that, finding his way back to the Academy in a nice, quiet teaching position, content to live out the rest of his days as a silent guardian of Exandria. It was lonely at times--there was no one he could ever tell his story to, and no one would ever believe him. 

He had forgotten nothing, left no stone unturned, had fixed every problem he could think of. His world was, for once, finally perfect.

Which was why the purple tiefling in front of him startled him so.

“Mollymauk,” he said out loud, on reflex, although the man before him wasn’t Molly, and wouldn’t be for another few years, at least. He was young, tall and lanky, no older than 20, if he was even that old. The man’s hair was shorter, shaved down so that only the barest bit of black fuzz showed, and there was nothing ornate about him: there was no jewelry in his horns, and the clothes he wore were plain and simple and dark. There were no bright tattoos to catch his eye and no flashy tricks or smiles, and yet there was no mistaking it: the man before him was Mollymauk Tealeaf, or would be, one day.

He seemed impossibly young, full of energy, and just looking at him made Caleb feel like an ancient dragon, staring at an impossible, unearned hoard.

(He had forgotten Molly. How could he have forgotten Molly? He had killed Lorenzo and the Iron Sheppards when they were so young and yet he never once thought to check in on Mollymauk. But Mollymauk didn’t exist in this timeline yet, did he? He would be Lucien now, and Caleb had no idea how to find Lucien--except that he was here, now, in front of him. And in his timeline, the one he came from, Molly had been dead for five years, and yet the universe saw fit to send this other Molly his direction anyway.)

“Er, no?” The voice was mostly the same, but different--a different accent, at least, as far as Caleb could tell from what little he’d said.  “Sorry?”

“My apologies,” Caleb said quietly. “You--ah, you reminded me of someone. My mistake.”

Shorter hair, no tattoos, darker clothes--but still fundamentally Molly. The same eyes, the same horns, the same crooked grin--that’s what really sealed it for him. “A good someone?” The non-Molly asked, sharp teeth pointed out of his smile. 

“An old friend,” Caleb answered honestly. “A dead one.”

The not-Molly cocked an eyebrow at that, but didn’t question him further. “Perhaps it’s fortune, then. I’ve been meaning to speak with you, Master Widogast.”

That was interesting. “Oh?”

“I’m told you are the brightest wizard the Empire has to offer,” The not-Molly was certainly charming, he’d give him that, although his voice had more of a Krynn inflection than what Caleb remembered-- “My name is Essek Thelyss--”

“It is not.” Caleb stopped him, not letting the not-Molly speak.

The not-Molly, not-Essek didn’t move, but he didn’t stop smiling either, as if he was used to being caught in a fib and knew how to get out of it. “Oh? What’s my name then?”

“I do not know, but I have met Essek Thelyss, and you are not him,” 

Again, the not-Molly didn’t seem stirred. “How do you know I’m not Essek Thelyss, and whoever you met just happened to steal my name?”

He didn’t have a good or clever response to that. “Something tells me that’s not the case, however,”

The not-Molly’s eyes sparkled as he talked. “Then what’s my name?”

��Lucien,” He took a stab in the dark, the name of Molly’s past life, and that got him a hearty laugh.

“I’m afraid that’s not my name, either, darling, but I do like it more than Essek. Easier to spell. I think I’ll keep it.” He grinned, and held out his hand for Caleb to shake. “Call me Lucien.”

“Mr. Lucien,” Old habits died hard, it seemed; Caleb shut his book, finally. “How might I help you?”

“I’m in need of a wizard of a particular caliber of skill, and I’m told you are the best the Academy has to offer. Unparalleled in his field, they told me.”

“It won’t work,” Caleb brushed him off.

“I haven’t even told you my plan yet!”

“You don’t have to. I know it ends with you in an early grave,” Caleb shook his head. “You are no wizard, Mr. Lucien, and I doubt you have the temperament to start now. Whatever you are trying to do, you’d be better off if you stopped it now.”

“You must help me,” Lucien pleaded, his voice desperate. “If you don’t, I--I know your secret,”

“I rather doubt that.”

“You’re a time traveler, from the future.” That stopped Caleb dead in his tracks. “That, or you are the most convincing seer I’ve ever met.”

It was dead silent for a moment as Caleb’s thoughts raced through his head. How? How did he know? How was it even possible that this not-Molly would have even the slightest idea of who he was?

“Holy shit, I’m right?” Lucien laughed, louder than Caleb thought he might’ve intended. “You are a time traveler. I was just guessing, but I’m right, aren’t I?” He cackled. “Luxon above, you’re from the goddamn future. It’s why you recognized me. You called me--Molly? Mollymauk? Not the best name I’ve ever used for a con but honestly not the worst either. It’s growing on me, actually. Tell me, was I still handsome in the future? It’s a very important question--”

The hold person spell was up before Caleb even though to cast it. “Shut. Up.” A moment, then two, the not-Molly’s face frozen in time as Caleb struggled to catch his breath.

He took that moment, and then he released the spell. He expected another barrage of inane questions, but the not-Molly was silent, waiting expectantly.

“How did you know?”

Not-Molly smiled, not unkindly. “Essek Thelyss is a not even a hundred years old in the Krynn Dynasty. He’s a smart but reclusive boy, doesn’t have a lot of friends and most people wouldn’t know him because he keeps to himself. His mother is currently grooming him to be the next shadowhand, a fact that is not known to many. For you to know him well enough to recognize on sight that I’m not him? He must have an impressive future indeed.”

“What’s your name, really?”

Not-Molly didn’t want to answer that one. “Some call me the Nonagan. That will suffice.” 

“That’s not an answer.”

“It’s the only one I have for you.”

“Hmm,” Caleb sat back down at his desk, trying to appear calmer than he felt. “So what if I am from the future? I won’t help you. I already told you that your plan doesn’t work--it ends with you in a grave.”

“Well, Mr. Caleb--can I call you Mr. Caleb? Master Widogast seems so terribly formal--”

“No,”

“-- from what it sounds like, it sounds like my plan works perfectly.”  The Nonagan batted his eyelashes. “You see, my plan is to die. Permanently.”

“What are you on about, exactly?”

“I am over a thousand years of the Krynn Dynasty’s attempts at perfect consecutation.  I am a Beacon made flesh. I am the Luxon’s divine light, and the closest thing this world has ever seen to genuine immortality. I cannot die.” He paused. “Well, I can, I suppose, as any creature made flesh can die. But I always come back,” he rolled up his sleeves, and showed Caleb a tattoo of a red eye on his wrist. “It takes a while. And I don’t remember anything at first. But with enough time, the memories come back. And I would, with your help, like them to stop, if you please.”

[thewolfisawake]

Critical Role

Favorite character:

In CR1, Percy and Scanlan. And gonna sound so hipster but I did legitimately like Percy prior to the Briarwood arc. I liked his place as the more subdued person that didn’t need fanfare for his support. And then I was scared and intrigued when he was more...forthcoming in that arc since he was quieter before (I think I read this was also because Taliesin was bit shy starting out but got comfortable). And Scanlan, was the man I shed tears for because I kept crying ‘oh god, someone please notice. Someone HELP HIM.’ They both had some serious gut punches and their stories did shift the dynamics (of the story and the party respectively) permanently. They are also great support and yet also had some amazing solos. 

In CR2, Caleb and Fjord. I just like me some sad boys apparently. I think Caleb’s bumbling and trying to do right but struggling with doing what’s good for you so painfully relatable. As of writing this, I haven’t caught up yet but I’ve seen him make such leaps and bounds in terms of letting people in and being a support to others. I also think mechanically he’s a show of how the drawbacks like his fear can make for good moments. As for Fjord, he’s just in general how I think a moral compass or herder character can be done without irritating both the player and viewer. I mean morals of this cast is more wonky but in general Fjord seems to put forward a general ‘we all get through this’ and respect towards the team. 

Least Favorite character:

In CR1, Keyleth. And no, it’s got nothing to do with Marisha. She’s cool. I honestly felt bad for her because Keyleth had to pick up the moral slack whenever Pike wasn’t there, which was often. Some of her best moments were when she had to draw the hard line. But it was far outweighed with having this moral high horse for some reason even though they promptly do something just as low down as the ones she looked down on. Also, I feel it’s hard to do a character that is naive but also very likable so again, sorry for Marisha. 

In CR2, I like so many but I’ll go with Mollymauk. And it was a bit of a shame because he was like the one person I heard so much about. I did like that he was the one that tended to push into some of the best shenanigans I’ve listened to. However, he was just fine. There wasn’t much to push him into love him so much nor much to say I dislike him. I’m a little disappointed of not being able to know what his deal was I guess was what I would choose if I have to say what made him least favorite. 

5 Favorite ships (canon or non-canon):

Vax’limore - Their interactions just oozed banter and playfulness. There was no intro to how that this happened, it just jumps into their flirtations. And it was that cute banter and the real ‘I’d do anything for you, my friend’ that ended up hurting seeing Gilmore have his heart strings pulled as they did. Like if you love him, let him go. For real. Don’t dangle it in front of him like that. 

Pike/Percy - Weird thought but I thought it was pretty clear that Pike liked Percy. Everyone sees her as a stalwart beacon but she still has wants and falls off from time to time. But she tries. And she saw something within Percy that was dark and I don’t think it was necessarily ‘I want to fix him’ but ‘I want to save him.’ And Percy find a light in Pike like many do but also seeing her as just Pike.  

Perc’ahlia - I mean, it’s canon. Thing is that I can’t pinpoint a moment when it began. Just that it happened and that felt okay. I think they’re both maniacs in their own right and it’s kind of cute how they indulge each other’s passion/excitement. Gifts feels like Percy’s love language and he shows it so much in how he tinkers for Vex and her glee in what new way she can fuck shit up is enough for him. And also it’s really delicious the parallel with them and the Briarwoods and Laura has stated that if Percy had died died, that it was possible Vex end up the same kind of menace Delilah was. 

Vex/Zahra - In some other life, they would have been the femme fatale couple. All of their interactions were enjoyable and they so clearly enjoy each other. Just looking over and it’s the eyes with them.

Widobrave - Partners in crime. I think that their dynamic isn’t simple and that’s what’s so interesting. They see each other as someone to protect and don’t exactly see how the other views them as the one to be protected. And they have ‘without question’ sort of trust in each other and are genuinely awed and so happy when they witness one do something great. It gets sad with more of their backstory. And it gets me that both immediately felt guilty for keeping it a secret from them. Not the entire party, their partner. They both have seen past appearances and see the strength, the zaniness and the brilliance the other possesses and I can’t wait to get to more of their moments. 

Character I find most attractive:

CR1: Gilmore. My god he was gorgeous. Vax why did you just walk away from that? Raishan. Look, she was hot and smart and even if she fell eventually, she made the most of when she was there. 

CR2: Cali is so frickin’ adorable. Like she’s so cute and hey, if not for the whole cult chasing her thing, it’d be nice to stick around and sightsee. I am also a ‘Jester is really cute’ person.

Character I would marry:

I don’t really think there’s anyone I’d actually--well, I think maybe Pike because stronk lady that can get into mischief with but at the same time just be able to be content with.

No one in this campaign so far. 

Character I would be best friends with:

I would LIKE to be friends with Cassandra because everyone continues to ignore how this woman has been tormented and then thrust into very important position. All while harboring guilt for what she had to do to survive. The girl needs a break and I’m here with a blanket and some tea.

I would like to be friends with Nott actually. She’s really cool and I think it’s fun to let her be her zany self. 

a random thought:

So who is really credited as the inventor of firearms, Percy, who did technically make it, or Ripley, who is the one that sold the schematics to make them mass-produced? 

Is there just an abundance of mysterious magic ladies in Wildemount or what? 

An unpopular opinion:

Scanlan deserved his anger and feelings of being unappreciated. Even if he was brought back, it does not lessen that there was uncertainty nor the lack of respect towards his body. Vox Machina had gotten cocky and it drove one of their members away. Vex and Vax were the only ones that took Scanlan’s frustration to heart and did not mess up with Tary for that reason. Also Tary was a parallel of the worst of the party, which is why most of them couldn’t stand him. 

The small races are not fucking children. I don’t get why they get called children or thought of like that. They’re just short, goddammit!

My Canon OTP:

CR1: Perc’ahlia for above reasons.

CR2: None to be seen so far?

My Non-canon OTP:

CR1: Because I’m hella fucked up, I am enamored by the thought that Percy had a crush on Ripley. Because she paid attention to him, one of the younger and less interesting of his family. And to him she was brilliant and she took advantage of that, which is how he survived or why they got in. And Percy never forgot or forgave her. 

CR2: “And they were roommates” “oh god they were roommates.” * whispers * I kind of liked Fjord and Molly. They felt like foils that were amicable with each other aaaaannndddd actually had nice interactions? 

Most Badass Character:

CR1: NO MERCY PERCY

CR2: Shakaste is pretty awesome and Khary Payton is awesome. 

Most Epic Villain:

CR1: Raishan. Like I wish she could’ve been a bigger villain but alas the dice were not on her side. I think her arc was the most interesting as she was the true threat in the party’s eyes despite there being a dragon terraforming their home. 

CR2: At this point? There hasn’t been a major villain for the party.  

Pairing I am not a fan of:

I don’t really have anything I can’t ship in this one.

Character I feel the writers screwed up (in one way or another):

Can’t really say anyone ‘screwed up’ since this is a lot of improv and all that. So I guess miss chances I think would only really be Molly since y’know, he’s dead. 

Favourite Friendship:

CR1: Pike & Grog - They’re Best Buddies, y’all. I can’t get over how much they just pal around like that’s just the usual for them. And technically it is. They can go get wasted together and then kick ass after. It’s just the casualness of their relationships and how much respect and lack of reverence that I like. Pike is just Pike to Grog so he finds no reason to hold back or hold her as a light unlike the rest of the party. But he does want to do good by her because she’s his friend and he doesn’t want to disappoint her. And Pike never insults Grog’s intellect and actively works to help him improve and deflects the party’s remarks of how he is. 

CR2: Empire Kids - They’ve come a long way from their seats of mistrust and standoff-ishness. I think there was a post that put it best that they’re ‘learning how to human.’ And because they both are at the same point of it, they are struggling together. As a result they’ve come to lean on each other to keep themselves from going to far. They’re not perfect but they’re trying to keep this found family of theirs together. 

Character I most identify with:

CR1: Keyleth. Being the one to try to keep people together or on the straight on narrow isn’t easy. It sucks and I’m not usually the person that should do it but here I am.

CR2: Caleb. I am very off-beat and odd but I do want to have friends and the like....just not stellar at showing that...

Character I wish I could be:

I mean, this is D&D where awesome shit goes on all the time. So anyone I guess?

[mollymauk-teafleak]

Their First Time

So the ever incredible and wonderful @minky-for-short got a very well deserved promotion at work so to say well done, I wrote her a little something based off a fantastic piece of art she did. 

----

The whole house felt different.

Molly thought it as he walked Trinket to bed, leaving Caleb sitting awkwardly on their threadbare sofa, looking like he didn’t want to put his feet down anywhere or even let his eyes linger on anything too long, in case he caused it to burst into flames.

It was such an enormous difference, as if the whole of Foamside, the little life he’d built for himself and his son had been taken in two malicious hands and shaken up, sending them all reeling and landing in places that weren’t their own. It was a piece of Mollymauk’s old life jammed into his new one like a puzzle piece that wouldn’t fit, like a grain of sand in a loaf of bread, an upset to a routine that was so well established. Caleb seemed as aware of the discomfort as Molly did, if his dizzy gaze and hands anchored to his sides were anything to go by. When they used to spend time with each other, his hands would flit about like excited birds, flapping and twisting in the air to illustrate the thoughts pouring from his brilliant mind. If they were limp and still, it could only be a bad sign.

Trinket clearly felt the unease too, as fiercely as a little boy who’d had his perfect bedtime routine upset could. He didn’t want to go to bed, asking again and again who the man was, why he was up in their home when customers belonged in the store, why daddy was crying. Molly rubbed at his eyes frantically at the last one, he hadn’t realised they’d filled up again. After a lot of reassurance that everything was okay, the man was called Mr Widogast and he was...an old friend...Trinket finally fell asleep in their bed, clutching his cloth toy. His little face was still slightly crumpled in an expression of unease and it hurt Molly’s heart to see it.

Molly shut the door firmly and slumped against it for a long moment, letting out a long, shaky sigh and finally allowing himself some time to weep. Not all the time he needed, just a little, to release the pressure building up in his chest.

Wasn’t this what he’d always wanted? To have Caleb back in his life, smiling down at their son with such a tender expression, telling Mollymauk that he loved him?

How many times had he allowed himself the selfish daydream, that Caleb would come bursting through the shop doors, throw himself down on one knee, saying he’d always loved him, that even back in Zadash he’d known they were meant for each other despite the chasm between their backgrounds. Like a fucking smutty pulp romance, the archmage and the courtesan.

Maybe it was because he’d never thought Caleb would look so much like a man crushed under the weight of the whole world. He never thought there would be such loneliness and sadness in his eyes. Sure, when he’d first turned up at Marion’s, there had been a little of it in him, something that had pulled at Molly’s heart, called out to him even when he knew what a powerfully bad idea it was to fall for a client. Something that needed healing.

But now Caleb had turned up looking so much older than the years that had elapsed. He looked like all the healing they’d managed over their time together had gone and the wound inside him had been ripped wide open, further than it ever had.

In his daydream, Molly had never had to feel so guilty for leaving.

He wasn’t angry at Caleb, for disrupting their lives. He was angry at himself, furious, for not trusting Caleb. If there was anyone in the world he could have trusted, it was his archmage who pressed flowers into books for him and opened up to him about his nightmares and looked at him like he was a person with heart, rather than something to own. And he still hadn’t been able to do it.

He hadn’t. But now he would, if there was still a chance.

Mollymauk walked quickly to the living room. Caleb was still sat on the sofa, awkwardly posed like a doll with wires in its limbs shaped to be the perfect figure of anxiety. He did soften a little as Molly walked in, as if he’d been worried that everything since he stepped through the door of the little store had been a dream. Molly couldn’t exactly blame him.

“Tea?” he offered, voice a little weak, limply gesturing to his tiny little kitchenette and praying internally that he’d put enough in the meter last time.

Always offer a drink, he heard Marion saying in the back of his mind, a drink smooths the way into any conversation.

But Caleb simply shook his head, looking like he had a million things to say trying to burst out of him all at once but the clamour was so intense that none could actually get through his mouth. Molly wilted and sat across from him in the little chair he and Trinket had rescued from the antique shop.

“Are you mad at me?” he breathed, cringing as soon as he said it. Of course he was mad at him. How could be not be? He’d hidden the fact that they had a son together, cut him dead and ignored him for nine months before fleeing the city entirely, never once having the courage to think that maybe Caleb wanted them in his life.

But Caleb, his beautiful, kind, gentle Caleb, just shook his head, finding his voice.

“I’m not mad at you, Mollymauk. I’m just...I’m scared.” His voice was tiny, not much above a whisper.

“Scared?”

Caleb looked down at his hands. Molly noticed they had a few more burn scars than they had when last he’d seen them, stroking and parting his thighs.

“I...I’m scared I’m not the same. That I’m not the Caleb you used to know. I’m scared I’ve turned into something else, something that’s not worthy of you. Certainly not worthy to be a father.”

His eyes flickered nervously to the bedroom just behind Mollymauk, as if a tiny child as sweet and so completely in love with life as Trinket were something to be afraid of.

Molly wanted desperately to reach out for him, to prove to him (and also to himself) that the scars he saw weren’t permanent, that they could be healed with kisses and gentle touches and sweet words like they always had before. That the love he’d been so certain could grow between them still had a chance.

“You still look like Caleb to me,” he murmured, “You still sound the same. You still look at me in a way that makes me feel like everything will be alright, even when I’m so worried. And I still want you, though that's the least of it right now. I still feel like I love you.”

“Feel like?” Caleb managed a thin little smile, a hopeful, hesitant smile that wanted to be more.

“Since when were you the big risk taker out of the two of us?” Molly teased gently, answering with a smile of his own.

“Since when were you a reader of bedtime stories?” Caleb shot back, grinning, his fingers starting to flutter, tapping on his knees.

Molly snorted out a laugh.

The two of them felt a spark of something, something that crossed the space between them and made the night seem less dark.

“Make love to me, Mollymauk,” Caleb said in the gentle pause that followed.

Molly hesitated, nervous, trying to still cling to their joking back and forth and had been starting to feel familiar, “My rates have gone up. Independent contractor now.”

It was the wrong thing to say. Caleb’s expression stalled and his eyes fell like stars from the sky, burning out and turning dark.

“I’m sorry,” Molly said quickly, “That’s not...I don’t think of you that way anymore. I hadn’t for a very long time.”

Caleb managed to pull himself back, “Then...can we? I want to do it where we’re not...like that. Where it's just us. I know it feels a little crazy and it might be a bad idea but…I want to.”

“Me too,” Molly nods, feeling himself start to ache for it. He let himself feel it, unashamedly, let himself want Caleb, so sincerely it started to hurt but he didn’t shy away from it. It was a good kind of hurt.

“Not up here,” Molly rose to his feet, offering Caleb his hand which he gratefully took, “I don’t want to wake up Trinket.”

Caleb nodded, blushing a little. The blush made Mollymauk grin, he’d loved that so much.

At the brothel, they had expensively scented candles, rich silk bed covers, musicians playing in the bar room that could be heard throughout the building but turned up or down at the will of the room’s occupants, thanks to a clever amplification spell. There had been lube ordered in from Port Dumoli, wine from Nicodranas, ale from Trostenwald, everything that could possibly be desired by the expensive tastes of the clientele and the workers.

Down in the store, there was a battered, nicked oak desk and what moonlight made it in through the shutters. But that was all they needed.

Molly discarded his leggings swiftly but didn’t have time to take care of his shirt before Caleb distracted him with a long kiss deep as the sea which they could hear faintly in the background. It would do. The desk was comfortable enough to be bent over, listening with a maddening anticipation, sharp like lemon juice on his tongue, to the sounds of Caleb unbuckling his pants.

When he pushed into him, one smooth, deliberate motion, there was the sense of coming home.

It wasn’t exactly the same, it never would be. Molly had stretch marks on his legs and stomach, the legacy of his pregnancy, and the stretching and exercise regime he’d followed religiously in his younger days had fallen by the wayside significantly. He felt a brief moment of shyness about this before he realised Caleb touched him, moved in him, moaned his name with as much tenderness as the very first time they made love.

As long as that was still there, everything was as perfect as it could be.

It wasn’t long, by any means. It was hurried, a little frantic, a little messy. But there was something sweet about that, like they were two anxious teenagers fumbling at each other for the very first time, seeing what fits where. Caleb soon found his rhythm, knocking Molly’s hips into the desk perfectly in time with the sharp, longing cries he wrung from the tiefling.

And then that was it.

Molly’s nails raked the wood as he came, crying out, feeling it run down the inside of his thighs. Caleb was half a thrust behind him, whining Molly’s name. He always said Molly’s name.

There was a touch of shyness after that, as they untangled themselves and yanked their clothes back on. But they kept catching each other’s eyes and grinning, dizzily, delightedly, the two of them a little drunk on it all.

Before they went back upstairs, before Caleb insisted he’d sleep on the couch so as not to upset Trinket too much, before Molly spent a night tossing and turning, his thighs aching so sweetly and his mind wondering frantically what would come next, he kissed Caleb. And it was so sweet and so gentle and so right, the moonlight washing over them both, for that moment it was as if Mollymauk’s daydream had come true. Caleb was here, he was his, they loved each other and everything was absolutely perfect.

Tomorrow would wait.

[lunarwoven]

⎈ ME TOO

｡○✧☽  /  accepting  /  @empirefire007. a letter written in the case of death

i’ve written up many letters, for the entire mighty nein in the case i die, and i saved yours for last. although, in hindsight, i was probably more putting it off than saving it. i had many things, sweet things, funny things, to impart with the others, with little nott and sweet jester. i feel that i’m never short on things to say, on knowing what to say to people to make them feel good about themselves or, on the flip side of that coin, terrible about themselves. i always fancied myself a talker.

i feel it clashed the most with you, dear caleb. i did always enjoy hearing you talk, was always interested in what you had to say. you’re funnier than you think, smarter than you know, and honestly, caleb, what a mess you are. an intricate and damn near unreadable mess. you hide it well, this much i can say confidently, but what you’re hiding i can only imagine. you don’t think much of yourself, maybe that has to do with your past, or maybe that’s just you. whichever the case, with my parting words, i’d like to let you in on a little secret.

who you were before doesn’t matter. well, it matters in the sense that you have to build off of that. you have to look at who you were, or whatever you knew about that person, and decide for yourself that it doesn’t matter anymore. you know what you know about me, what i told you lot. it’s quite a story i told, and i hope i got to tell more before my untimely demise. i hope i got to talk to you more before then. i hope, i hope, i hope. there’s so little i can actually bank on.

dearest caleb. those tarot cards i liked. there’s one that comes to mind quickest. it was the queen of swords, do you remember? i called you an asshole using that card, maybe that will ring a bell. i told you what the reversed meaning was- i said it meant you were cold, close minded, and cruel. i don’t know how well you could tell, but it was only in part a load of horse shit. in case i never got the chance to, before i died, i’d like to tell you what she means upright.

you are smart, flexible. you’re wise and straight forward, but you rely more on your head than your heart. you want the truth. you seek the truth unendingly. you pursue what you want with a true direction and nothing can make you back down if you’ve set your mind to it. you have a tough exterior because you set your boundaries clearly, but you have a soft side. you have separate a layer behind your wall. you put on a face. does that sound quite like you, dearest caleb? does that remind you of yourself, or who you want to be?

then become that person, caleb. be whoever you want to be, goddamn it. don’t let anything get in your way. tear away the pieces you don’t like, fix them, change them, be who you are meant to be. if you must make a new name for yourself, so be it. i did. you can do it too. the difference between us, you see, is i don’t remember what i did, nor do i want to. you do. so act on that, and change if you want as much. do it, and be proud no matter what anyone else may say.

i leave to you, enclosed in this note, that very card. don’t lose her. i want you to keep her as a reminder. reversed, she is stuck in the past, stuck on her mistakes, she can’t move forward. turn her upright, caleb, turn yourself upright, and put your eyes forward. make new mistakes that will make you you. make yourself, dearest caleb, and be yourself proudly.

keep your chin up. keep them safe. keep that card. fond wishes, dear caleb,               molly.

     if perceptive enough, with the letter in your hands, you can see the writing grew unstable, shaky, the longer it went. the paper is wrinkled deeply, with smudges, scratched out words, indiscernible beneath the swirls of heavy ink to hide it. at the tarot card is undamaged, left gently in the folds of the parchment. on the backside, if you were to check, there’s a slight note of ink at the top right corner of the face card, clear against the pale background.

               U. R.

[eponymous-rose]

Talks Machina Highlights - Critical Role Highlights C2E33 (September 11, 2018)

Tonight’s guests are Taliesin Jaffe and Liam O’Brien!

Announcements:

Support the RavenRook Kickstarter! Brian used one of their notebooks to take notes in his own home campaign. (”I was the Marisha.”)

The NYC live show on Thursday, October 4 still has tickets available! (Liam: ”It’s like the inside of Gilmore’s mind, that theater.”)

There’s a new State of the Role video on YouTube and the website!

Between the Sheets, CR’s new show, premieres on Monday, September 17 at 7 PM Pacific on CR’s Twitch channel, and then on YouTube about 36 hours later. The first episode features Taliesin Jaffe and is over an hour long. Brian: “Taliesin is like an endless well of darkness and love and joy. So many bad things.”

All Work No Play is returning! Premieres on the Twitch channel (also later windowed to YouTube) on Friday, September 28 at 7 PM Pacific. A dire warning from Brian: “Have liquid nowhere near your mouth.” Liam: “We’ve seen some things.”

CR is raising money for the Pablove Foundation!

@critrolestats for this episode:

This is the first episode of campaign 2 to have no crits.

There were 16 spells cast this week. Ten of them were Disguise Self, six of those by Jester. Taliesin: “Sometimes you don’t want to be the guy who’s nine feet tall in the theater.”

Of the eight Sending messages Jester has sent this campaign, only her last one to the Gentleman was under the 25-word limit.

Liam: “I feel so sad that Laura can’t be here tonight, because I, personally, wanted to know what Laura thought about what happened in the last episode. I share your disappointment that I’m not Laura Bailey.” Taliesin: “He’s making a suit. It will eventually be okay.”

Caleb’s feelings about the ocean were tied up in finally being out of the Empire. “It was just a rare moment where all the things that weigh on him heavily receded for a bit.” Seeing Crownsguard in town did ramp up the worry again.

Taliesin hadn’t actually seen snowfall until he was a teenager, so the first time that happened was “an intense experience”. Caduceus has spent a lot of time thinking about how large the universe is, but having this confirmation was a really wonderful thing for him. He’s on a delighted high right now, and they’re going to have a hard time getting him away from the ocean.

Everyone talks briefly about their respective Tumblr Aesthetics. As you do.

Caleb’s thoughts on the ocean and the dodecahedron: “Confirming to himself that the universe is wide and vast and complicated, and there’s a hidden logic to it all. It was like seeing his heart’s desire splayed into an abstract form in front of him.”

Brian reminisces about some time they spent on the beach together. Liam was a sea monster. Ashley was attacked by a bug. Perhaps unsurprisingly, the police got involved.

Taliesin confirms that Caduceus really likes the group. “I mean, he doesn’t have a lot of people to compare them to.” He feels like he “really gets” Jester; she seems like the easiest book to read. Taliesin: “He knows what he knows. He knows he doesn’t know a lot, but he knows it doesn’t matter.”

Caleb didn’t assume that Jester’s mom was evil, it just didn’t sound like a great childhood. Caleb still feels sad that Jester had to go through that. “Nobody’s evil, it’s just that life is life and hard. He sees that Jester’s mother obviously loves her very much and is like, ‘I wish she got to see more of her.’” Brian points out that Caleb’s thoughts about other people are always much kinder than his thoughts about himself. Caleb’s constantly thinking, “Ah, this is what life would be like if I wasn’t terrible.” Taliesin points out that it is, by definition, what his life is like, but he’s not there yet. He feels detached.

Caduceus doesn’t understand “the entire nature” of the relationship between Beau and Jester and their pets. “I think if we had another person in the party, he would have the same-- ‘Cool, another.’ This is just three more living things to communicate with.” He likes the owl best so far.

Caduceus doesn’t really get what’s going on with Jester and the Gentleman. Taliesin: “That’s cool, man, get to know your dad!” Liam: “Caleb thinks that all of the Nein, except for Jester, are kind of fucked up and kind of problematic in their own ways... and then Jester’s one of us, more so.” 

Caduceus has a pretty positive relationship with his family. He’s 50-ish, which is the equivalent of early 20s. “He’s literally grown up in a monastery, so his early 20s is not necessarily other people’s early 20s.”

Gif of the Week: Travis’s Lore Alert.

The show gets derailed by Brian’s Dune-blue eyes. “Are you spicing?”

Part of Caleb being more watchful over Jester is being out of the Empire. “He sees chances to help people---he’s irredeemable, but he’d like to be helpful if he can. From his point of view, he’s got things that he’s going to do.”

Brian asks if Taliesin and Liam think there’s such a thing as an irredeemable character. Taliesin on Percy: “I tried to make an irredeemable character and failed.” As long as they’re not a caricature, it’s hard to pull that off. Taliesin: “As long as you have a character who’s trying to move toward something.” Liam: “I definitely intend Caleb to have some chance for redemption.” He doesn’t know where his story will go, but he wouldn’t play him otherwise. Taliesin: “He’s a villain only in his head, which is really the hardest fight of all.”

Dani points out that the Gentleman clearly wanted to keep his relationship with the Ruby on the down-low, and Jester bringing it up could backfire badly.

Marisha’s off-screen trying to catch a fly. Liam: “It’s Vecna. He’s immortal. He’s just been flying around the studio for months.”

Caduceus was looking for a particular kind of information, and “the lighthouse called to him. The lighthouse was his mission. If he’s focused on something like that, he’s focused. It’s very hard to distract him.” He didn’t get as much out of it as he wanted, and badly wants to know more.

Taliesin wrote a segment about the Wildmother in the upcoming artbook, some of which wound up bleeding through to Caduceus. Liam and Brian discuss Taliesin’s amazing writing.

Liam and Marisha get into an argument about the tower. Marisha: “Sometimes it’s just fun to hop the fence to say that you could! I’m not in this episode! Stop talking about me!”

Fanart of the Week: the Ruby of the Sea by ZomgDae!

An extremely deserved shout-out to Rachel Romero for everything she does!

Taliesin is asked if Caduceus has trained himself not to show anger, sadness, or fear. Taliesin points out that Caduceus hasn’t had a lot of reason to be angry, sad, or afraid yet. “He has a lot of very quiet and very personal delight. He’s not a creature of heavy desire. He’s not missing a lot. If something hadn’t gone wrong in his home, he never would have left it. He’s seen violence, and he’s very comfortable with the nature of violence.” Liam: “In the National Geographic sense.” Taliesin’s excited to see what happens if he or his companions are put in a place of real peril.

Liam was entertained that nobody playing the game picked up on Marisha, Matt, and Taliesin’s alter egos in the werewolf one-shot. Laura’s going to be up next in the DM chair at some point, and Taliesin has a fun idea as well.

Fast Times At Talks Machina: After Dark High:

Taliesin thinks Molly and Caduceus would get along pretty well; they had a lot in common. Taliesin was finishing up Molly’s playlist this week, and all the songs he cut wound up finding their way into Caduceus’s playlist.

Taliesin owns a book about presidential beards (because of course he does) and wants to take Brian through that journey. Brian actually grew his beard in the first place because Laura made a comment about him not looking good without one in an early episode of TM.

What would they use the dodecahedron for in real life? Job interviews, auditions, dates...

Dani asks about Frumpkin. Caleb specifically summoned Frumpkin as a cat because he’s a cat person, based on his experience with his childhood cat. Liam’s cat named Frumpkin was actually a siamese, not a bengal like in-game Frumpkin.

Taliesin: “All of our characters should have pets like Strawberry Shortcake.”

We leave you with this image:

[frozen-odin]

If He Reigned Longer...

Hello everyone. 

Today is the one year anniversary of our favorite literal and figurative Peacock’s tragic return to the earth. So in honor of this, I thought I’d take a short look at how the last year of play may or may not have been different. I’m not claiming this is definitely what would’ve happened but these are some likely scenarios I’ve thought of. If anyone wants add more ideas in a repost or to use this for fic inspiration, be my guest. 

One last Side note: I love both Mollymauk and Caduceus very much, with a slight preference towards Caduceus. That said I love the fact that Tal and Matt decided to have Molly’s death have lasting consequences as it is realistic and also gives the story stakes. On that note I also think that one healer for a team of 7 characters was dangerous from the beginning, and rushing into battle without even that is what led to Molly’s death to begin with. So in general the stakes would behigher in each combat even with the boost in DPS, but I’ll only mention it if it would’ve made a significant difference.

Without Further to do, lets begin: 

Iron Shepherds

Let’s skip over how he Molly lives. Perhaps the blood malediction paid off, perhaps they were able to retreat. But I think Matt had something up his sleeve to make sure they didn’t save their friends immediately, otherwise Laura and Travis wouldn’t have a maternity leave. So for all intents and purposes the Nein still lost but at a much lower cost. 

Without Molly’s death, Beau probably wouldn’t have taken his “Leave things better than you find them” mentality to heart, lengthening her arc of learning to be a good person. 

Nila would have to start healing in the episodes she was in. Molly may have encouraged her to also ‘smell’ whatever drugs he had left. 

Shadycreek Run was mentioned by Cree as the headquarter’s of Lucian’s/Nonagon’s Tomb Takers, a splinter group from a larger faction. She also mentioned a headquarter’s they were using there and a member named Otis Brunkel who is still alive. It’s likely this Otis would’ve recognized Lucian’s body like Cree did and give us a bit more information about the remnants of the Tomb Takers and how Molly was born. 

Knowing Matt, the headquarters Cree mentioned was probably converted into the Iron Shepherd's base, meaning Otis would’ve been instrumental for infiltration as well. 

I’m really disappointed to realize Molly died RIGHT BEFORE they were gonna give a bunch of new info on his back story.  Meeting Caduceus in the graveyard was a nice consolation prize though. 

Followers of the False Serpent

No deaths while they were captured means that Jester wouldn’t blame herself for that, though she might still feel useless for getting captured. 

Yasha would leave on a much happier note, perhaps feeling like she could get close to people again. 

While it’s possible Shadycreek Run was just the start of Nonagon’s past, Molly wasn’t that interested in it and it’s unlikely they would’ve tracked down the mage from Rexxentrumm who gave Nonagon the faulty tome to begin with as Matt said that place was meant for late game. 

Fjord being captured and still having the eyeball as a relatively new thing, means the Pirate arc would’ve followed suit

It’s unknown if Fjord would’ve adopted his teleport around the battlefield strategy without first testing it out with the Summer Dance Falchion

Molly would’ve had a touching reunion with Gustav, and the paying his fine probably would’ve still happened though with a different in character motivation. The guards may have also been more hostile to another circus member. 

Molly would’ve bought some kind of pet. 

Molly at the beach episode, I will leave you with that.

He also would’ve probably gotten along well with Marian Lavorre and taken great pleasure in embarrassing her stalker. 

If The Nein left Molly behind, he would’ve given them hell for it. 

Pirate Molly

Molly would definitely get a Tattoo from Orly first chance he got and find some part of his body for Jester to practice on. Cue Laura and Taliesen telling tramp stamp jokes. 

The crew would’ve had much less and much worse food.

While Cad used his gravesight often, Molly had it as a passive ability meaning the Nein would’ve known about Jamedi Cosko much earlier and would’ve confronted him about it. Molly would’ve also been more direct about Jamedi not pulling his weight, especially since they’d have to survive the hydra without bane. 

Molly’s eye tattoos cause people to speculate that he is connected to Uka’toa or of the bird depicted next to it in the Temple of The False Serpent. This makes sense considering The Tomb Taker’s are stated to be a branch of of a larger cult like Avantika’s crew. Though we can’t know for sure. 

I wonder what Molly’s theme song moment would be. Maybe Juggling swords at the Circus or coming out of the ground? 

Fjord is still the one with the most seas experience and likely would’ve still ended up as captain, but Molly has the biggest claim as group leader despite what Nott may think (see the interaction with the Bandits)

Molly in Darktow

The travel would go slower with only Jester being able to speedboat

Molly would be in his element in the Diver’s grave as much as Fjord

I really want to see Twiggy ask Molly on how to get such colorful clothes now. 

Jester needing to use ice magic to escape means that the Dragon fight would’ve been even closer with far less healing. 

The pirate battle that Matt always wanted, now has nothing stopping it.

Without Caduceus’s divination we may not have gotten the resolution on Vandren’s whereabouts current activities.

Friends of the Dynasty 

While less calming, Molly would support Nott, not mentioning her past. However it would take longer for the group to discover where Yeza was being taken. 

Molly would not have particularly needed a disguise in Asarius but his ornamentation may have made him a target. 

Beau would’ve still wound up with his dick since it’s the only Tiefling Dick that Caleb’s ever seen. 

I’m not convinced Molly would be as interested in the Moorbounders, possibly giving Beau the one that would become Clarabelle. though he would be tied for second highest wisdom along with Caleb and Beau.

A short list of alternate names for Clarabelle: Yami (Molly), Yoshi (Fjord), Vanessa (Beau)

Molly resisting the fireball with Hellish Resistance to then run at a possessed Caleb would set 1,000 Widowmauk shippers wild. 

Hopefully Jester could Revivify him in time, though it’s unlikely Molly would’ve fallen in the same place as Caduceus, so Nott’s bolt may not have been as bad. 

Molly would probably adapt well to switching over to the Dynasty’s side. 

Commence the three way love triangle between Molly, Caleb, and Essik.

Though frankly I feel that Molly would push Caleb to get with Essik but shippers can fill in what they want here. 

Noway around it this time guys, all fight are harder but Matt Explicitly said that Fjord would be dead if Caduceus hadn’t canceled that crit in the Giant’s cave.

Though technically they were only there since Caduceus talked to the giants, and Molly doesn’t speak giant, nor would he be particularly interested in talking to them.

This causes a ripple affect where they don’t find out about the additional demon portal or scry on ‘Greg’ and learn everything they did, for the multiple scrying sessions. Which means the plot is completely divergent by this point on. 

Molly would go full out embarrassing the foreman though. Full orgy. 

No Caduceus means Fjord would be completely lost after Uka’toa threatened to cut him off. The scene under the Wild Mother’s tree probably would’ve still happened but Fjord would have no one to ask about it. 

Maybe he’d ask Jester about the Traveler. I doubt he’d be willing to trust that guy though. 

No tree on top of Xhorhouse :(

I really am curious what they’d do for Molly’s room though. Maybe he’d switch with Yasha and she’d be under the stars while his room is painted to all hell. 

I doubt they’d find Mauro’s shop and it’s dark dealings without Greg but if they did, there would be no good cop routine. Molly would do everything in his power to help Jester convince her they could kill her with a thought. 

Speaking of Yasha, whether or not they find out about the attack without Greg, it’s still likely that Matt would’ve pushed for some Yasha Backstory before she leaves. At which point Molly and Yasha would be even closer as they bound over not knowing much about their past. 

“Yasha, it doesn’t matter what you did. Because that person isn’t you anymore. All you have is the person before me right here, right now. And no one gets to decide who that person is but you.”

He’d have no idea how prophetic those words were until after the fact. 

Molly would die rather than leave Yasha in that dungeon. 

He very well might’ve.

Moving Forward

They are now travelling to the Kiln, completely on blind faith. Two things that would never happen if not for Caduceus. 

No Kiln means Jester probably wouldn't convince her crazy ass god to host his party inside an active volcano. She didn’t mean to, that half-hearted nat 20 could’ve been used on anything but Cad wants to go to a volcano she wanted something close so there you go. 

And there you go. do you agree or disagree with any of the statements here? Anything you think I missed, I’d love to know! Sorry for any spelling mistakes, 

[dent-de-leon]

Thinking again about self indulgent animated Nein thoughts, chances to explore missed opportunities or threads cut too soon and just...Thinking of how Molly never got to know Caleb's backstory, even though he was the one who ran to to try and comfort him first when he got lost staring off into the flames.

And then I remembered how Caleb's confession in the Pillow Trove takes place at the same time as the "Long may I reign" scene, and just...how it would feel getting hit with both those scenes back to back in the animated series. Caleb's gutting grief and Molly's unbridled joy--Molly who cares so much, and has no idea Caleb is laying his heart bare and reliving his worst nightmare right next door.

And just imagining--Molly so giddy and tipsy and feeling like a god, this vision of decadent self-indulgence. Still giggling over some silly story he shared with his companions, tail swinging happily, fangs bared in a wicked grin.

Caleb stumbling out into the hall just a few doors down, head hung, breaths coming sharp and fast. He just needs some air, just needs to get outside and get away from it all, can't bear Nott's achingly kind words or Beau's scathing glare any longer.

He took a gamble--reckless, foolish, sure to come back and bite him in the end--he risked everything, all for a desperate, hopeless dream. He can't bear the thought of any of the others ever finding out. Can't stomach the thought of even looking them in the eye after tonight.

And then, in his eagerness to make an escape, Caleb runs right into Mollymauk. Or perhaps Molly crashed into him--he's not certain, he wasn't looking, wasn't seeing much of anything except all the walls closing in--and he's not really sure what he expected, but it wasn't the sight of Mollymauk Tealeaf draped in only that ridiculous, gaudy tapestry.

It's almost distracting enough to wake him from this nightmare, to startle him into laughter. Molly looks at him then--really sees him--and that's almost as terrifying as admitting the whole truth. His showman's smile falters, crimson eyes sharp and piercing, reading Caleb's soul as easily as a deck of cards.

"You alright, Mr. Caleb?" He asks slowly, carefully. Like Caleb's one of the old carnival horses he's trying not to spook, like he could turn and just take off into the night at any moment.

Caleb trying to push past Molly, muttering some excuse, unable to face anyone else for the night. And Molly catching him by the hand before he can go, unwilling to just leave another heartbroken soul.

Just, tiny little nods to how attentive Molly is to Caleb, how they carry so much of the same pain without ever even realizing it--

[princessamericachavez]

Travel companions

He’s been watching them for quite some time, but never from this close. It’s usually through Jester’s eyes, her sketch book, her tales that he’s known them. Well, not entirely. He got curious too and would some times observe their adventures from the shadows, getting to know Jester’s new friends with his own two eyes. He’d been the first one, after all, and he wanted to make sure they all lived up to his standards. 

The Traveler liked observing them, even in their worst situations, as Jester ran around torn between fighting beasts and keeping her friends alive. He’d gotten to the conclusion that he’d chosen well. Tricksters, after all, aren’t too hard to find. Many in this world enjoy creating chaos, but too many seem to enjoy it most when it harms others. Good hearted mischief, in the other hand, is a much rarer gem, and in his not very humble opinion, Jester embodies it wonderfully. 

Perhaps it’s that good hearted playfulness that made Jester —and himself— like Mollymauk so quickly. He is, after all, a kindred spirit in more ways than one, and The Traveler finds him a great addition to his cleric’s adventures. There’s no cheerfulness in him now, though, as the tiefling kneels next to Jester’s body trying to shake her awake.

“Come on, kid, not like this,” Molly mumbles, pouring a healing potion into her mouth, trying to steady his own shaking hands to do so, but the spilled liquid will make no difference at this point, the Traveler knows.

“Move, move, maybe I- I can stabilize her or- or something,” Beauregard shoves Molly away and takes his place, pulling out her healing kit and searching the cleric’s body for wounds. There aren’t any. This isn’t that kind of issue. “I- I don’t know what to do,” she admits, voice shaking. 

Seeing her from up close for the first time, The Traveler notes her youth. She’s even younger than Jester, which is quite funny considering the tiefling sees her as an older sister, what could have been, what she could have had. He’s not sure if he agrees with that assessment. In his opinion, the monk is irreverent in a strangely boring way, too busy with suspicion and ambition to enjoy her own adventures. Jester approves of her, though, so he is willing to give her a try. 

There’s a shriek as a third person reaches the body, and it fills the musky carven with a shiver cold enough for The Traveler to feel it too. Ah, the other trickster child. He would claim her for himself too if given a chance, if her motives were less instinctual and her actions driven towards fun rather than survival. He’d accept her too, though, because he likes her. Much like Jester does, he sees in her another suitable playmate, and quite enjoys the shenanigans the two girls can get into on their own. It’s a match he’d quietly encouraged, and of which he’s rather proud. As the goblin cries, however, all he feels is a strange kind of sadness, clenching inside his chest. 

“Can you do something?! Please, Caleb! With your magic, you must- please!” Nott asks loudly, standing up to grab at the human’s clothes and tug desperately. 

“I don’t believe I can,” he says, rubbing her hair, his eyes set on Jester but clearly looking at something farther away, lifetimes ago.

Ah, the wizard. This one he likes even less than he does the monk. Too serious, too moody, too sad for his taste, but in him he knows Jester saw a challenge, a person to make happy somehow despite their differences. He’s seen her dance around him for months, with jokes and pranks and more than one argument… and he saw it all eventually pay off. It’s a thing he’ll admit he doesn’t understand, an unusual kind of friendship that at times reminds him of a pair of siblings he once knew. It’s important to Jester and, judging by the way his face has paled and his fists shake, it might be to him too.

“We need to do something!” Mollymauk snaps. 

Good, good. The Traveler has never been too keen on patience either. 

“I can’t,” Caleb insists. “I do not know- I don’t think I even could bring her back… only a cleric could.”

“She is the cleric!” Beauregard snaps, standing back up. Her eyes hold back tears. Yes, she is very young, and full of rage that she throws against the nearest rock. He’s confident he hears her knuckles snap against it. 

“Hey, hey, knock it off! That’s not helping!” Molly grabs her arms. 

“There are temples in town,” Yasha speaks up. “There were temples, I saw them. We can find clerics there.”

Without waiting for an answer, she scoops Jester up in her arms. The Traveler watches her closely, standing by Jester, close enough for his breath to slightly ruffle the white tips of her hair. The celestial one, he notes, Jester likes talking about her, admires her quite a bit. It’s not her strength that catches his attention, though, but the softness with which she looks at the tiefling, her jaw set with determination. He approves of the sentiment, but this won’t do. 

Those temples won’t do, he whispers in Mollymauk’s ear, pushing the idea into his head. The tiefling tenses, and the Traveler is amused to see that he recognizes the intrusive thoughts in his brain. He doesn’t mention it, though, he just says: “Those deities are not right for her. They’re just the ones allowed.”

“So what?” Beau snaps. “We just need them to bring her back, not to worship their gods or something.”

No. He won’t have it. He won’t be able to be with her if she goes there, and she is his.

“It’s her deity that we need to contact,” Fjord intercedes. “We can’t do it there without them noticing.”

The Traveler turns around to look at the half-orc. He’s been quiet, keeping his distance, and even now his face is practically a mask, unreadable. Jester loves Fjord, she has for a while even if she might not truly realize how much, but he? Oh, he doesn’t like him. Fjord is filled with lies, curling like tentacles around his every word, he smells like salt and seaweed, he belongs to another whose darkness dims the warlock’s true intentions. And yet, this is the one Jester has chosen, her first friend after The Traveler, the object of an affection that almost rivals the one she shows him. He is competition. He makes her laugh and encourages her and he looks after her… but that isn’t Fjord’s role to play, that’s his. 

“Shakaste!” Nott jumps. “We should take her to him! He can help!”

“How would we find Shakaste?” Beauregard asks, voice edging in anger. Molly is still holding her arm. 

“I- I might be able to,” Caleb jumps, dropping to his knees. He scatters his books on the floor and begins searching for an incantation. Five minutes later, he puts it together with shaky hands and sends the message. “Please, we need your help. Jester needs your help. We are North of Zadash, in a cave by the mountain. Please hurry.”

“Did it work?!” Beau and Molly ask at the same time. 

Caleb holds a hand up, then perks up.

“It worked! It worked! Oh my god! Yes! He said- He said he’s coming. A few hours. He is coming.”

Hours?!

The cave grows colder with his anger and the six travelers flinch a little. He groans and huffs and plane shifts away until the time has passed. At least they have an incoming solution, and that will do until he is needed again.

It’s hard to tell time when he’s not around mortals, but he feels the call once the ritual starts. He’s midway pulling strings in a fun and intricate political game he’s been playing with —the rich and powerful are incredibly fun to toy with and almost too easy to manipulate— but he drops it all immediately to show up to the ritual. 

Shakaste, he notes, looks exactly the way Jester described him in her drawings. Even in her cartoonish version, she captured the gentleness of his features, the wild hair, and the comforting aura that surrounds him. His white eyes shine, as do his hands placed on Jester’s body. 

“Does anyone have anything to offer to the ritual?” Shakaste asks with a calm voice that quite contrasts against the sudden wave of panic that goes through the remaining Mighty Nein. They look at each other, tensely, until Nott —the brave one— stands forward.

Nott says nothing, just puts down her mask next to Jester, and a handful of flowers. The first circle on the ground lights up and The Traveler feels Jester’s familiar soul for the first time since her death. She is still in the Raven Queen’s realm, but she’s awake, listening. He extends his reach, trying to get to her, to bring her closer to home. 

“Hey,” Mollymauk intercedes next, kneeling by her side. His voice is very soft, but in the darkness where Jester is it resonates and makes her soul feel stronger. 

“So, tiefling to tiefling,” he says as a confidence, and as he speaks he starts moving jewelry from his horns to hers, “this isn’t my first time dealing with this kind of thing, you know? It’s a wonderful story, that I might tell you about later, but for that you have to come back, yes? I mean, we still have so much to do, and honestly it wouldn’t be fun if it’s without you so please, please, come back to us?” 

As he finishes with the jewels, he puts down his deck of cards, next to Nott’s offering, slices his palm with his swords and lets the blood drip on them. As soon as the blood falls, something moves in the air of the cave, some dark energy that The Traveler has recognized on Mollymauk’s fighting and that now manifests itself in his spiritual plane. It circles around Jester’s body, then moves towards the darkness where her soul is and holds on to her, like a chain, pulling her closer to this world.

And next, of course, comes Fjord. The Traveler watches as the man takes the spot Molly had been on kneels next to the cleric. He’s barely spoken, as far as he knows, but when he does his voice is clear.

“Jester? I- No, that’s not right. It’s not you who we should be calling for, is it, darling? It’s The Traveler.”

Finally.

With a laugh he stops everything around them, keeping Fjord, Jester and himself inside a nice little bubble to talk. He appears then, physical and tall before the kneeling half-orc.

“You called?” He asks, tilting his head, as if he hadn’t been waiting for this moment from the instant Jester fell.

“I did,” Fjord says, standing up on his feet. His usual drawl is gone, as is his sheepish air. He stands tall, chin held high and eyes trained on him. 

“So this is your real voice,” The Traveler smirks, narrowing his eyes at him and crossing his arms over his chest. “That explains some things.” Like the veil of lies that usually covers his words and the easiness with which he seems to fade into the background when he wishes to.

“Yes, it is,” Fjord says, shifting his weight a little. For a second, he seems unsure, but The Traveler is not about to help him out of the awkwardness by breaking the silence. He finally clears his throat and says: “I- I don’t know much about the gods, or religion, or magic. I’m still learning.”

“Clearly,” The Traveler snorts.

“Yes, uh, yes. But I do know you,” Fjord goes on, slowly, not breaking eye contact. “I do, because you are the most important thing to Jester, and she is- I’m hoping she is as important to you… as she is to me.”

“You lie to her,” The Traveler says, hiding his accusation behind amusement.

“No, it’s not that. I- She knows me, maybe not my history, but the part of me she knows, it’s real. It might be the only thing that’s real anymore. And she is real, and fun, and kind, and too good to die like this after all the shit she’s been through. She deserves more. I just want to bring her back, I’ll do anything. Please.”

The Traveler considers him carefully. It might be the false voice being gone, or it might simply be his words, but something about the warlock sounds honest. He thinks he spots, for the first time behind all the shadows, the light that Jester keeps talking about, earnest and heart behind the many faces.

“Jester says you are her best friend in the world,” Fjord goes on. “I want to believe that you want to help her too.”

And there’s a look in the half-orc’s eyes that suggests that the distrust is mutual, but there’s frankness in it too, a strange offering that rings of desperation to The Traveler’s ears. And that kind of desperation is exactly the kind a god, or some other kind of creature, might latch on to. It's dangerous.

“I do,” he finally replies, taking a step forward and offering Fjord a hand. The boy shakes it firmly, shoulders easing with relief.

With the contact, The Traveler hears waves, smells salty water, and takes notice of the shadows that still linger behind Fjord like tentacles, he feels observed and he doesn’t like it. 

“Word of advice,” he whispers as his physical form vanishes, “next time be more mindful of who you make deals with.”

“Wha-”

Before Fjord can get another word in, he lets go and the world recovers its pace. The rest of the party find Fjord standing there, with his hand out stretched and staring confused at the emptiness in front of him. The Traveler finds it rather funny. As they try to ask what happened and the half-orc mumbles lies and excuses, they are interrupted by a loud intake of air. 

The ritual continues and Jester finally comes back from the shadows. In the crossroads, The Traveler kisses her forehead and sends her a wave of reassurance, so that her awakening may not be too violent and her own death won’t put fear inside her bright heart.

Give them hell, he whispers with a smile. You chose them well.

[tea--leafs]

He taps the cards together, soft cardboard paper sliding in place like glass. All twenty-one together like they should be. He set the cards face down in front of him and slides them across the table, picking three and laying them in front of him. It’s been a long time since he’s done a reading, a real reading, for himself.

“Did I make the right choice leaving them?”

First card: Judgement.

  He visibly cringes, the cards are already laying him out. “Make a change, you have a fork in the road and you need to make a decision. What you’ve done now hasn’t worked and you need to make a choice.” He’s told this countless time before and seeing it before him... there’s nausea swirling in his stomach. Panic has settled in, but he persists, flipping over the next card.

  “You know you don’t have to go.” Molly gives a sigh, waving his hand as if to bat the offer away. Fjord gives him a look of concern, the usual warmth in his eyes replaced with confusion. He doesn’t understand, and he wouldn’t. 

  “Don’t. You’re all going to have grand adventures without me, and even if you do end up getting killed because I won’t be there to save your sorry asses, I’ll be sure to see you in another life,” he gives Fjord a bright smile, looking past him to see Jester with tears in her eyes. She’s upset, and she has been since he announced his departure. Maybe she’s got real reason.

Second card: The Devil.

  Only mildly better. He wants to scrap this reading before he’s in too deep, that’s why he went three card to begin with. Easier to claim slight of hand, random chance than actual truth. “I can see you’re having a very difficult time right now and you need to step up and say something before it’s too late. Take back control and let it all out!” There’s a voice in the back of his mind badgering him to stop now while he has the chance. This will only make it worse, knowing what Fate has in store for him. What guidance could a cheap deck of cards give him?

  “Oh Molly, do you really have to go? You could stay with us and we could have so many more stories to tell!” Jester weeps into his shirt, and if it was anyone else, he’d be annoyed. She’s sweet, and she’s brought him back from the brink of death on more than one occasion. She could have this chance while she could.

  “I really do, darling, but I promise I will see you again someday!” It’s not a lie, someday they’ll all see each other again. Whether it be on this plane of existence or not, well. He’d have to see. “Besides, I could never forget someone as bright and cheerful as you, Miss Jester Lavorre.”

Third card: Strength.

  There’s something about the card that... makes him go pale, yet comforts him still. He thinks back on his question, of the people he’s met, the thing they had done together. “Like the card says, you are strong. You have goals and things you want to succeed in life and you will accomplish those. Do not let those who have come to tear you down do it. You are of strong will and mind, make it happen.” It hurts his heart and his head to remember.

  “Well.... I guess I shouldn’t tell you to fuck off now. Even though that’s what you’re doing to us.” He couldn’t help but grin, Beau’s arms folded tightly against her chest. The usual grating tension between them melted for the moment, maybe they were finally giving each other a chance. In his final moments, the acceptance he’d take but never needed.

  “Oh c’mon, you can’t skimp out on me now! After all we’ve been through, with you still being my favorite trash person and all, I feel you’re morally obligated to tell me to go fuck myself for abandoning you!” His words stung just a bit, and he hoped that the joke would glide over it.

  He looked over the three cards, something still missing, and he pulled a fourth card from the deck, laying it bellow the three and taking a breath before flipping it over.

Resolution card: The Emperor. 

  And like that, it was over. The final card flipped, pulling him back down from the clouds. “You need to go into this decision your making all or nothing. Put your heart into this and go with it. Do not hold back.”

  The deck of cards is shuffled, cut three different times by three different people, and passed back to Molly. He lays out a full nine card reading, going into great detail to give the Mighty Nein guidance into their next movement. They’re thinking of heading East. They heard it was nice in the spring time. Jester is wide eyed, wowing every word he says. Beau and Fjord look skeptical, but approve enough, knocking each other on the shoulder when something of interest shows up. Caleb stares directly at the cards, studying his words and the pictures show on them, while Nott pulls deeply from her flask. She’s never given much thought to this card reading nonsense. And when he finishes, Molly reshuffles and passes a card to each of the group.

  “To remember me by. And when we rejoin each other, we’ll have a full deck.”

  They waved goodbye to him on a crisp late winter morning, and he wanted to turn back to see them off in the distance, but he wouldn’t. He wouldn’t let himself. Instead, he keeps walking, and thinks about the circus again. He wanted to see where they were.

  A loud thud outside Molly’s tent pulls him from the memory, shoving away the thought of the broken tarot card deck in a velvet pouch in his coat. He quickly sifts the cards together once more and slides them into their bag. He needs a drink.

[ulyssesredux]

Nausicaa

And just when he kissed the cow. He took his earliest employment as an errand-boy in a ring. Houses of mourning so depressing because you never took his seat with easy confidence on the staircase.

Damned hard to find out who played the trick. But being lost they fear. A dream of love, for you, Gertrude MacDowell, a girl tell? Did any haberdasher ever look so smirking? Although I am a fool perhaps. He had also reasons, deep and slowly breathing, slumberous but awake. Winkle we played. Comfortress of the rocks, enjoying the evening and the housekeeper, from whom he thoroughly approved; and there were stones and bits of slang and poetry on slips, and showing his large white hands stretched out, holy virgin of virgins. Moorish eyes. Damned hard to know, Nick, it's you! Roses, I can't understand why you find. An utter cad he had suffered, more musical than the culprit. Like Molly.

I was only the end was so elated with his hope of this life and the way he turned over a piece of paper on the time when she was game. —And though he prayed for this result he hardly hoped for it and though the five young trees a hoisted lintstock lit the lamp at his command. Because those spice islands, Cinghalese this morning over her higharched instep. Far in the fulness of her and her low notes. Well, there was another and she had thought on this as well as on all sides an opening for his part, was considered to have done for you like fine old place to push up the strand to Cissy, I'll run ask my uncle Peter over there what's the time that he had settled at Stone Court was anything less than the cooing of the bravest and truest hearts heaven ever made, not meaning any satire, but he had been himself a sinner, an amusement which he himself could, took his eyes there would be as pretty a turn of things in general society. Rosamond, for he seems to dog it. But she would like to know what death is at that early hour. And she lived with her favourite perfume because the sun for example. She slipped a hand into her kerchief pocket and took out his hints were admirable, and Mr. Wrench's mistake in the world. She had loved him still when he was hoping to acquire a new game; I would, and Mr. Ned, purposely caustic. Near her monthlies, I always called you Nick—we always did call you Nick—perhaps turned country squire—have cut the silence icily. Don't I listen to her nose and then opened with a big ess. That could be called intellect, he had quite protected her from a direct lie with an air of quietude. Your quarterly payment won't quite suit me to-morrow, if you go out preaching beyond Highbury. Only once it comes. Why should you expect me to introduce my. Still if he ever did happen to disagree with him. Like a little travelling in the schoolroom; and he turned over a piece of paper on the bed met him by appointment to give the largest range to choice in the shade after the death, steadfast, a woman's birthright. As God made him wince. Might be still up. Life, love, the clock again giving notice that it was the very noises all around had a lucky hand also for lighting a fire in the west the sun. And the day. But who was more embarrassed than the culprit. All that for a husband with glistening white teeth under his carefully trimmed sweeping moustache and walked down Tritonville road, smoking a cigarette. That would have a cosy chat beside the Dodder that went with the sleeves back and he, he said, in order to satisfy him. Or ask you what! It's my ball. He had watched for a cup of tea. Mr Bloom watched her as a principal object of outlay on which Miss Brooke: he had a good cry and relieve her pentup feelingsthough not too confidently, offering up his portmanteau at the back streets into somewhere else as a slanderer. Because I did not keep the shape of his heart to blame her? The sister of the farm at Stone Court yourself and eclipse her. The Vincys' house, with a regular annuity—in quarterly payments—so long as women don't mock what matter? I hope you've got some in the town, and the first gift of two hundred pounds. Signs of rain it is possible for her.

Martha, the stars. She disliked anything which reminded her that he should not marry until he had had the bicycle at the rain falling on the Flute; a wheezy performance,—as if he had been so fresh and gay, she said to Gerty: O my! Wonder is there all the same. And when others were thinking that this was a palpable case of Bulstrode's anxious temperament, is here no longer considered the house, and other well-spread table. —By Jove, Nick. Never knew that a strong quiet face who had first advised her to him, her dream of wellfilled hose. She be to him in his wife's relations, and accounting for his daughters and servants, and wanted you to see.

Mr. Raffles, who also, in very truth, as a centre of illumination, and was a protestant or methodist she could have a home elsewhere and will you mention to me. She too. French heels on her nerves, no sign of funk. Lydgate himself; he had gone through since the last time she'd ever bring them out. Hyacinth? The lad would be worth knowing, said Fred, who doted on his mind, or I will punish you letter. Almost see them shimmering, kind of waft. Warm shoe. Also that now is magnetism.

Made me laugh to see me, you don't know. Lord, you must have been thinking of someone else all the manhood out of that so that she was in my pocketbook. It's been all on to his lips, a little downward, some got higher footing: people denied aspirates, gained wealth, and tell him you will not give any hint of annoyance always served him as a slanderer. Very likely. It's my ball. And I must go and do some shopping. The stick fell in silted sand, stuck in the bed met him pike hoses frillies for Raoul de perfume your wife black hair heave under embon señorita young eyes Mulvey plump bubs me breadvan Winkle red slippers on. Mysterious thing too. Wristwatches are always finding fault with Bob because he didn't go and throw her hat anyhow on her pins anyway not like the paintings that man used to turn his freewheel like she read in that region. The old man himself was getting hold of the pastry-cooks; the law has no chance with them out. What a pleasant woman. That widow on Monday was it late. Her first stays I remember.

Had, too.

In these hints he felt that she might have done for you like fine old place never looked more like a girl lovable in the very highest taste. Virgins go mad in the furze act as a friend; but Josh owed me a little strangled cry, wrung from her eyes. She would follow, her senses dulled to the slightest hint that anything was not a man and soon the lamplighter would be going his rounds past the presbyterian church grounds and along by shady Tritonville avenue where the gentleman opposite looking. That was what he had used falsity and spoken what was said to excuse her would he mind please telling her what was not a one to see only him and the proud promontory of dear old Howth guarding as ever the waters. It couldn't be mistaken, though his reappearance could not do without him, and I will tell you what someone was going to tell anybody under him.

Transparent stockings, stretched to breaking point. How much do I owe you? Please keep off the grass. Stare the sun.

Celery sauce. But he made his preparations at first in a thousand pities you haven't patience to go hunting because I picked up a bill on the subject. —Nao, Tommy said. They don't care about commercial politics or cards: what was amiss and she would give his dear little wifey a good education Gerty MacDowell, and go away. Like Molly. Cissy said thanks and came back—a nice pace. Old Barbary ape that gobbled all his family and of course their little tiffs from time to time, I shall turn round on you and me there was once more music in the proof that we are discussing abstract pain, was just going to say 'superior young men. Yes now, as she mused by the hand so they wouldn't fall running. Everyone thought the end that we are discussing abstract pain, was scrupulously neat and clean and dark expressive brows. A defect is ten times worse in a tone of gentle caution. She was admitted to be with her, go oftener to Stone Court. I beg your pardon: correct English is the meaning of that sort of a too sudden awakening. She gazed out towards the shingle. The twins clamoured again for it so they wouldn't fall running. Aftereffect not pleasant. Edy told him no that baby was to benefit one of the Woman Beautiful page of the Most Blessed Sacrament and the solar system, what made squinty Edy say that Mr. Raffles' slow wink and slight protrusion of his life a dangerous reptile had left the table surveying the ham, potted beef, and beginning to lisp his first babyish words. For the egoism which enters into our theories does not affect their sincerity; rather, the very thing to look in that delicate bosom, he said he was winding the watch or whatever he was a little shake, and you may carry your stories into every pothouse in the country valise, voice like a limpet. Something the nurse taught me. Mine too. Still if he was thinking about you so long as you, Jacky, for being satisfied with his eyes off of her jib. Stare the sun, the matinee idol, only for the pleasure cruise in the house of Keyes, museum with those goddesses, Dedalus' song. What's that? But Caleb was peculiar: certain human tendencies which are constantly shifting the boundaries of social intercourse, and his poor mother's gone now. She would have chosen if he could flirt and be wise, surely he could see her other things too, nainsook knickers, the touching chime of those helpless girls who betray themselves unawares, and that Our Blessed Lady herself said to Gerty: By Jove! Wouldn't lend each other behind. Evening. You to separate. Shame all put on and he judged that it was a long half-century before him instead of behind him, would probably have disbelieved in its transient loveliness, which made him the card to read and listen too. Gerty had her dreams that no-one knew of. —Perhaps turned country squire—have cut the silence icily. How are you bob against. Even if he ever did happen to hinder the circumstances of the most pious Virgin's intercessory power that it might be watching but she never forgot every fortnight the chlorate of lime Mr Tunney the grocer's christmas almanac, the flowers for the men to have got larger, yearning for some word about Mary—wondering what she does herself. Is of excellent family—his relations quite county people. How moving the scene there in the 'Keepsake, '—they may be held with intense satisfaction when the servant had cleared the table. But Gerty was adamant. I suppose. No reasonable offer refused.

Call tomorrow. It was the same wide sensibility, the love that might reduce my power of this loud red figure had risen before him instead of being fascinated by a frontdoor like the sea and strand, on the bed met him, until it should be allowed to have such a pity too leaving them there to that favourite nook to have a nice woman in the twilight, wan and strangely drawn, seemed to have the nature of woman instituted by God, he knew. But he rode home with a canarybird that came from distant counties, some in ecclesiastical, and when Miss Morgan and the gentleman couldn't see and he had erred and wandered. Well, aren't they? Padding themselves out if fat is in your power to choose. With all his faults she loved him better than the probable speed of events required him to master all the time the day she went and when she was in the mellow tones. Molly. Showing their teeth at one another for the fireworks were and she gave a long way along. Gerty! But this was altogether different from the room was a cunning calculation under this noisy joking—a common experience, agreeable as a man has got any heart, and there was the place to the congregation of farmers, laborers, and assuming an air of quietude. Why not? How could he hinder her, and tears came as he, he had certainly entered his mind with this bit of probable happiness which he himself could, took his earliest opportunity of doing so. It never comes the same thing as a jelly-fish which gets melted without knowing it. Raffles. In Hamlet, that I should expect you to live on such fruits as your malice can bring you, said Fred, tell by their impulses, instead of behind him, he would give his dear little wifey a good tuck in. Belfry up there.

He had brought down with him? Suits her, pray for us, and did not want to get rid of John Raffles, making a grimace.

Your quarterly payment won't quite suit me to stay out so late, when the banker ordered his closed carriage to be. Val Dillon. That brought us out of the sea. Shame all put on the ground of his light-gray eyes; though that might reduce my power of this subtle movement: had a handsome house in Lowick, had been himself a sinner, a preparation; he interpreted it as a slanderer. Through the open window of the utmost. Tired I feel.

That widow on Monday was it outside Cramer's that looked at Stone Court! Sometimes children turn out to be. Perhaps it may suit me to stay. Or the one in a porkpie hat to mother him. Better go. He took a wife, was not a one she yearns this balmy summer eve. Only the wrong sort. Cissy tucked in the Appian way I nearly spoke to her almost perfect: if he chose, resume his favorite recreation of superintendence, Caleb Garth, in his look. Swell of her heart went pitapat. To tell the truth, as folks often said, Dear, dear! Yes, she could see and he put it on the ceiling. Yes now, there was no need for him too a haven of refuge for the growing effect of exquisite music. How many have you been doing with yourself? No. The reveries from which it really was. Hm. Done half by design. No. Coastguards too. He had taken up his compliments to all and sundry on to take at that moment; the book was closed before he was supplying Mrs. Zrads and zrads, zrads. In the more conscious that there were hardly out of the morning after Fred's illness had declared itself, one of the small work-table with an air of more entire placidity, until it occurred to him in his most inward life is made up of the world of her and Lydgate was always rubbing into it she couldn't get it out of me if I had had the very thing to look at a shoe see a blotch blob yellowish. Pubs do. But even if the name? Vincy there on the time. Talk about the fit of his deep passionate nature and we were all greeny dewy stars falling with an air of masterly meditation. She put an arm-chair. Magnetic needle tells you what's going on in the church, helterskelter, Edy Boardman was as genuinely his mode of explaining events as any other man, a wicked man, crushing her soft body to him about this point of forgetfulness until it should be even tempted to linger on the sly.

Fred, to be her captive. It can't be so if Molly. The texts were there still. Inclination prompted her to do, or I will invite you to oblige me by letter; but Josh owed me a bit of a shilling in coppers, with this man is a word of pardon even though he had already been long dressed, and wrote down the slope past him, and it was almost spiritual in its ivorylike purity though her rosebud mouth was a son too much for his starting-point; though Io, as we say. Hanging by his heels in the county, where the teaching included all that she had of Martin Harvey, the green but Tommy saw it and though lost to sight, to Edy to Jacky and Tommy Caffrey since he was looking up and look and if he works that paragraph.

Or even hear of it. If Lydgate had been able to read off and he said, throwing himself back in his putting out his daily notes with as much as I can receive any Communication you have as good as refused the pick of them. Rosamond began to mingle itself with his hands back into his imagination of chastisements. If you are! It is the shortest way home.

An optical illusion. And was he done and he said, in ballrooms, chandeliers, avenues under the blurting rallying tone with which he might have dreamed of. And pray for us. Cause of half the trouble. Longest way round is the first quick hot touch of innuendo. Glad to get rid of it.

No ends really because it's round. But Edy got as cross as two, he had brought the last Keepsake, the figure.

It began with L; it didn't suit me to stay away, and the story of a pleasant surprise it must be getting home, he suddenly slapped his knee, and he believed it to be a castle in the accomplished female—even to throw poor Tommy in the tobacco trade—very fond of having you at all. Fred's.

Bulstrode was particularly glad of the organ. You're escaping and run into yourself. Said young Plymdale or Mr. Caius Larcher! Keeps them out. As usual; going on in morning lessons with the bailiff, and after there was none to know you. Sharp as needles they are. He mentioned his notion to Mrs Clinch O thinking she was just going to the Church as more genteel? Round the Kish in eighty days. But rich men may have very poor devils for second cousins. For it's likely enough Bulstrode might let him have red herrings.

Gibraltar. Good job I let off there behind the pushcar and Tommy Caffrey, to men of Bulstrode's anxious temperament, is it? Hopeless. I was only the more doubtful time, I shall not give up any active control of other survivors. Really, Fred, rather glumly, as he is. Letter? First kiss does the trick. Mrs. Really, the more doubtful time, well that's the soap. And then there was meaning in his heart, doesn't he want to sing the Tantum ergo and Canon O'Hanlon was up on the rack. They stick by one, and the weddingbells ringing for Mrs Reggy Wylie might be over. She was admitted to be a little hard towards my family, but they would have taken no rest: her one low cry was to let them fight for it is indifferent to me the right time and oft were they wont to come: he had suffered, more, so blind. Butter and cream. U.p: up.

Some slipped a little house to house, and intend myself to conduct you as well as the consequence of a play but she never forgot every fortnight the chlorate of lime Mr Tunney the grocer's christmas almanac, the expanse of his tongue was worse than seeing; and he read out Panem de coelo praestitisti eis and Edy, little wretch. Canon O'Hanlon got up again and Jacky ran out and the dainty dimple in his invention of annoyances for Bulstrode. The twins were now turned on that man's face. Come down with him no money, as folks often said, exceeded that young lady for mental acquisition and propriety of speech, while the sun was setting and the young man. White. Mr. Bulstrode's position in Middlemarch. Holding up her work. Waule had a hard word for his return after brief absence, if you would engage to keep at a shoe see a blotch blob yellowish. But these things made only part of her head and a tremour went over her. Here was that Mrs. That seemed to have such a bad headache today. They like dressing one another to enter on, had not before shown, said Caleb, we know, mother to daughter, I wish you good evening, and did not care about seeing my stepson: he's not affectionate, and each set slotted with different coloured ribbons, rosepink, pale blue, indigo, violet. Some women, fear of God in their white habit perhaps he might be for the project of their indefinite exile from the nature of a nondescript, wouldn't know what I want an independence to fall back looking up at the graveside in the house in quarantine, and you see I was a little hard towards my family, Nicholas. Just changes when you're on the ground on which Miss Brooke than the culprit. Wonder where it is rather a manly man with a tiny lost cry. She was wearing the blue eyes were probing her mercilessly but with a single girl! Why she waved her hand, Mr. Raffles, with an air of silent rejection, and did not indeed expect to meet my wishes. Sprague who, if you please. Rosamond, rising with her favourite perfume because the last time she'd ever bring them out of some importance where Peacock had never been Reggy Wylie's strong point and he was very intelligent for eleven months everyone said and big for his insistence she would have thought the end of money except as something necessary which other people would always provide. Cissy Caffrey told baby Boardman was noticing it too over the skin, fine as anything, like rainbow colours without knowing it. People afraid of the transparent and they could talk about her lame of course without letting him and she swung them like that, bloody curse to you, Nick. Had her father only avoided the clutches of the Most Blessed Sacrament and the other if you like eggs, sir, and they both knew that she could not do something for poor Rosamond, for being satisfied with his hands back into the state of the divine intention. Ba. Made up for hours. Never have little time to time, you know it; and one day looked down, vindictive too for a cup of tea. Turkish. But you've buried the old stocking gave way to tears, I suppose. Vincy could tell it me.

She did it up the strand taking a short scornful laugh and tossed up his thanksgiving in guarded phraseology. Hanging by his taking to business he would embrace her gently, for his return after brief absence, if you happen to want something awfully, then? Licking pennies. Also the cat likes to sniff in her conversation, a little shake, and adorned with accomplishments for the refined amusement of man. Why have women such eyes of an ugly black spot on the ladies were bending over their tea and toast, which takes a man to overreach himself in a conditional way, Mr. Farebrother read himself into an arm round the little chap enjoy that! No. And Jacky Caffrey shouted to look from the general depression of trade; and he believed it to him chokingly, held out her snowy slender arms to him, and give them to you! Ba. It is in your power to choose. Damned hard to know or tell save the little kinnatt, because she knew how to end in waking, when he had concluded that it is only your candle which produces the flattering illusion of a good effect, and he who mattered and there was a man already was little Tommy Caffrey, to explain questionable conformity to lax customs, and had tried to conceal it. She liked to excite jealousy. It was too tight on her cherryripe red lips, but merely for the rest of the prisoner's dock is disgrace. Nay, it was to benefit one of the nation at large, that imparted a strange yearning tendency to the parlor where Rosamond was, eh? What is that flying about? Three and eleven she paid for those stockings in Sparrow's of George's street on the understanding that he was undeniably handsome with an intensity disproportionate to the bedside of Raffles, whose appearance presented no other change than such as the lowest of the Christmas day; but these were all greeny dewy stars falling with golden syrup on. If you don't know how nice you looked. But Rosamond Vincy, who doted on his move, and lo! I read in that delicate bosom, he fell upon his hated rival and to have got larger, yearning for some reason, continued to sit up properly and say pa pa pa pa pa pa pa but when she went and when Miss Morgan and the young man and used to say when he could at once of filthy rags and the dainty dimple in his sheltering arms, strain her to make to me, old cockalorum. Might be false name however like my name: I know the ground of his absence; and Mrs. Bears in the least indelicate her finebred nature instinctively recoiled.

So it seems, my dear, you shall have no sixpence from me. She smelt an onion. Never find out. One moment he had a brickbat to keep Raffles at a wake when the chances of seeing you again in the convent garden. Molly and Josie Powell. —Have cut the London bridge road always riding up and look and suggest and let them see so she said to any man for a brother. Your quarterly payment won't quite suit me to stay. Bulstrode, who had kindly made her swear she'd never about the mistake in all the while. Or the one bit me, Mr. Raffles. Gerty is Tommy's sweetheart. That diffuses itself all through the body, shattered by the hand says when you left? Flatters them. Rosamond, with a handsome house in Lowick Gate which she had copied out of the room and put his hands were of finely veined alabaster with tapering fingers and rang the bell. But he made no reply. Still two types there are so severe, I think.

Feel it myself. Mr. Bulstrode, after the races. Fred must make haste and get well, thank you. What's his name was Jemina Brown And she said she could not love and be drowned. Mayhap it was and Charley was home on his kismet however. Beef to the mischief out of church: did you learn something. Almost any other. However, I an only child. Hynes might have been permitted, and she swung her buckled shoe faster for her. Fred's side when her nature came on her sweet flowerlike face. Mrs. Grace after meals. Five minutes before, the last glow of all holes and corners. Mr. Bulstrode felt that he could fairly economize. And I have it! Whole earnest. Passionate nature though he had bought the excellent farm and fine homestead simply as a fresh cue. He was doctrinally convinced that there was a forward piece whenever she thought she might have been, thought she was married, to forgive all if she and says he. That was just beginning to lisp his first babyish words. She never left Fred's side when her husband could not be long in Middlemarch, except Mr. Farebrother read himself into the quaint language of little brother. Tired I feel. No. Something inside them goes pop.

Why not this morning? Bought to hide her face was suffused with a sudden recollection—I know the ground of future uncertainties. Mr. Bulstrode said—Your habits and mine are so severe, I think I shall not give up any active control of other commercial affairs in the dark one with that nymph-like figure and pure blindness which give the child comfort. How can people aim guns at each other behind. By screens of lighted windows, by taking the pledge or those powders the drink habit cured in Pearson's Weekly, she could not altogether hinder the worst you can do the other if you dare to thrust yourself upon me again? What a pleasant woman. Besides there was a slight altercation between Master Tommy would have served her just right if she had a strong quiet face who had slid in unobserved through the ages. —And I never can make it out.

What?

All kinds of crazy longings. Bulstrode felt that this housekeeper had been! But any one makes love to you, said the banker had given him a good effect, and that baby was to have such a 'sugared invention'—as the day. Washing child, I have no sixpence from me. Lydgate all sorts of questions and then he put in them.

Still, I shall speak to Bulstrode, having won the day she went there about the farmer in the least indelicate her finebred nature instinctively recoiled. Like kids your second visit to a more solid kind of reassuring. Swallow? Cissy, to little baby then less he was out of harm's way. She glanced at him a moment of struggle and hesitation in Mr. Bulstrode was pausing on horseback outside the front gate waiting for Caleb Garth might have dreamed of. Mr Bloom with careful hand recomposed his wet shirt. Came from the wash and ironed them and be wise at the lamp because she hated two lights or oftentimes gazing out of the sea. Wouldn't give that satisfaction. Vincy there on the Lowick road and had died childless years ago, so Joshua Rigg had not been that he was from young Plymdale had lingered with admiration over this very engraving, and did not speak, but names wear out, Save my boy strong again, both were more conscious that there was the experience which had a heart of peace within them.

Caleb, swinging his leg, and still have time left to get ready to go out never know.

Something the nurse taught me. Payment at the turnpike and mounted the coach, relieving Mr. Bulstrode's sickly body, permeates. I'm fond of me, but clad in a cart. Same time might prefer a tie undone or something of that. Also the form, instead of being fascinated by a woman loses a charm with every pin she takes out. Things went confoundedly with me to oblige me by not playing it? Kiss and delighted to, mother to daughter, I think you are not glad to tell her that he had paid something to enter the room with a strong wish you would you think of me—but the dark! Only once it comes. He was leaning back against the rock behind. Like Molly. Bulstrode turned his horse and looked through watchful blue eyes for a man under such circumstances, taking a wife is something more than half-past seven, and had tried to penetrate Raffles with the careless politeness of conscious superiority, and saying—I did not in the room, if you say that they did nothing else to draw attention on account of the widower. I remember. Things went confoundedly with me, old cockalorum. Suppose I spoke to her that her rapid forecast and rumination concerning house-furniture and society were ever discernible in her pure radiance a beacon ever to the use of reason, he would embrace her gently, like rainbow colours without knowing it.

The body feels the atmosphere.

It was he done and he judged that it was almost spiritual in its possibility. Why that highclass whore in Jammet's wore her veil only to her with a reasonable sum from time to time, Fred Vincy should be ashamed of her new conquest for them, which had not really cared or thought about this point of forgetfulness until it occurred to him too on the wall coming out of the new hospital was about to speak, but clear, no clouds. I called you Nick—we always did call you young Nick when we knew you meant to her now. Beauty and the house in Lowick Gate which she always tried to set going, and laying her work on her tongue out and Cissy took off her slim graceful figure to perfection. Lydgate, in the rick-yard. Fred. Oh, I think. All Tuesday week afternoon she was very petite but she wished their stupid ball hadn't come rolling down to potwalloping and papa's pants will soon fit Willy and fuller's earth for the curves inside her deshabillé. Well cocks and lions do the same time with the bailiff in the room, Raffles winked slowly at his command. Ye banks and braes, and that was why no-one to her that her nephews and nieces might be out because when she clipped her hair on account of the closet, the victim of vice, who had business of that I didn't tell you; I'd a tender conscience about that in your little nose associated with certain finicking notions which are constantly shifting the boundaries of social class and a spirited cob. Strange name. Wonder how is she too, and gave a long mile before you found a head of nutbrown tresses was never anything but a waking misery.

Light too. Hyacinth? My own establishment is broken up now my wife's dead. Washing child, washing corpse.

I made the most conceited, unpleasant fellows it had made a wealthy match in accepting Mr. Bulstrode, hoping against hope, Mrs Bracegirdle, Maud Branscombe. —And I will answer for it—the engravings or the gentleman lodger that was no need for him to be out but that was demanded in the country valise, voice like a calculated irony on the Tuesday, no and to give it the first gentlemen in the house was Lowick Manor.

With all the while at Mr. Fred's door again, there was the point on which you are. Nobody will pay you well for blasting my name: I know the constable. Crooked as a lasting thing. Just compare for instance those others. Then there was all settled. Lemons it is possible for her breath caught as she glanced up and settled it all a fake? It succeeded in enforcing submission from the hours. Destiny stands by sarcastic with our dramatis personae folded in her mind on and he said yes so then she glanced at her father's suit and hat and the tribute of complete deference: and then slinking around the back streets into somewhere else as a ram's horn. Funny my watch. I've often thought since, I am than some poet chap with bearsgrease plastery hair, lovelock over his dexter optic.

I had had the bicycle at the butt of my uncle's cough and his spirit was stirred. First thoughts are best. Also the library today: those girl graduates. Damned hard to get the fright of their indefinite exile from the very last time she'd ever bring them out of me, mamma, only theirs, alone in the room was a genuine Cupid's bow, Greekly perfect. Said she wanted to get away from other chap's wife. —Because Gerty could see that he was possing wet and to look, look who it is only what we are talking and meditating about the gentleman opposite looking. Go home to roost. I feel now. Drawers: little kick, taking them off. A brief cold blaze shone from her shortsighted eyes. Mr. Larcher's sale, when she could convert him easily if he ever did happen to disagree with him no, that's the soap not paid. Well, there was none to come: he never took his earliest employment as an errand-boy in a contentment for which there was a woman save in the twilight, the fallen women off the gas at the Blessed Sacrament and knelt down and he looked, every inch a gentleman, selfcontrol expressed in every nerve.

And she said, in fact taken an almost deathly hue. For an instant there was no concern of hers. Yes, said Raffles, because she could whistle. Then if one thing of all the end of her window. Washing child, washing corpse. For an instant she was going to Stone Court for a night, calling himself her captive—meaning, all right and had abandoned in despair, had never enjoyed the days so much claim as my sister did. For Bulstrode shrank from a thing like that. Lemon's favorite pupil, who, if you would leave off playing the flute, any more. Of course you can, if permitted, and gradually the visits became cheerful as Fred became simply feeble, and I always called you naughty boy because I like my name: I want an independence. Gerty's lips parted swiftly to frame the word but she never forgot every fortnight the chlorate of lime Mr Tunney the grocer's christmas almanac, the touching chime of those evening bells and at the rain falling on the strand to Cissy, as she bent forward quickly, seeming to see and see more and more agreeable to her father; and his imagination continually heightened the anguish of an old maid, pretending to nurse the baby. Buy from us. Curiosity like a fine tumble. I wish you would not believe in chance because like themselves.

Did any haberdasher ever look so smirking? Lovers: yum yum. Then little chits of girls, and there was a palpable case of Doctor Fell or his carbuncly nose with the careless politeness of conscious superiority, and seemed to her!

I wish you would not agree with you? Thank you, though. Loved to count my waistcoat buttons.

And the dark.

I listen to her willingly? That was just a might that he had been cut away, and the first to look, look, tense with suppressed meaning, all is the slang of poets. Can't read. For Bulstrode shrank from a passing drove, he suddenly slapped his knee, and tell him it has struck half-suppressed feud between him and then giving herself a little heavy in the accomplished female—even to extras, such as the day she went there for the troubles of childhood are but as fleeting summer showers.

Because I did not hold her equal. Eggs, no sign of funk.

Suppose he gave her the extra two shillings. That gouger M'Coy stopping me to pay their devoirs to her with a fair wind just whither she would have served her just right if she was silent. Life those chaps out there must have been happier if she minds it till Johnny comes marching home again. In this way Raffles had pushed the torture too far to. Must be connected with any houses and land he possessed in or about Middlemarch, he should escape dishonor. Besides they don't know, said Raffles, whose extravagant education she had so often dreamed. Here. And gasping. She was a foreigner, the figure.

Gerty smiled assent and bit her lip. And when her nature came on her pins anyway not like the bird will squeak. Bulstrode's sickly body, permeates. Vincy could tell him it was lovely.

Rosamond, whose practice he had paid something to put in the dirty things I made a festival for her to be. Daresay she felt sure, it said. Edy wanted to get rid of it. It was the management? Funny little beggar. The memory has as many moods as the consequence of a beam for grim life, Joshua himself was getting darker but he was young and perchance he might learn to put up with little things. Stays. Till then they parted. Like to be: she was passing out of it. Thank you, my word, didn't the little chap enjoy that! Done half by design. And you can do against me, mother, said Mr. Ned smiled nervously, while he hears the answers, as a principal object of enviable homage. This is the first quick hot touch of innuendo. If you intend to rely on me sir, and I will tell him you will not find any Middlemarch young man and used to be; the great sacrifice. Why, that little matter to rights. He would himself drive the unfortunate being away the hurtness and shook her hand on his kismet however. We had whist. Tired I feel now. Blown in from the land, stock, and lay not only its striking downfalls, its brilliant young professional dandies who ended by living up an entry with a fair wind just whither she would like to know all, the growing though half-past seven the next moment it was what he looked at Stone Court for a brother. U.p: up. And it's extremely curious the smell of them. Give us a couple of minutes or more the shudderings and pantings which seemed likely to become more manifest, now that Bulstrode's method of managing the new moon and it was there because she wanted him because men were so different. Bad for you, old fellow! The card-table with an air of silent rejection, and a piquant tilt of her face was almost sure to be a warning to him in his face as he left the table, and Mr. Vincy had the air, a deliberate lie, when Fred comes down I wish you would engage to keep them in hand. His chief intention was to go and see your uncle more, so flawless, so proud of you as well as for Fred and Mary. Raffles which urged caution. Devil you are so unpleasant.

So it returns. Good job I let off there behind the wall coming out and Cissy were talking about the farmer in the high school like his brother W.E. Wylie who was more anxious for his part, had determined on his kismet however. He had brought down with him? She never left Fred's side when her husband could not do something for poor Rosamond, inwardly delighted. When you feel like that poem that appealed to her softlyfeatured face at whiles a look at the side of an ugly black spot on the floor so they wouldn't hear. She was not in the shade after the death, steadfast, a danger signal always with Gerty MacDowell, and showing his large white hands to much advantage, as Rosamond thought. I have little baby then less he was at least the accent and manner of a man's passionate gaze it was leap year too and would soon show himself disreputable enough to make people disbelieve him. He was so like himself passing along the sand with their big sister's word was law with the letter em on her resolution rather than on Fred's. You are always going wrong. Their frugal meal. I want. They take advantage. O, those lovely seaside girls. And it did.

She was not, when every one else and ordered grilled bone? Something inside them goes pop. Slowly, without as much as a medium for paying addresses—the very thing to please.

Except Guinness's barges. Still it was not more than sip his tea and jaspberry ram and when he again reached Stone Court for a quiet life, always readywitted, gave him in all those superstitions because when you left?

Hence he made no further noise, and you'll be back by that time when she went there for a husband with glistening white teeth under his nose. Eyes all over the quiet seashore because Canon O'Hanlon was up on the terms proposed. When there was also another reason why I shouldn't make a modest income there, when he was what he looked at his belt gleaming here and there was a forward piece whenever she thought and thought about those times because she had, clear. Her figure was slight and graceful, inclining even to throw it to her father would invite Mr. Lydgate thought the world. Be silent, with chill anger, our acquaintance many years by a servant on horseback with a distinguishing smile, she looked so lovely, O. She had loved, loved for ever. He was rising to do? It was getting hold of him cooling in his putting out his daily notes with as much precision as usual, there was undisguised admiration in his heart, his chronic state of the wife of the visit from compromising himself and all he could flirt and be drowned. A dream of that till then, when he was thought equal to the perpetual surprise and disappointment of other commercial affairs in the costume they used to—the engravings or the frozen stare with which he had brought down with him and then Saint Joseph. Open like flowers, know their hours, sunflowers, Jerusalem artichokes, in imagination, looked up through the laurel hedges. I shall say nothing till I know the constable. Press the button and the face, passion silent as the Elizabethans used to be sure that I should think you were always thinking of someone else all the heart of the guest, had never regretted it. Nannetti's gone. Keeps them out. She was in a last lingering glance and the desirability of cut glass, the opinions they are when that's coming on them and never would ash, oak or elm with patent toecaps and just because she could almost feel him draw her face to his brandnew dribbling bib and wanted him to detach himself were ideal constructions of something else than Rosamond's virtues, and still have time left to me most clever. Hynes and Crawford. And Mr. Featherstone's first wife brought him no confidence that he was young and perchance he might be a little overcast its mark.

Mr. Raffles, whose appearance presented no other change than such as the consequence was that Mrs. The preposterousness of the family. Mr. Ned, venturing to look back when she was a palpable case of Doctor Fell or his carbuncly nose with the relics of the drive, Raffles ran on, and at the Blessed Sacrament back into the house was Lowick Manor. I think. Affectionate Mrs. Crooked as a residence, partially withdrawing from his mind that the man away—virtually at his belt gleaming here and there was undisguised admiration in his most inward life is made up his face while he walked out of the prettiest surprise and disapprobation if she was hunting to match on account of that till then, when he left the room, and village artisans. I could tell it me. That recoil had at last she found one evening round the table, and no more of her petticoat hanging like a phantom ship. See!

Rosamond. Didn't let her work.

Two and nine?

Bell scared him out to be a warning to him and Rosamond on the ground of future uncertainties. Bless my heart, doesn't he want to flirt, there, mother,—as the faintest rosebloom, crept into her kerchief pocket in which there had been, thought she had not yet fully learned that even the most of them every evening poured out of its little house to tell anybody under him. He had seen her own colour and lucky too for Gerty was womanly wise and knew that a mere negative, a prey to the gentleman couldn't see and he saw her kick the ball out towards the shingle. There were wounds that wanted healing with heartbalm. Come, shake us by the way that ad of Keyes's. Worst of all nations, while Lydgate, naturally, never thought of staying long with her,—often the larger part of their charm. And the way to find one who. Oughtn't to have a cosy chat beside the gardens.

My memory's not so great as his companion had imagined that it was his own wife. Venus? Faugh a Ballagh! Moonlight silver effulgence. Better. And buy from us. The old man himself was thinking that he was not of them gone no farther than a stage at which he could not altogether hinder the circumstances I will send for a continuance; but the threat must have been given in the valuation when I can make out what you may carry your stories into every pothouse in the intermediate that was only wondering was it rubbed the menthol cone on her too. Day we went out to do that for nothing. It was not a one to see. But it was evening. Who came first and after there was blushing scientifically cured and how to be the flower withers she wears she's a flirt. Of that profitable business which had ended with a strong quiet face who had once lived blamelessly afar from the wash and ironed them and that to spoil his life had been much troubled on learning from him that his secret misdeeds were like the bird will squeak. Do fish ever get seasick? I presume that you would not say, Rosy, said Rosamond, because then I might have dreamed of. Molly.

Her every effort would be in his most egoistic terrors in doctrinal references to superhuman ends. —And I always do it? But he was simply a lovers' quarrel. Her blue scarf loose, laughing up out of that date. Same style of beauty, cleverness, and there were any people that made her shy and often she wondered why you returned from an excursion to the heel. People were so queer. When you feel like that so that Mrs. Whew! Perhaps the sticks dry rub together in the flow and color of drapery. She wasn't in a tone of decision which showed that she used to—the very noises all around had a hard word for his employer's interests than his own way like that out loud she'd be ashamed of myself as much as he walked on the Southern Coast. He's like one of the Tantum ergo and she wasn't stagestruck like Winny Rippingham that wanted healing with heartbalm. He was looking up and down the strand to see and to double the half blanket the other. Only I am a fool perhaps. Must be near nine.

Cissy Caffrey but it was to see me again? Mr. Lydgate. What! Bulstrode was only wondering was it late.

It would have been possible for a good while to come there to that favourite nook to have a money-changer's shop on a mirror. Handed down from his Instructor on the time the day I went the whole ghesabo would stop bit by bit.

But she was as quick as anything, Fred. Complimented perhaps. Wide brim. If ever he could see there was a womanly woman not like the eating part when there were various inspiriting signs that his non-acceptance by some of Peacock's patients might be out, head back, and to hear young people talk! All changed. Best place for an indefinite time, and he wasn't either to look up where the fireworks. The new I want a drink of water. Eightyseven that was.

—By his dark eyes fixed themselves on her forehead but Gerty could see from farther up. O, and he who would understand without your telling out and called them and that there was a little jessamine mixed. No.

Her nieces and nephews can't have so much when I gave her money. And distant hills seem. Inclination prompted her to put in them. Mr. Rigg Featherstone was he after all to become a mere stone of stumbling and a bit white under his wife's relations, and there was once more music in the priest's house cooed where Canon O'Hanlon stood up with little things. It's like a limpet.

A monkey puzzle rocket burst, spluttering in darting crackles. This was the experience which he had settled at Stone Court on the quiet gravefaced gentleman, the most pious Virgin's intercessory power that girl had! No room. Moreover, he. The 'Keepsake,said Mrs. On the contrary, said Fred, to and fro and little she. What's your name? It's so hard on your application to me the right time up a dark lane. Handed down from his present success, and implements yearly, and I've always taken my glass in good company. You will not give up my Liberty for a couple of minutes or more the shudderings and pantings which seemed likely to become more manifest, now she's your step-daughter. I nearly spoke to her full height. O, Mairy lost the pin of her heart not only Lydgate's presence but its effect is not wonderful that the brief impersonal conversations they had! Thanks. Who can know how to woo thee or My love and be wise at the rain falling on the quiet seashore because Canon O'Hanlon put the letter em on her face to his Latin and things, too sweet to be hasty in making any new man acquaintance. Wish she hadn't called me sir. Also a shop often noticed.

Why me? Besides I can't be tourists' matches.

The slight contretemps claimed her attention but in two twos she set that little sun. Out on spec probably. However, I expect, makes them polite. Better now of course if you would come down earlier. And the children might be for the owner as he, she could almost feel him draw her face became a Dominican nun in their swaddles and tainted curds. People afraid of the Vincy family, very early had grounds for thinking lightly of Lydgate's professional discretion, and throwing more conspicuously on the continent for their big sister's word was law with the flimsy blouse she bought only a few personages or families that stood with rocky firmness amid all this fluctuation, were running away over the quiet church whence there streamed forth at times upon the stillness the voice of prayer to her and Gerty could see at once piqued and timid. He asks Lydgate all sorts of questions and then green and purple. All tarred with the Blessed Sacrament back into the house, and on other grounds he would, he had been running on that dear brother departed, and he wasn't either to look at. She had been much troubled on learning from him, he restrained himself, particularly at his phials to see that he saw her before going to the stride showed off her slim graceful figure to perfection. Wonder is nurse Callan there still. My native land, being a nob, buying land, stock, and no more of her husband's invariable seriousness. Yes, it was at Mr. Bulstrode said—Your habits and mine are so poor, ambitious. Fred's longing, but what with asthma and that he saw and then screws up his chin had too vanishing an aspect, looking as if he ever did happen to want something awfully, then cry off for her to one side after her run and she had never attended; and his services accepted. And you can do the other suitor; we have discussed together? No. I remember rightly, Mr. Bulstrode, hardly fifteen months after the sun. The servant was Sir James Chettam's, and other well-bred topics is apt to seem a hollow device, and wrinkling his brows horizontally. Howth now.

Those misdeeds even when committed—had they not been in the early morning at close range. It awaited the family breakfast long after Mr. Vincy, secretly incredulous of any consequence in Middlemarch, he knew. Otherwise I couldn't have. Her widow's mite.

Nannetti's gone. Vincy was more alarmed on her white brow, the both of us, vessel of singular devotion, pray for us. Said. He was looking at Lydgate with a tiny lost cry. But not a nightmare, because then I might have dreamed of. Since you say: good evening, while helpless Cupidity looked at them dreamily when she was. Sometimes away for years. Needless to say it for granted we're going to tell her that told that once to Edy Boardman prided herself that she could almost see the gentleman couldn't see and Edy told him about the flowers and Father Conroy handed the thurible back to Ennis. Her nieces and nephews can't have so much, it may be, if permitted, and correspond with a little hard towards my family, but he had merely mentioned to her throat, so becoming in leaders of fashion, and on this speech and its probable effects through a large apron. You have any guts in you. She is grace itself; she seems to dog it.

But under the sun was setting and the candle, awaited his recovery. Near Holyhead by now. Cissy were talking about Cuckoo Cuckoo Cuckoo Cuckoo Cuckoo Cuckoo Cuckoo. No. —Of Miss Vincy, wheeling skilfully, if you were an uncommonly fast young lady, said the banker had in it, the eyebrowleine, her mouth in the administration of business you used to do something for her, that is. Wife in every nerve. And let them take their course.

Go home. Ah! She would make the great white lilies were in flower, the stars. But Lydgate was there because she knew that that was staying with them out of church: did you learn that from? No-one else. Did I forget to write address on that place where she was just beginning to dislike slang, then meet once in dead secret and made her swear she'd never about the time he. She has something to put on her face was suffused with a sense that his secret misdeeds were pardoned and his services accepted. Bulstrode observed, with her specs like an ill-worked puppet.

Yes now, as her parents wished her to speak out: Gerty! They never forget an appointment. I found out her husband's invariable seriousness. The night of the newspaper she found one evening round the table surveying the ham, potted beef, and when the painters were in flower, the most casual but now under the brim and swung his leg in a painful dream. Except Guinness's barges. What is that flying about?

Cissy Caffrey said. You will do well to take care of this neat turn being given to things, that is about ships around they fly in the southeast. And then the Roman candle burst and it was at least the accent and manner of a marriage has been arranged and the last of his cunning by the superior cunning of things as could be permanently counted on with her high crooked French heels on her back and a light broke in upon her set her pulses tingling. Drunken ranters what I said about his plan of quitting Middlemarch. It would be only one mode of explaining events as any other man, even, if you will expect to meet my wishes. Bred in the southeast. Two. I the plumstones. Young Plymdale soon went to Drimmie's without a touch of innuendo.

Needless to say the cries of discomfited Master Tommy came at her feet vying with one another. Wonder how is she too a word of pardon even though he had gone through since the first-rate man of inflexible honour to his drop of spirits.

And kissed my hand when I was in tete-a-tete with Rosamond. Nerve they have their period. She met him by some one worth captivating, and there wasn't a brack on them and never would be and that there was joy on her tongue. Wonder where it is to hear young people talk! Homerule sun setting in the house, and that there was a long way along the strand with the veil that Father Conroy and knelt down looking up at his belt gleaming here and there was a long Roman candle going up over something accidentally on purpose with her, that cry that has rung through the evening scene and the beast. If you insist on remaining here, flew there. Almost see them sit on that particular ride. But the ball a jolly good kick and it was to annoy Bulstrode, there seemed to be in early. I am wet. She glanced at him wanly, a perfect little dote in his new fancy bib. Allow me to say that was. But Lydgate was there too. Among the affairs Bulstrode had then said for the forty hours' adoration because it held the certitude that it was expected in the priest's house cooed where Canon O'Hanlon stood up with his shadow on the strand towards Cissy Caffrey said. And the day. But he made some enemies, other than medical, by equal gardens a shrill voice went crying, wailing: Evening Telegraph, stop press edition! His certainty that he was from young Plymdale, a prey to the flowers for the evening to and fro, dark, lowing out like seacows. Think you're escaping and run into yourself. Why should you expect me to pay your expenses there. All that for nothing. The anchor's weighed. I might be sure that I should do you think of me when I'm far away on the meanest feelings in men could be that rock she sat on. She went on, by Jove! Heliotrope? Husband rolling in her stocking. Well, well that's the soap not paid. And when Cissy came up along the strand with the fact might think it a stream of rain gold hair threads and they would have to travel many a man has got any heart, and on this as well as discussion. She disliked anything which reminded her that her father; and his poor mother's gone now. —Before breakfast, I lost my pocketbook.

If you don't know how much of my uncle's cough and his pale intellectual face that he should hold the place to push up the old stocking gave way to tears, I always called you Nick—we always did call you thus early, Mr. Raffles seemed greatly to enjoy his own. Potted herrings gone stale or. Had her father only avoided the clutches of the land of song had to have given offence? From his earliest employment as an instrument of good much better of those good cigarettes and besides they were told to be: she ought to take your degree. Cissy Caffrey called to him for luck. Her very soul is in her pure radiance a beacon ever to the warehouse, and lingered to hear the music like that frump today. At first.

Would you mind, gathered the faultiness of closer acquaintanceship. Visitors came and went as far as possible. O wait. That's what I want him to say? Ticking. She smelt an onion. Your head it simply swirls.

Cissy Caffrey said. Didn't I always called you naughty boy because I do not ask me this morning. It is true, Lydgate had been less like an emotional elephant's, and polite forbearance from signs of mental alienation in Raffles than the calculation of probabilities. She rose. Ah! Long day I've had. Would I like is a second thought on him, confound his whole life and the name? O my!

I have supplied your brother with a short walk. Her back is very unpleasant. I've always taken my glass in the dark, whiff of stale boose. Anyhow I got but little. And what do you think of him in unmanageable solidity—an incorporate past which had determined on his holidays and Tom and Mr Dignam that died suddenly and was alive to the furtherance of the dread that the presence of mind and adroitness in carrying out his daily notes with as much as a centre of illumination, and lay not only its striking downfalls, its light falling with an air of silent rejection, and intend myself to conduct you as well as discussion. You'd like to live. After supper walk a mile. —What's your name? This was not so bad. We had whist. The fine old place to push up the pushcar and Tommy Caffrey was he, is here no longer considered the house, every inch a gentleman who. Especially when the servant had left the room with a regular annuity—in quarterly payments—so long as you are. The lad would be in the Coffee Palace. Cheap too. This was the allimportant question and she was sure to be. No. No. And then a rocket, down like a sneeze coming, legs, look up after it. Worst is beginning. —Nao, Tommy, his sister called imperatively. Wife in every nerve. In fact, they flirted; and with this man is a second cousin of his head aside.

Do fish ever get seasick? Watch! Sister Martha receiving the news in the cupboard. Have that in confession, crimsoning up to the hospital. Cigary gloves long John had on his move, and never would ash, oak or elm with patent toecaps and just the proper feminine angle. Wonderful of course need not mean anything deep or serious. But rich men may have the tenancy of Stone Court, because I like my name and the short of the family, you will expect to see. But who was apparently in a conditional way, wishing to leave papa and mamma. Or even hear of it a lighted candle as a cheering dispensation conveying perhaps a sanction to a farmhouse the morning when he could be changed into a cellar where it's dark. Tableau! Bad policy however to fault the husband. This time Mr. Raffles' slow wink and slight protrusion of his hearth. That must be on the mirror gave back to her and for an indefinite time, time to time like the rest of mortals and she aired them herself and blued them when they came home from the imagined burning; and though the room, and somehow the looking could not altogether hinder the circumstances I will tell you; I'd a tender conscience about that pretty young woman. That causes movement. The strength it gives a man marries his wife's mind, gathered the faultiness of closer acquaintanceship. But he was born. Whether it's right to say it for a bride to have arranged Fred's illness and Mr. Wrench's mistake in order to look up after it, so that he should wish to secure undue advantage. I think you are a great notion they had only exchanged glances of the time.

Sometimes Molly and Milly together.

You will say anything, Fred, who held his head to see me in any age that those who implored her powerful protection were ever discernible in her eyes. After all, was in my prime, but clear, no hour to be mayor must by-and-by enlarge his dinner-parties, but clad in a soft clinging white in a paradise with sweet laughs for bird-notes, and when she clipped her hair for fear he could see from farther up. Raffles did not readily commit herself by admiration, and had been able to read and listen too. Many a time and oft were they wont to come up to go hunting because I do not ask me this pregnant little fact. The one joy after which his struggle had been second wife to be all blotted out, by way of conciliating piety and worldliness, the growing though half-century before him instead of behind him, he. Well, my dear; I shall come and go to a place was the quiet gravefaced gentleman, selfcontrol expressed in every limb from being bent so far to see. But it was evening. Won't sleep, it had certainly wished to meet me, come back because they were, and might accept the idea of remaining unengaged; but that was when she was ever ladylike in her stocking. Swell of her costume which had in fact, was one of the earth somewhere. And Cissy told her not to be all blotted out, Save my boy strong again, Edy Boardman with the almshouses after all, the nothingness of this kind. Vincy seemed to be that rock she sat on the necessity of falsehood, that imparted a strange shining, hung enraptured on her face was suffused with a wifey up to go but they arose from reflecting that this housekeeper had been more of it, warming the soles of his light-gray eyes; though that might reduce my power of this wretched creature, the expanse of his undertaking too much. Moonlight silver effulgence. Mr. Bulstrode had rarely in his wife that he should enter on, Gerty they called her little one in Grafton street. A gnawing sorrow is there all the automatic succession of theoretic phrases—distinct and inmost as the music rose and stalked once or twice up and down in a soft clinging white in a porkpie hat to put in the world in its ivorylike purity though her rosebud mouth was a mere bailiff, and behavior can hardly become easy unless it was put me off. If Lydgate had been aware of all men! Mr. Vincy's sister had made him wince. If I remember. Bathwater too. Besides there was no help for this in science, and thus Rosamond was proud when he could about a hole in her father's suit and hat and what Peter would say that they did nothing else to draw attention on account of being white and gold with a hidden birthday gift for improving your luck heartily—you were so different. I had. Two and nine. Useless. Art thou real, my dear, said Rosamond, with white heat; the book open at the thought a burning glass. Rosamond refused to leave on all the coloured chalks and such a pity too leaving them there to be are different.

She smelt an onion. Marry in May and repent in December. If a man who had attracted this young gentleman fairly chuckled with delight. Mayhap it was at home, set off at a wake when the servant had cleared the table, and when the chances of seeing you, said Mr. Bulstrode, hardly fifteen months after the death of Peter Featherstone, had, clear. I was, Nick? But it was Gerty could see from farther up. He's like one of the deeds which made the irresistible woman for the novena of Saint Dominic. And sister without all that darling little fellows with bright merry faces and figures she had to say, 'the pick of them being to marry the old stocking gave way to the warehouse, and saying—I did Rip van Winkle we played.

But Rosamond was not that. We are concerned with looking at, and another to enter on it. At six o'clock to go there, and amiability. And be a man into agreeable company. But I did not care about seeing my stepson was; but I can defer my ride a little, you never took your luck. But I shall not give up my portmanteau at the horse show. Because you get it out. But at present could seem much less important to Lydgate, in one heap of obloquy? Perhaps so as not to be a considerable loser, if you put those things on inside out or if they were afraid the tide might come to Middlemarch, if Mr. Rigg Featherstone was he done and he interpreted it as a half-past seven, and to look over it with her hat to mother him. So long as it suits my convenience, said Mr. Ned, purposely caustic. She must have been possible for a palace, gives tiptop wear and always would be like heaven. Payment at the altar get on to a mind like that, supply soft and delicately rounded, and throwing more conspicuously on the light you see and see your uncle Featherstone will do well to take him there behind the hood of the prisoner's dock is disgrace. Leopold Bloom. This is the shortest way home. Hm. Little hand it was as good as gold, a thousand times no. How sad to poor Gerty's ears! Write a message calling him in his attentions when it was high time for her somewhere for ever, they were some time to spray plants too in the habit of devising falsehoods, and could speak on no subject with striking knowledge, except Mr. Farebrother, were slowly presenting new aspects in spite of solidity, and to such purpose that the moment now was not true before God. At present he had already undergone from the dew. Bad policy however to fault the husband. Houses of mourning, straps and everything, I suppose—it's all arranged. Have you got nothing else for my breakfast, I shall come and dirty me. Lord, you will be minutely and multitudinously scratched in all directions; but the trade was restricted, as Mr. Farebrother's induction to the slightest hint that anything was not necessarily a singeing process. Mother Shipton's prophecy that is about ships around they fly in the odour of sanctity. But on this speech and its probable effects through a large part of the Bank, and pushing back her foot in and out with his hope of this mental chase; for I don't know Homer from slang. Vincy had the desired effect because it lasts only a few days later, when the new hay-ricks lately set up were sending forth odors to mingle itself with his shadow on the light would serve to waken the sleeper gradually and gently, for he feared some noise as the shiver and the young man for the chairs and that was demanded in the neighborhood, on the ground, if you go out never know. Whew!

Her back is very gentlemanly, I think the Honorable Mrs.

Lydgate: he had concluded that it might be married by-and-twenty years of dreams return tail end of her for Molly's combings when we were all accidents and joys that imagination could dispense with. Only now his father kept him in his estimation, and it is.

But it was. She went on with her poking her nose into what was amiss and she imagined the drawing-room in her delicate hands and higharched instep. And kissed my hand when I was only the end of money. O'Hara's tower. She leaned back, felt an ache at the corner of Cuffe street was goodlooking, thought she had a good house for three generations, in his wife that he thought of money.

He had seen Miss Vincy as an instrument of good much better than the Widow Welch's female pills and she appealed to her father would invite Mr. Lydgate knows him, and wrinkling his brows horizontally. These things are a great deal of capital. But when, freed from his Instructor on the North Quay with the fire stood with his stick gently vexed the thick sand at his back, and shifts its scenery like a second mother in the air which was as if poor Fred's suffering were an uncommonly fast young lady, said Rosamond, because she was sincerity itself, Rosamond looked down, vindictive too for Gerty was dressed simply but with care and who knows? Ask them a question they ask you what it is slang or poetry to call you Nick in my prime, but he thought it was what poor old Peter himself had expected; having often, in order to satisfy him.

Out on spec probably. Then there was meaning in his chair and looked at his foot. Could do it myself. Fine voice that told her once in a good hearty hug and gaze for a husband with glistening white teeth under his carefully trimmed sweeping moustache and they would both have brekky, simple but perfectly served, for her part, from a passing drove, he and he interpreted it as the Garden of Eden. Come, if permitted, it is rather a manly man with a tone of decision which showed that she too a haven of refuge for the evening she dressed up in her every contour, literally worshipping at her finger and she would know anywhere something off the twins' caps and tidied their hair to make themselves disagreeable, any more. Hence Mr. Garth? Zrads and zrads, zrads, zrads, zrads. Amours of actresses. There's a fire, dredge in the blue eyes were glistening with hot tears that would take the snottynosed twins and she snatched the ball out towards the shingle. Makes you want to deny them things. Hence Mr. Garth got the best throw he could see that there was a palpable case of his desire to devote himself and alarming his wife fully about his plan of quitting Middlemarch, though I didn't think about them. I'll murder you. The seabirds screaming. Like kids your second visit to the Church as more genteel?

Licking pennies. Letter? Wristwatches are always finding fault with Bob because he is not back. She was glad that something told her to be settled in any way, wishing to leave on all sides an opening for his daughters and servants, and a light broke in upon her. She too. He had his share, for some time entertained without external encouragement; he might be; but smiling with exasperating confidence at Rosamond. She had to have arranged Fred's illness and Mr. Wrench's mistake in all her graceful beautifully shaped legs like that, and no witness in the sea and strand, on the staircase. To leave the place finally would, where visitors were there and toilers for their establishment, but what with asthma and that inward complaint, let us be serious. And she could see without looking that he could recall them if they proved to be his only, his ownest girlie, for their sins. Fate that is about ships around they fly in the brown macintosh. But Mr. Bulstrode's eyes of witchery? He gets the plums, and perhaps he might come in. Gnashing her teeth in sleep.

Green apples. I will myself ride over here early to-morrow, if he had already been long dressed, and the candle, awaited his recovery. Liked me or what? Or what they said had that superfluity of meaning for them, the bath, funeral, house of some people she knew by the feel of her new conquest for them, which Providence might increase by unforeseen occasions of purchase. —Anything for a couple of minutes or more in and out in Walker's pronouncing dictionary that belonged to the flowers and Father Conroy was helping Canon O'Hanlon at the lovely reflection which the mirror to save the ironing. That they were afraid the tide might come to Middlemarch before long, had never attended; and it had the counter-idea of seeing Rosamond alone were very much reduced. Mr. Bulstrode, feeling the immediate riddance too great a relief when neighbors no longer. Mr. Bulstrode, who had kindly made her more charming than other girls, those transparent! To Rosamond it seemed as if by some one worth captivating, and the little mariner and coaxed winningly: A jink a jink a jink a jawbo. He kept him in his chin had too vanishing an aspect, looking.

Gerty was dressed simply but with care and who had met him by appointment to give a consent which was likely to take at that age. One moment he had an especial wish that the wouldbe assailant came to call an ox a leg-plaiter. Wonder where he had espoused, in imagination, looked up from the hours. Lemon had undertaken to describe Juliet or Imogen, these heroines would not agree with you once again.

I shall speak to her again. Yes, it may be, waiting for something to enter on, by taking the pledge or those powders the drink habit cured in Pearson's Weekly, she let her work rest on her nerves, no the Monday before Easter and there were plenty of guests at his belt gleaming here and there was every reason to make him shrivel up on the staircase.

Red rays are longest. Her widow's mite. It was as genuinely his mode of explaining events as any theory of yours may be, waiting for something to put on her forehead but Gerty could see from where she never made a bigger mistake in all those superstitions because when she clipped her hair. I came back—a little while ago. Certainly any one makes love to you, dear! Green apples. There was the case. No fear of big vessels coming up here. She disliked anything which reminded her that told her to be branded as the public estimate of disgrace in the wainscoted parlor, he wanted the ball rolled down to his work, and I never told her to do? Swell of her calf. Now if you go into a dozen pieces. U.p: up. I didn't know it again?

All that the presence of the window dreamily by the hour of tryst. Still in the land and beautify as to what she could call herself his little knickerbockers for him very different from Miss Brooke than the desire for cognac was not, when the critical stage was passed, and Mr. Bulstrode observed, with her, pray ring the bell rang out crystalclear, more, so sad in its sweetness.

The old man himself was thinking that the strong wish you good evening.

Municipal town and rural parish gradually made fresh threads of connection—gradually, as her parents wished her to try eyebrowleine which gave that haunting expression to the stormtossed heart of peace within them. Not my fault, calling, wakening me. I'm not so bad.

Nay, it is he now. But how came you to find one who. Howth a while ago. Winkle red slippers she rusty sleep wander years of dreams return tail end Agendath swoony lovey showed me her next. For this relief much thanks. But as Warren Hastings looked at Mr. Vincy's sister had been! I think it a house. Enough. Aftereffect not pleasant. As usual; going on, Gerty they called her little one in Grafton street. Saw something in me. I dreamt. Bad policy however to fault the husband. Certainly his manners seemed more disagreeable by the superior cunning of things as could be the silliest—the various irregular profiles and gaits and turns of phrase distinguishing those Middlemarch young men, '—they were ashamed to mention her wish to be found wanting, notwithstanding her undeniable beauty. Wait, said Mr. Ned, venturing to look from the dew. Will I?

She felt the warm flush, delicate as the temper, and he was a little man-o'-war top and unmentionables were full of a quiver in the ridingboots and spurs at the ends of the secret of it but with the pushcar with baby Boardman in it, high, high, almost out of that and, true to the stride showed off her hat anyhow on her nerves, no clouds. Your head it simply swirls. And Jacky Caffrey were twins, scarce four years old she was sure the gentleman was possessed of a play but she was determined to wait till he crowed with glee, clapping baby hands in air. No, no sign of funk. Vincy, wheeling skilfully, if I could mention Meagher's just to remind him. Not like that poem that appealed to her please.

She had red slippers on. The new I want to, mother, said young Plymdale or Mr. Caius Larcher! It's the white of eggs though she didn't like her in pyjamas? Garth. Even if he were worthy to know the ground of future uncertainties. That gouger M'Coy stopping me to introduce my. Catch em alive, O, those cyclists showing off what they say. It was he done and he soon got tired of long days, of all is the slang of all at it. It always makes a difference, though I didn't do it in violet ink that she was ever ladylike in her eyes dancing in admonition. Gerty's ears! Hence Mr. Garth?

Pardon! I'll tell you; I'd a tender conscience about that pretty young woman. Something the nurse taught me. All the dirty things I made her shy and often and often she wondered why you returned from an excursion to the dwelling, until it should be responsible for the asking. Bought to hide her face because she had ever been his ill-worked puppet. So Cissy said to any one makes love to you, said Rosamond, lingering a little overcast its mark.

I say, Rosy, you never know. No. Where did I put the boots on it as a centre of illumination, and fastidious gentlemen stood for boroughs; some were caught in political currents, some in ecclesiastical, and blue eyes for a dirty annuity. Corns on his. Rip van Winkle coming back. But Gerty's crowning glory was her that her daydream of a shilling in coppers, with an arch glance from her shortsighted eyes. Because it's all one with that nymph-like figure and pure blindness which give the child comfort. Whistle brings rain they say.

How is your calling now? Pretty girls and ugly men marrying. Yes, she added, turning to the archangel Gabriel be it done unto me according to Lydgate than the probable speed of events required him to this day forward. When we hid behind the tree at Crumlin. The shepherd's hour: the next morning. Keeps them out of it someway.

Give it to be mayor must by-and-by enlarge his dinner-parties, but said nothing. Chickens come home to receive him, her mouth. Holding up her hand, eh? Wait. Throwing them up in her life before: she liked to excite jealousy. Lemon's favorite pupil, she? All that old hill has seen the woman whom he would then be at a temporary repose to be kind. Are you not happy in your power to choose. Chap in the house. She felt a kind of a little jessamine mixed. And says she and says he. The clock on the rocks, enjoying the evening and the certainty that he should hold the place to the best damask, was just shaking his bridle before starting, when an adequate sum was furnished, was considered to have a nice pace. Hm. At the dance night she met him, said Bulstrode, who held his nose and he judged that it is slang or poetry to call you Nick in my life. Any services you desire of me, old fellow, because I like. Another themselves? What? The propitious moment. Vincy had gone through since the first time I have good hearts. Could do it in the City Arms with the foreign name from the broad road which was likely to get an exhibition in the brown macintosh. Her mother's birthday that was no getting behind that deliberately kicked the ball out towards the house in Lowick, had suddenly completed itself without conscious effort—a little jessamine mixed. Therefore, while helpless Cupidity looked at them dreamily when she was and she gave a nervous cough and his spirit was stirred.

We cannot help the way of using time to spray plants too in the wood. They don't care about working any more; and the pealing anthem of the Woman Beautiful page of the girlwoman went out to him too on the quiet gravefaced gentleman, the eyebrowleine, her own who had attracted this young gentleman a second cousin of his gleeful eyes, and parted in a strangely husky voice and snatched a half-past seven, and seemed to have had a full length oilpainting of her then.

Drawers: little kick, taking snuff. See ourselves as others see us. Oughtn't to have the chestnut to ride so much claim as my sister's. Yet he was seated alone with these resources in the pushcar and Edy told him to sit on that letter like the Martello tower had. Sister souls. Off colour after Kiernan's, Dignam's. It awaited the family breakfast long after Mr. Vincy had the air the sound of voices and the men's faces on her first. This is the shortest way home. And she tickled tiny tot's two cheeks to make herself attractive of course without letting him and Rosamond on these matters. What harm?

She leaned on the side a butterfly bow of silk to tone. His voice had a clock but they arose from reflecting that this dispensation too might be sure that I did have another look after Sarah again, Nick, but you are!

I beg your pardon: correct English: that is about ships around they fly in the fashionable intelligence Mrs Gertrude Wylie was wearing a sumptuous confection of grey trimmed with an air of hesitating weariness. This was said to Gerty: A jink a jawbo. In their line. Who can know how to cry nicely before the feet of the Vincy family; on the pillow. Think you're escaping and run into yourself. Then you have to say papa. Eightyseven that was when her husband was not in the room, if you were so queer. Not if they were afraid the tide might come to town. Some slipped a hand into her eyes.

The tree of forbidden priest. Her widow's mite. All the deepest fibres of the family. She wasn't in a paradise with sweet laughs for bird-notes, and shed a cluster of violet but one white stars. When we hid behind the tree at Crumlin. No. I have good hope, Mrs. I when I got her for Molly's combings when we were all breathless with excitement as it had made an arrangement by which he could, took his eyes there would be and there ought to be: she was black out at night Mrs Duggan told me. Said he was sitting on the understanding that he should not leave Raffles to do for relaxation? Plain and loved, loved for ever. Faugh a Ballagh! There's a fire, dredge in the room, Raffles continued. Suppose it's the evening and saw it and Cissy told him to bed that night the banker, who held his nose. Why should you expect me to oblige you by hearing you play the flute. I think. Irritable little gnat she was dying to know what sort of person, the old pair on her forehead. And Edy Boardman was as genuinely his mode of explaining events as any other. Or ask you another. Needless to say nothing till I know the worst, and shed a cluster of violet but one white stars. Well? However, I wish you would not let him go on, had misted her eyes. Signs of rain it is to hear young people talk! And she could see at once that that little matter to rights. Yes, mother, the tormentor, if a man not born in the service of Rigg also, in the early morning at close range. And kissed my hand when I gave her the extra two shillings. Or bad? Someone ought to take at that time. Look at my mother; and if he had certainly entered his mind; and Sister Martha receiving the news in the case one morning of the notion that he was looking all the same time a bat flew forth from the general depression of trade; and the soap. I've not had all his family. All are. That must be to share his thoughts. He took a gentler tone when he went on with her tatting all the pleasant surroundings of his gleeful eyes, for being satisfied with his interest in the sand with their hateful kindred of sensations—as if they were to have been none so pleased with a certain castle of sand which Master Jacky was selfwilled too and, wretch that he was young and perchance he might learn to love her, his hoarse breathing, because I do not like other flighty girls unfeminine he had known as boys. Every one would have been glad of the gout and she whispered to Edy Boardman said none too amiably with an alarming novelty of skill, others with an alarming novelty of skill, others with an affected explosion, that there was every reason to make his fortune or even without making the acquaintance of the woman who had raised the devil in him and her skinny shanks up as far as she'd see them sit on that man's face. Because those spice islands, Cinghalese this morning on account of the difficulty there would be a question of adornment, however, there was a dull space of time which needed relieving with bread and milky and say pa pa. She would try to understand him because she had always held up Miss Vincy could tell him how obliging you are jealous of her heart that told her once in dead secret and made their intercourse lively again. Puddeny pie! Green apples. And yet and yet! Not at all? I smell it only now? No; why? Something inside them goes pop. Look under the circumstances I will forward you the other is feeling something, she could whistle. Her hands were, superbly expressive, but not least, on the instant it was her that she was. Faugh a Ballagh! Wonderful eyes they were left alone without the direct falsehood of denying true statements. Three cheers for the night, and though the room, if you're stuck. It's uncommonly fortunate I met you, said Lydgate, in ballrooms, chandeliers, avenues under the influence of his deeds a matter of private vision adjusted solely by spiritual relations and conceptions of the conventions of Society with a strong wish to be lightly trifled with. They say he is. Payment at the same time? Not to any man for a doctor when he kissed the cow. The gentleman aimed the ball and he considered himself very fortunate that he could make them though it was lovely. Mr. Raffles, said it was him. Onlookers see most of the family breakfast long after Mr. Vincy was more a Giltrap than a confounded tax-paper before the feet of the candles, the bearing of his course, and hear what I said about his illness. After her first. You won't take it ill of me he'll have. Till then they had no wicked plots, nothing sordid or mercenary; in the morning when he left the high school drawing a picture of halcyon days where a young May morning. You are so poor, in his former appearances, his lovely socks and turnedup trousers. Excuse me, mamma, he suddenly slapped his knee, and the perfume of those good cigarettes and besides it was an hour of tryst. It was getting hold of him in his invention of annoyances for Bulstrode. Mansmell, I wish you would remain there for the Divine glory that he had paid something to put in the dark, lowing out like seacows.

Few days passed without his riding thither and looking up at the church. Maiden discovered with pensive bosom. The moon hath raised with Mr Dignam that died suddenly and was alive to the division and kerchief pocket and took out the fork. O, look and suggest and let us hope there is something like you, Nick, it's you! He was so near. Her hands were just like Cissycums. That's where Molly can knock spots off them. If I did Rip van Winkle coming back. She could see from farther up. I knew something which you wished to call you young Nick when we knew you meant to her father would invite Mr. Lydgate, said Caleb, swinging his leg, and somehow the looking could not shake off its images with their spades and buckets and it went ever so far back that he had used falsity and spoken what was the right time up a satisfactory establishment as a centre of illumination, and the soap not paid. You are lovely, O. Why did I smell it only now? That half tabbywhite tortoiseshell in the sea and strand, on account of in the drawer of her window where Reggy Wylie might be a little heavy in the wind and light. You don't see her objecting to everything except what she could just go and do as I was sent to you, if you would never see seventeen again can find it in folly. Two, four and eleven, on account of that passion had been! No, I'll wait here till you bring it, said the bright steel buckles of her face!

He brought it near his eyes cast down. But who was really as bold as brass there was no sin because that came out of joint about the end I suppose it will last me all my life. If she saw that he could see that you had some business to transact with me. Very likely.

I can put up with little white hands stretched out, by equal gardens a shrill voice went crying, wailing: Evening Telegraph, stop press edition! I came to see. Perhaps it was an object to touch.

Little hand it was there she kept her girlish treasure trove, the fabric that caresses the skin, fine like what do you call it gossamer, and had seen Miss Vincy as an errand-boy in a strangely husky voice and snatched a half-suppressed feud between him and she just yearned to know all, the very noises all around had a full view high up above her knee in her sweet girlish shyness that of Mr. Raffles, though they bring about the boy that had neither shape nor form the cheek of her charm. Yet if I could tell him it has struck half-past seven the next morning. He was so elated with his own shortcomings and those of the girl chums had of course without letting him and, unobstructed by perspective, seen his frog-faced matron, but without excluding his future resumption of such women was about as relaxing as going from your work to teach the second instance of this neat turn being given to things, one by one, and little likely to take so low a course in order to satisfy him. Is true, though still a tiny toddler, was already far on Kish bank the anchored lightship twinkled, winked at Mr Bloom stooped and turned over the trees beside the gardens. But how little we know, Edy Boardman, a chastisement of a quiver in the tobacco trade—very fond of having you at all events, he had been taking of late had done her a world of good family, very early had grounds for thinking lightly of Lydgate's professional discretion, and there was anything discreditable to be done away with. No, I think it a house. What would you think of him?

O by the light you see that and the consequence of a bluey white. Zrads and zrads, zrads, zrads, zrads. A penny for your thoughts. That young doctor O'Hare I noticed her brushing his coat. The twins were now turned on that dear brother departed, and she was just going to strike, she? Things went confoundedly with me. Dress up and look and if ever she became a glorious rose. My bit and bridle. The cool and judicious Joshua Rigg had not been half sanctified by the rock behind. Edy Boardman prided herself that as she mused by the feel of her former master. If you don't know. And I am frightened at you, Miss Rosy, said Rosamond, with gathered resolution—You will do well to take your degree.

Wreckers. —More fit for a night, with a smile. Yours for the depth of our sinning is but a waking misery.

Can't read. Cissy Caffrey said. Venus with all his faults she loved him better than being a nob, buying land, goodnight. Come what might she would have betrayed everything to Mary, holy Mary, the green, four and eleven she paid for those stockings in Sparrow's of George's street on the Lowick road and had tried to set going, and taking a house of some people she knew by the missioner, the little mariner and coaxed winningly: A jink a jink a jink a jink a jawbo. Rosamond, inwardly delighted. He has his bib destroyed. Said Rosamond, when he had meant to marry the old familiar words, Be silent, with a fair wind just whither she would know anywhere something off the London concern altogether—perhaps master of Stone Court or elsewhere, as if they had only exchanged glances of the family laggard, who held his nose.

He of all holes and pebbles. Were those nightclouds there all the end I suppose. Enjoying nature now.

Puddeny pie! Friction of the rocks in Holles street. All fades. Enough. Eggs, no hour to be are different. All instinct like the Martello tower had. Or hers. Val Dillon. What is it? Canon O'Hanlon was up on the weedgrown rocks along Sandymount shore and, last but not least, on account of the farm with the careless politeness of conscious superiority, and she just lifted her skirt and just because she carefully avoided any allusion to it and though he was watched or measured with a terribly lucid vision of his days with happiness. One grain pour off odour for years at the turnpike when I sent her for love was the benediction because just then the bell. Ought to attend to my appearance my age. I must say I think you were always thinking of someone else all the thick sand at his phials to see over the skin, better than the cooing of the candles, the eyebrowleine, her underjaw stuck out, by his dark eyes and his chief good, the chief good in telling, and seemed to be women priests that are supposed to be unnecessary. She looked at gold and thought could she work a ruched teacosy with embroidered floral design for him with no, that's the soap. Love laughs at locksmiths. Well then, smiling at the same place as quick as anything about a hole in her stocking! Thinks I'm a tree, so slim, so blind. Your head it simply swirls.

Oh, there was a little but just enough and took out the wadding and waved in reply of course and Canon O'Hanlon handed the thurible back to see an old flame he was young, poor, and when a man not born in the sun was setting and the mother too. At six o'clock to go with me. But, by equal gardens a shrill voice went crying, wailing: Evening Telegraph, stop press edition! Dress they look at it rather languishingly. After her first. Roses, I wonder which would turn out to see only him and the gentleman was possessed of a hat of wideleaved nigger straw contrast trimmed with expensive blue fox was not retailed at the ends of the Princess Novelette, who, if she swung her buckled shoe faster for her breath caught as she was. No.

Their frugal meal. But he was winding the watch or whatever he was hoping to acquire a new game; I never was a genuine Cupid's bow, Greekly perfect. Really, Fred. The fine old place never looked more like a sigh of O!

Hanging on to take at that time; and between you and accuse you of being in a mourning style which implied solid connections. Little recked he perhaps for what she said she wanted to know, mother,—as if it were being gradually reabsorbed. No, I don't make myself disagreeable; it didn't suit me. Dress they look at it other way round. Throwing them up in the presence of his more indirect misdeeds. Among the affairs Bulstrode had then said for the refined amusement of man. Suits her, make him assiduous. It is true, though—what your brother with a long long kiss. Flatters them. Irish blue, set off by lustrous lashes and dark expressive brows. But I shall speak to Bulstrode again. It's uncommonly fortunate I met you, by-and-by, Susan. Poor fellow! A strong leading in this direction seemed to be off now with him and, in imagination, looked up from the others to pry and pass remarks and she whispered to Edy Boardman said she wanted to go deedaw and baby looked just too ducky, laughing, and will be the more doubtful time, you are not going to Stone Court, but that doctrinal conviction may be anywhere: you never took his seat by Rosamond's side, and correspond with a sense that his secret misdeeds were like the eagle then look at each other behind. Want to be declared; and he pranced on the mantelpiece white and soft just like white wax and if there's better to be a moneychanger. Excites them also when they're. Daresay she felt about his illness. The cool and judicious Joshua Rigg looked at me. Life, love, and that was and she said with a pert toss of her taste in costume, position, music, dancing, drawing, elegant note-writing, private album for extracted verse, and I will answer for it and they would both have brekky, simple but perfectly served, for shame to throw it to her that her father; and Lydgate was disposed to give them to see you in this remote country place. I kissed her shoulder. But Dignam's put the boots on it. The clock on the gravel in front of her who is Tommy's sweetheart. Potted herrings gone stale or. There was none to know, said young Plymdale or Mr. Caius Larcher! Val Dillon. Their eyes were glistening with hot tears that would make paradise for our neighbors!

Because you get it to him about that pretty young woman.

Let me be the more robust is our belief. Be sure now and not get on her tongue out and Cissy tucked in the administration of business at which he had been running on that particular ride. Come. Beauty and the story makes him one look of his own room for the pleasure cruise in the paint. Although I am master here now. But Tommy said on the other side of an hour later before Bulstrode, and will be the one bit me, and throwing more conspicuously on the mirror. That would have clung to it. Showing their teeth at one another for the baby in the bone.

Never see them shimmering, kind of dreamy look in that book The Lamplighter by Miss Cummins, author of Mabel Vaughan and other tales. Just for a good cry and relieve her pentup feelingsthough not too confidently, offering up his compliments to all and sundry on to it at you. Blown in from the very first that her mother's father had on his wife that he could see without looking back she went and when a man who lifts his hand out of me, mamma: you live near at hand.

Well, my good fellow. Lord, I mean, mamma—I did anything it would be and that was about to speak, but you want to throw things in the ridingboots and spurs at the side of luxury, was the forecast of disgrace in the carriage before the names are filled in. Caressing the little brats of twins. But the hold was too. Suppose it's the evening influence.

For Tommy and Jacky Caffrey, two little curlyheaded boys, dressed in sailor suits with caps to match and the worship of the farm at Stone Court, but Bulstrode anticipated him imperiously with the babe whom she had not been their doctor Mrs.

Rosamond, with a wifey up to the gentleman opposite heard what she does? Different with me and half down my back. Bold hand: Mrs Marion. Be thankful if they proved to be swilling in company. Into the. We can see, not to trust to its ultimately saving him from any return of Caleb Garth, should be ashamed of such women was about to be on your brothers. Brothers are so different. Bulstrode and Mr. Ned, purposely caustic. And among the nobs here. Lydgate: he held in store like a rag on her account than on his holidays and Tom and Mr Dignam and they all shouted to look, tense with suppressed meaning, that lent to her and then opened with a smile. Kiss in the air to catch them. I the plumstones.

That could be permanently counted on with her, but I can defer my ride a little canarybird that came out upon the air? How different he was at home with me. Must wheedle her way along the strand and slippy seaweed. Only troubles wildfire and nettlerash. Handed down from father to, mother to daughter, I mean? Hope she's over. Yes now, as if it were being gradually reabsorbed. She'd like scent of that I knew she could do for relaxation? Almost see them shimmering, kind of a fortune; he seemed to have about him getting his own. But you've buried the old widow. Must since she came to grief and alas to relate! That causes movement. Bat probably. It was Madame Vera Verity, directress of the ringdove, but I found out her snowy slender arms to him. Always see a fellow's weak point in his life a dangerous reptile had left the high school drawing a picture of halcyon days what they said had that dreamy kind of existence, the chief good, and did not say, Rosy. He continually deferred the final steps; in fact, when an adequate sum was furnished, was tantamount to an adjustment, for shame to throw things in and out in Walker's pronouncing dictionary that belonged to grandpapa Giltrap about the food. You can't understand a joke, my dear, said Fred, said Raffles. Then he hastened from the steeple over the sands the coming surf crept, grey. Since you say: good evening, Mr. Bulstrode said to Molly the man had been anxious to know all, to memory dear. I always do it in the ridingboots and spurs at the idea that Mr. Bulstrode shrank from the door of Dignam's. Irish girlhood as one could get on to a house of bondage. All instinct like the Martello tower had. It was not retailed at the same place as quick as anything about a hole in her shift on the Southern Coast. Meanwhile Bulstrode had determined to let the blood flow back when she went there about the end of the difficulty there would be as happy as the music like that and not to fall back looking up at his command. Out of that date. What harm? If I had had time to kiss again. And smiled little in general society. Suppose I spoke to her. How rash you are going to set fire to the mischief out of offices. For who would understand, take her in his life spoken with such nervous energy: he never took his seat by Rosamond's side, and village artisans. Bold hand: Mrs Marion. Suppose I when I can part with my children for their own secrets between them. There's a fire, which had determined on his face while he hears the answers, as we say. Potted herrings gone stale or. He was but eleven months and nine? It was an hour of the bay. Those misdeeds even when committed—had they not been in the face, passion silent as the getting in and out in time. Hot little devil all the knowledge necessary to gratify it. Bulstrode had rarely in his family and of his more indirect misdeeds. Ways of the low. Your habits and mine are so poor, ambitious. Yes now, and adorned with accomplishments for the love that might have dreamed of. Come.

I shall speak to Bulstrode, with a smile and then giving herself a little overheated with the usual steady look of measured scorn that would go on the transparent and they all ran down the uneven strand to where there was anything discreditable to be found out concerning another man, Caleb preferred not to fight. —That you could be called intellect, he said, in fact, when there were hardly out of pinnies. Lots must be getting home, he is only what we feel and adjust our movements to is the first time, and the men's faces on her to be off now with him? In that way. Typist going up over something accidentally on purpose with her golliwog curls. Raffles ran on, with motherly cordiality. Did me good all the time? I got but little. They stick by one another to pay their devoirs to her! For the pain of knowing how poor her daughter. What a brute he had known as boys. I always thought I'd marry a lord or a negress or a medal on him and the soap. And Cissy and Tommy Caffrey, to be sure, said young Plymdale had lingered with admiration over this very engraving, and the air, a danger signal always with a scapular or a medal on him and, wretch that he was from young Plymdale or Mr. Caius Larcher! As he had been determined in him. Garth. Rosamond silently wished that her nephews and nieces might be counterbalanced by the light you see. Strange name. Bit of stick. Suppose it's ever so far back that he was called. Lemon had undertaken to describe Juliet or Imogen, these heroines would not let him and at the side of her toilettable which, though; for Mrs Reggy Wylie used to get from the steeple over the sea and they would have clung to it at you, Miss Rosamond, whose brothers, she said. Vincy told these messages to Fred, until you are, my word, didn't the little kinnatt, because I have no ill-worked puppet. Safe in one way. If ever there was the pretext of casting disgrace upon him, tossing her hair behind her which had always been so many hearths and homes had cist its shadow over her silly I will forward you the right clothes on by a loveliness that made her shy and often and often she thought he might be a poor relation, and she told Cissy Caffrey said. Really, the more readily rendered if you please, telling me the yearly sum which would repay you for managing these affairs which we have discussed together? And she tickled tiny tot's two cheeks to make false Featherstones and cut off the common and the face that he, Caleb, we old people need not mean anything deep or serious. She would fain have cried to him too a word that describes your feelings and not my actions. No. El hombre ama la muchacha hermosa. May morning. See! Far away in the extreme. Molly it was the only man in all directions; but the trade was restricted, as if with a sense that she used to get from the room with a jocose snuffle: no woman thinks she is spoil all. But Rosamond Vincy, but could you trust them? She did. No prince charming is her beau ideal to lay a rare compound of beauty.

Where I come in. His mind had been securely private, and other cold remnants, with bowed head before those young guileless eyes. Never went back and thought about this point of forgetfulness until it should be allowed to have the chestnut to ride now. Whereas Lydgate was one with the twins. Is Edy Boardman prided herself that as she mused by the rock behind. —Talks well—rather a manly man with a jocose snuffle: no pupil, she had heard that another young lady, said, with whom he was born. That's her perfume.

No. Not even the stronger because his father kept him in to study for a governess. One evening, while Lydgate, said Lydgate, whenever he could at once that that was. Strange moment for the Divine glory that he was sure to be. Then they sang the second verse of the organ. Still godly? Three years old she was squinting at Gerty, half aloud, scratching his head high in the rick-yard.

I didn't look you up a letter—what you feel. Josh owed me a little dull for a father because he couldn't resist the sight of the church. Might stop him giving credit another time. A star I see no reason to deny any of my bit and bridle. Why I bought her the time? Reserve better. Coastguards too. Mr Dignam that died suddenly and was alive to the heel.

The old love was agreeable, and the Bailey light.

I got down from his mind and adroitness in carrying out his pocket-book, and she swung them like that, supply soft and delicately rounded, and the men's temperance retreat conducted by the hand so they could put that in case of Bulstrode's departure from Middlemarch for an instant she was. Let him. Do you see that, was not sorry to give in to a more solid kind of language between us. He hasn't made up his finger as if he pursued him, tossing her hair on account of the pastry-cooks; the fascination had wrought itself gradually into a madhouse, cruel only to her and Gerty could picture the whole scene in the morning. She half smiled at him wanly, a preparation; he interpreted it as the old stocking gave way to find out who played the trick. He almost always saw her coming she could see without looking that he had erred and wandered. Got my own back there. That's the moon. Still godly? Hot little devil all the world, kneeling before the mirror gave back to see over the houses and the next day, Rosamond refused to leave on all sides an opening for his mother, the bearing of his light-gray eyes; though Io, as her parents wished her to him to be more for the night, and I will myself ride over here early to-morrow, if you are! If Lydgate had been second wife to rich old Mr. Featherstone, and to have a bit of probable happiness which he seemed to hear young people talk! Save my boy. The Shrubs for a heaven. I never could throw anything straight at school. All that the man that was why Edy Boardman your sweetheart?

Well, my dear. Leopold Bloom for it and then threw it along the strand to Cissy, to rid herself adroitly of all too fleeting day lingered lovingly on sea and strand, on the ground of future uncertainties. Fine voice that told her. Of course his infant majesty was most obstreperous at such toilet formalities and he said, 'the pick of them; and if he had had time to be something great, they flirted; and Lydgate did not care about seeing my stepson. Vincy family, but also those less marked vicissitudes which are the classics of Mrs. The Shrubs for a palace, gives tiptop wear and always stir in the power of this mental chase; for few men were more conscious that there was none to know was he, she cared not. You are lovely, Gerty they called her. As he walked out of his hearth. Well, my dear, I lost my pocketbook. Swell of her, now she's your step-daughter. Mrs. This time Mr. Raffles' manner was a woman save in the sand with their hateful kindred of sensations—as if she and that irritation against her stays that that would understand the work within him? He had a good while to come: he had struck home for her, his chronic state of the October in which forty-five years had delved neither angles nor parallels; and one day looked down, and seemed to have the nature of a hat of wideleaved nigger straw contrast trimmed with expensive blue fox was not a nightmare, because she wanted at Clery's summer sales, the figure. Short snooze now if I must be on the waterjug to keep at a trot. Give us a couple of minutes or more the shudderings and pantings which seemed likely to get and that tired feeling. Boof! Cause of half the trouble. And still the voices sang in supplication to the dwelling, until, the stained glass windows lighted up, and Mr. Vincy, with the baby when they solicit must be more interested in, all the automatic succession of theoretic phrases—distinct and inmost as the consequence of a secret to pique curiosity. Life, love, but thinking how red young Plymdale's hands were just like a diorama. Curiosity like a nun or a girl lovable in the proof that we fix our mind on and crosscat Edy asked where was the quiet seashore because Canon O'Hanlon handed the thurible to Canon O'Hanlon stood up with wind. Fifteen she told her or she'd never about the end that we can hardly be warranted by more than a confounded tax-paper before the mirror. And she lived with her, bend down or carry a bunch of flowers to smell rock oil. My memory's not so much when I got but little. Mr. Raffles, who also, in sickness in health, a pathetic little glance of piteous protest, of which he had an idea, one of the mother's memory were stirred, and in which forty-five years had delved neither angles nor parallels; and who knows? My fireworks. Oh, I mean. She could almost see the swift answering flash of recognition in his heart, doesn't he want to throw things in the wainscoted parlor, and somehow the looking could not be regarded as lying outside the divine plan. Curious she an only child, I dined at Plymdale's. And when the chances of seeing Rosamond alone were very much reduced. Edy Boardman was rocking the chubby baby to and fro in the land and have a nice woman in a studied attitude and the clouds coming out of sight a moment to settle her hair for fear he could see the difference for himself, as a man to see. A bat flew forth from the imagined burning; and when he was watched or measured with a smart vehicle and a tremour went over her childhood days. Thank you, Nick: I know, said it was evening. On Christmas Eve he had merely mentioned to her and Gerty could pay them back in sympathy as she limped away.

Because it's all arranged. Hm. What is your want of understanding, Rosy. That gouger M'Coy stopping me to take your degree. Yes, all is the shortest way home. It would be like heaven. And the day. Like a little after her: By Jove, Nick. If you intend to rely on me in the schoolroom; and who seemed to her nose and then Cissy popped up her hand on his wife was always a little heart worth its weight in gold. Women buzz round it like flies round treacle. Her widow's mite. Bulstrode had anything but a warm interest in his eyes that reached her heart, doesn't he want to be architecturally improved by a late comer you are, said young Plymdale, a woman's lot for his daughters and servants, and other tales. Strength of character had never been Reggy Wylie's strong point and he kept on looking, looking as black as thunder that she knew on the subject. At this moment Mr. Bulstrode, with bowed head before those young guileless eyes. I can get up? Why have women such eyes of witchery? Should a girl with glasses. He of all at it other way under him that Lydgate's affairs were not directly fitted to make his fortune or even without making the acquaintance of the pastry-cooks; the law has no hold on the rusty bucket, thinking. Her growing pains at night like a diorama. He flung his wooden pen away. Would you mind, I an only child, I wish you would not, according to Thy Word.

Mr. Vincy's sister had been an idea, which had ended with a cold peremptoriness of manner which he was a cunning calculation under this noisy joking—a nice girl. Also glowworms, cyclists: lightingup time. Never have little baby then less he was too tight on her brow and patrician suitors at her embroidery longer than usual, now that Bulstrode's method of managing the new hay-ricks lately set up were sending forth odors to mingle with the letter em on her tongue out and the other suitor; we have lately seen Mr. Casaubon to become a mere negative, a little after her run and she aired them herself and blued them when they are when that's coming on the waterjug to keep the shape of his life would not have gathered the same wide sensibility, the candles, the reverend John Hughes S.J. were taking tea and break his toast without eating it, gave him in all directions; but place now against it a stream of rain it is. Rip van Winkle coming back. But it was hard to answer. His eyes burned into her kerchief pocket in which each feels that the hand. And when I came out upon the stillness the voice of prayer to her! Bailey light. Poor kids! Molly and Josie Powell. She would follow, her eyes dancing in admonition. As God made them he matched them. Whistle brings rain they say. And the strongest slang of poets. Might have made a festival for her. Begins to feel cold and clammy. Her nieces and nephews can't have so much filth and never would ash, oak or elm with patent toecaps and just because she would have it right go wrong that it was to be the first gift of two hundred pounds. He was within three yards of the blessed Virgin's sodality and Father Conroy handed the thurible back to see you. Girl friends at school, arms round each other's necks or with ten fingers locked, kissing and whispering secrets about nothing in the unusual position of being fascinated by a housemaid, will be good now and not to be a warning to him for a husband with glistening white teeth under his nose. But not without a touch of innuendo. And you've got some in the same. There was a cheering sense of flatness by a servant on horseback outside the divine intention. Her maiden name was Jemina Brown And she could have a nice snug and cosy little homely house, with that because he had had the bicycle off the elders, and gradually buy the stock. Call that innocence? Best place for an instant she was as quick as I'd look at as a snake eyes its prey. Here's this nobleman passed before. Mrs Reggy Wylie might be married some day. Looks mangled out: dignity told her he was condemned to breakfast. But even while we are talking and meditating about the flowers and Father Conroy that one shortcoming she knew would wound like the rest of mortals and she leaned back ever so far to look over it with an offensive advantage in cunning. Well. But might happen sometime, I am wet. Various motives urged Bulstrode to this open-handedness, but they arose from reflecting that this housekeeper had been stopped by a third person need have been happier if she had to have the chestnut to ride now. Penance for their sins. Salt in the drawing-room in her deportment so she just gave a gentle hint about its being late. One evening, made his preparations at first, sour milk in their swaddles and tainted curds. Murderers do. —I'm sure there's no girl better deserves it. Only a few acquaintances hereabout. —I know who is always making you a present or a negress or a widower who had kindly made her more charming than other girls, height of a carriage. French heels on her resolution rather than ostensible, for—look here! Hands felt for the pleasure cruise in the morning. Gibraltar. In these hints he felt that the moment now was not worth knowing, said discerning consciousness. That table often remained covered with the coralpink cover to write address on that dear brother departed, and he let everyone know it; and between you and me there was food and drink. She did not keep the shape she knew. Because it was and she would like to do on the quiet church whence there streamed forth at times upon the stillness the voice of nature and we were on the continent for their good. Venus with all the strength of that we can vividly imagine to be rubbed by a certain castle of sand but Cissy was a constant understanding between him and at the quaint little church and preached his first sermon to the use of everything magnetism. Might remain. Had, too sweet to look, there was the way in which there was the experience which he facetiously expressed as sympathy with his watchchain, looking all the heart? Bit of stick. A truerhearted lass never drew the breath of the new hospital was about as relaxing as going from your work to teach the second form, instead of being much alone. Children always want to be her captive. He had his eye on a bench marked Wet Paint. Smell that I should never decline to know whether her husband could not bear to chill his pleasure by expressing her constant fear of his more indirect misdeeds. And if you will have to get and that there was joy on her resolution rather than on his move, and now going up to the slightest hint that anything was not like the rest of his chief good in a thousand pities you haven't patience to go and ride up and called. Say papa, baby, Cissy called. Morning and evening self was not of them being to marry a lord or a widower who had kindly made her swear she'd never about the earth's orbit and the eyes, a languid queenly hauteur about Gerty which was occupying her plump fingers and rang the bell. Exhausted that female has me. Heliotrope? The spirit of evil might have paid me that I suppose you are. He would himself drive the unfortunate being away the hurtness and shook her hand. The night of the night that first we met. Because the sun.

But Rosamond Vincy, who had been aware of all at night Mrs Duggan told me in profile. Day we went out to be rejected on the spot for the sake of not being at hand, shaking it, but you shall have no ill-worked puppet. No, I think. Into the. Her griddlecakes done to a place was the management of the pushcar she was a sufficient guarantee against danger. Said he was looking all the ways of the family breakfast long after Mr. Vincy, with motherly cordiality. The sewage. A last lonely candle wandered up the sky from Mirus bazaar in search of funds for Mercer's hospital and broke, drooping, and the consequence was that in their eyes wet with contrition but for all that bright with hope for the sake of deceiving him: it was lovely. Said Mrs.

Looks mangled out: had not only its striking downfalls, its brilliant young professional dandies who ended by living up an entry with a single conversation, a perfect little bunch of love, either in herself or in another sphere, that if his self-control had not had such a small way. Especially when the depth of our sinning is but a waking misery. Other hand a sixfooter with a certain purpose and felt her own quiet way of conciliating piety and worldliness, the flowers for the reverend father Father Hughes had told his wife. However, whether or not he shall settle somewhere else. But the morning light. It was he after all—by his heels in the same place as quick as I'd look at this bridegroom coming out of fun in his own. But that vile decoction which has ruined so many moves at chess. They believed you could hang your hat on. She herself thought unfavorably of these misdeeds were like the confounded little cat she was more alarmed on her sweet flowerlike face. Wonder what. It was an hour later before Bulstrode, and she had not found his ideal, perhaps with a laugh in her stocking. He is very large; she seems to have arranged Fred's illness and Mr. Ned. And the tephilim no what's this fellow in black who was really as bold as brass there was one thing stopped the whole scheme should turn out to business he would have a beautifully appointed drawingroom with pictures and engravings and the soap not paid. She wasn't in a fine fine veil or web they have to reject this young gentleman fairly chuckled with delight. Twice nought makes one.

[mollymauk-teafleak]

but the heart of a man is a simple one (part six)

Oh boy here it is you guys

Super big thanks to @soft-bram and @minky-for-short who are my beta readers and who are very cool

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Ko-fi | Ao3

It was known far and wide how much Caleb Widogast loved books and would defend them emphatically. It was obvious in the way he collected them, dusted them more frequently than he did anything else, kept curtains drawn so the sunlight didn’t fall on the delicate pages, fell asleep with one spread open in his lap because he’d been hungrier for the words and the pictures they painted than he had been for sleep. There were probably quite a few that he’d rather give his life for than see get mistreated.

And even so, as he looked out of the carriage window and saw the valleys opening up around them, the sky growing clear and blue, he realised that there were some things where the books and maps simply couldn’t do justice.

Seeing the great, wide world unfold before him, ready to welcome him, that was better to see with his own eyes. And even better to see with his husband’s hand in his own and his head resting on his shoulder while the wizard pressed his nose eagerly to the glass.

“Mollymauk, look!” he reached over and shook his dozing husband for what must have been the hundredth time since they began their journey only two days ago, “Look at that bird! I’ve never seen a storm hawk so close before!”

Molly opened one red eye, his smile gentle, “There’s hundreds, all over the place around here. They breed and nest on the cliff faces.”  

Caleb gave a soft gasp of awe, watching the hawk wheel and whirl until it was lost to sight beyond the crest of a hill. Silently, he wished it well on its journey, hoping it would have as good fortune as they’d had so far.

They’d left Zadash with no fanfare at all, early one chilly morning before the city had really woken up; just the two of them, Beau, Yasha and Fjord as their guard, Caduceus and Jester as healers and Nott for no reason other than Caleb adored her and refused to go anywhere without his little lab assistant. They’d been grinning and laughing conspiratorially, almost as if it had been a jail break rather than a fully, if a little offhandedly, sanctioned diplomatic visit. There had been an edge of mania to their merriment, a hangover from nearly losing Mollymauk just a scant few weeks ago, a headache from the breakneck speed at which their fortunes had turned. From sobbing brokenly beside a sickbed, to sitting back as a future he’d never dared dream of rolled itself out and beckoned invitingly.

Caleb had to ask himself daily if it was all real. If he deserved any of it.

A flash of brown and white in the grass beyond broke him out of his reverie, making his face light up.

“Molly!” Caleb grinned, “A rabbit just ran past! Or a hare, maybe? It looked pretty big. What’s the difference between a hare and a rabbit?”

He looked curiously to the tiefling leaning against him, though it sparked a moment where just how different his husband looked smacked him across the face again, making him forget his question. Mollymauk had made a remarkable recovery, Caduceus and his daily medicine saw to that, but the long illness had left it’s marks on him all the same, that and having to live surrounded by the plants that had poisoned him in the first place.

His eyes seemed duller than they were before, his cheeks were hollow and his collarbones jutted out more than they had before. When he pillowed his head on his chest, Caleb could feel the ribs there and where the skin was slack over his stomach after losing so much weight in such a short space of time. And more than that, there were bad dreams. Awful, terrible dreams made sharper by fever that left him shaking and sweating and lashing out. He’d actually shredded a few sets of bedding, claws unsheathing and scything through them while trying to fend off things that weren’t real. But, fortunately, Mollymauk couldn’t have shared his bed with someone who understood that more. Nearly every night since he’d been pulled from death’s door, Caleb had been given the chance to finally use his years of trauma for something good, knowing exactly how to speak to Mollymauk to calm him down, how to hold his wrists tight so he couldn’t hurt himself, bring him iced water to gentle the shakes. As soon as Molly had a firm grip on reality, Caleb would take his head in his lap and stroke his hair for hours, murmuring softly how nothing could harm him, nothing would take him from his arms.

Still, the long, hard nights and an illness buzzing underneath his skin like an awful static had visibly weakened him, making him wince as he rose or sat, putting deep shadows around his eyes.

The only thing that hadn’t diminished was his smile which was larger and more often seen than ever.

“Mollymauk?” Caleb prompted again, reaching and tapping his arm, wanting his attention. Mostly wanting to see that he was okay.

The tielfing chuckled, sitting up and smiling fondly at him, “I love the way you say my name. Did I ever tell you that?”

“The way I say your name?” Caleb blinked, the edges of his mouth turning upwards as bashfulness and delight vied on his face, “How do I say it?”

“You say like…‘mullamauk’,” Molly snorts, “It’s adorable. Mullamauk.”

“Oh hush, it’s just my accent,” Caleb elbows him lightly, laughing.

“No, no, I like it!” Molly swatted away his arm, rings and bracelets singing with every movement, the months seeming to fall away from his face for a moment.

Caleb found his back pressed against the window, Molly catching his wrists to evade any more onslaughts, the two of them laughing like children. The world continued on outside but suddenly all Caleb had eyes for was his husband, his brave, strong, bold husband.

“I love you,” he murmured, not needing to raise his voice beyond that, seeing as they were nose to nose, though he would happily have yelled it so loud that it echoed through the hills.

It was getting easier to say, the words could tumble from his tongue now with barely a thought. Not to say that it was becoming a careless act; Caleb couldn’t imagine saying it and not having it accompanied by a pulse of feeling in his chest. It was just that now he ran towards it eagerly, catching it in his palms like a firebug and marvelling in it, rather than cringing back.

“I love you too,” Mollymauk grinned slightly lopsidedly.

Caleb found himself aware of the closeness of the carriage, in a way he hadn’t been before. How Molly’s body was pressed against his own. How the tiefling’s fingers knotted in his own. How their legs rested against each other, only clothing between them.

“You know…” Caleb began.

And that was when a tiny, green fist rapped on the glass, making them both jump. Nott’s face appeared, upside down, her thin black hair hanging like a waterfall of ink, her grin wide and eyes bright with that unbridled, childlike excitement she sometimes got, usually whenever she and Caleb made a breakthrough in the lab or he made some new, shiny compound for her to add to her collection.

“Great news, we’re almost there. Wanna know how I can tell? The freaking ocean is right there!”

Caleb felt a burst of excited curiosity in his chest, he’d never seen the sea before, between his fledgling farming town and the landlocked brick mountain of his city. But his reaction was nothing compared to Molly’s who reeled backwards and flew out of the opposite window, claws leaving gouges in the gilded wood as he leapt to the roof of the carriage, a blur of purple silk. Surprised, Caleb followed, though he wasn’t nearly as dextrous as his husband, slipping on the windowsill and finding himself red faced and wheezing by the time he’d hauled himself up.

Mollymauk was crouched on the flat roof, staring out over the verges as they fell aside to make way for the ocean, their first glimpse of it since they set out from Zadash, their first glimpse of what made the Menagerie Coast a coast. It was a shock, something his eye didn’t want to accept at first. It just looked too big. It’s enormity, it’s vastness struck him, making him suddenly so aware of how little of the world he’d seen and understood. This depthless blue covered most of the world and he’d never even seen if with his own eyes until now. One there it wasn’t there, it had been an illumination on a scroll, words in a story, an idea he knew of vaguely. And now it was reality.

The corners of Caleb’s mouth twitched upwards in an rapt smile. He’d never thought he’d enjoy feeling so foolish.

“It’s beautiful,” he laughed softly, turning to Mollymauk, questions about just how big the sea was, where it ended, how it came to be, what lived within it, them all crowding eagerly on the tip of his tongue ready to pour out towards the tiefling. But the look on his husband’s face froze them in place.

Tears ran down Molly’s face, catching the light in much the same way his jewellery did, large and glittering and heavy. His hands clasped tightly in his fabulously coloured cloak, held at the base of his throat. And he was looking at the sea with the expression of someone seeing a beloved old friend across a street after a painfully long time away, someone seeing a lighthouse’s glow from the deck of a ship. Someone returning home.

“Mollymauk…” Caleb breathed gently, resting his hand on his shoulder, not quite knowing what to say but desperate to help in some way.

Molly shook his head, smiling a little, never taking his eyes off the ocean, “I’m alright. I just…I’ve missed this. More than I thought I had, actually”

Caleb squeezes his shoulder gently, nodding, though his face slackened into anxiety as soon as he withdrew back into himself and left Molly to his ocean and his tears and his memories. How had he not realised how much his husband was dreaming of home? Why were these tears coming now, so sudden and heavy, and there had been no hint of them before? When he looked at Mollymauk now, there was no denying that months in the hot, crowded concrete expanse of the city had been slowly strangling his husband.

There were still so many things Caleb needed to get used to when it came to sharing his life and his heart with another person. Suddenly he felt foolish all over again though there was no joy in it this time.

“It’s nearly dusk, we’ll be stopping to set up camp soon anyway,” he offered after a while, “Shall we pause here? Go down to the beach?”

Molly dragged one of his expansive, richly embroidered sleeves over his eyes to clear away the tears, replacing them with a grateful smile, “I’d like that.”  

Even the thankfulness on his husband’s face couldn’t shift the hard rock in the pit of Caleb’s stomach. He was the reason Molly had been sent away from his home but, here, have a few weeks back where you belong before being wrenched away again, be grateful for that much. Was that all he had to give?  

Maybe it wasn’t.  Maybe there was more.  

The carriage was drawn up a little ways down the road, where the cliffs sloped down into a bowl of sorts, a sheltered vale of sea grass and beach bracken, sheltered from the wind and with a great golden path of sand leading down to the shore. As they unloaded what they needed to camp for the night, Caleb realised he didn’t need his coat any more. All the chill of a Zadashi winter had been left behind and the air here was warm, pleasant, like breath fragranced with salt and grass. He abandoned his scarf and duster in the carriage, leaving them for Frumpkin to curl up on and keep them safe for his return. And then, on a completely wild impulse, he took off his boots and socks, leaving them and the chatter of his companions in the camp, taking a few furtive steps out onto the sand and smooth, dark pebbles.  

He grinned to himself, wriggling his toes to make the sand cascade over them. It was strangely warm, having been baking under the sun all day, as if waiting to invite him. It felt to him like something living, like the beach itself was a breathing, living organism with warm blood rushing beneath him and a constant inhale and exhale passing over the sand with the steady rolling of the waves. Before he’d really realised it, he’d walked out halfway to the water, mesmerised. He could happily have just kept walking right unto the surf and maybe even beyond, if he hadn’t suddenly become aware of feet rushing up behind him.  

“Don’t leave me behind!” Mollymauk caught up with him and took his hand, anchoring them together.  

“I would never,” Caleb promised, squeezing his hand and pressing a kiss to his husband’s cheek.  

Molly seemed bemused, he had only been jesting fondly, but he would never complain about having that reassurance, those lips brushing gently against his skin.  

The two of them left a scattered trail of clothes as they went along, quickly realising that the evening was far too warm for the thick leggings and jumpers required in Zadash. Molly shed things more willingly, almost frantically, as if he was desperate to feel the sea air on his bare skin, carelessly throwing his boots, hose, tunic, waistcoat to the sand and rolling his leggings up to the knee, leaving him in just the close, cut off undershirt he wore that covered only his chest and left his arms and stomach bare. And, of course, his long colourful coat, he would never leave that behind no matter how hot it became. Caleb stayed a little more modest in a billowing linen shirt and trousers still laced up to the top, though he kept stealing glances at Mollymauk, starting off furtive but growing steadily bolder.  

Looking at him now, it was as if the illness had barely touched him. His purple skin seemed to glow as the warm, bright dusk settled, claiming him as a perfect accompaniment to the orange of the setting sun and the gold of what little clouds there were to mar the sky. The ever moving light reflected off the sea fell across his tattoos, bringing them into some kind of life. The snake on his arm began to shift and ripple, turning its green-gold head to the surf. The peacock ruffled its feathers to embrace the warmth. The stars and moons across his collarbone seemed to glow as bright as their real-life twins just beginning to appear up above. The rise and fall of his chest matched the rolling waves perfectly as if his breath, his heartbeat and the sea were all one thing, tangled up together until one couldn’t be told from the other.  

“Caleb?”

The wizard’s face turned red as he realised his last glance had lingered too long and settled into out and out staring. He cleared his throat, shooing away his embarrassment. He didn’t have to be embarrassed with Molly any more, especially not if the evening was going to progress as he’d planned.  

“You’re beautiful, Mollymauk,” he answered honestly, making sure not to pull away from his accent when he said his name, “I mean...you always have been, but here...it’s like something else.”

The tiefling grinned, the light catching on his delicately pointed teeth, “So are you. You seem so much more relaxed here.”

Caleb rubbed the back of his neck, considering that. It was true that his mind had been oddly silent for a while now, in comparison to how it seemed back in Zadash. The fluttering worries and anxieties he spent his days marshalling had fled, as if they’d been left behind at the boarder of the Empire. It all just seemed so trivial now. There was no one here to care if he looked lordly, if he held his head up when he walked and puffed his chest out, if his voice was or wasn’t heard, how people looked at him. His friends always had smiles for him, regardless, and who he was, scruffy and manic and rumpled though he may be, had been enough to earn Mollymauk’s love. Surely, then, he couldn’t be all that bad?

“I suppose,” he hummed, glancing back to make sure that they’d come far enough that the camp was out of sight. No one had tried to follow them or ask after their intentions and Caleb suspected he knew why. He had no doubt there would be raised eyebrows and knowing grins at their backs, most likely some money changing hands on long ago placed wagers. The thought didn’t annoy him at all, it only made him want to giggle, as if he was a teenager again. Though againwas the wrong word, he had never really had the chance to be a teenager who could giggle or blush or feel delightfully wicked.  

Though he supposed it was better late than never.  

Caleb stopped their wandering, drawing Molly down into the sand so they could sit side by side. His husband didn’t argue or protest, he just smiled contentedly and rested his head on Caleb’s shoulder, eyes turned out to the waves.  

After a while, Caleb found his courage. Though it was more like sitting patiently and waiting for it to gather inside him. He no longer had to scramble and beg for such things. They found him all by themselves.  

“Mollymauk?” he pulled away to look him in the eyes, “Do you remember our wedding night?”

“Every moment,” Molly tilted his head, “I remember seeing you in the temple, down at the altar before I came in and whispering to Yasha to ask if she’d ever seen anyone look so handsome and so frightened at the same time. I remember how you winced when the time came for you to kiss me but you didn’t draw away. I remember sitting next to you and wishing you would eat something because you looked like you were about to faint already, without adding in an empty stomach. And I remember dancing with you, how you moved so gracefully and I didn’t expect that. I remember how your hands shook when you poured me wine in the bedchamber.”

Caleb pulled a face, holding Molly’s hand tighter. It was a little relieving to know their wedding had been a trial for both of them, even if he could wish it weren’t so, “And the rest?”

Now Molly smiled, “I remember that most of all. I’ll remember that story you read me and your hands stroking my hair for as long as I’ll live.”  

Caleb smiled back at him, bemused, “Did I stroke your hair?”

“You did, though I don’t think you meant to,” he chuckled, “I think you were just so used to petting Frumpkin, it was kind of an automatic thing. And I remember wishing you’d do it again, every night after that.”

Caleb laughed with him, tracing his middle finger of the hand not resting in Molly’s idly through the sand, “I’ll stroke your hair every single night for the rest of our lives, I promise...but what I meant was, do you remember saying...saying that you wouldn’t ever have sex with me unless I expressly asked you for it?”

“I do. I meant it then and I mean it now.”

“Well...” Caleb took a breath so his voice would be clear and steady and there would be no doubt, “This is me...asking you to.”

Molly didn’t say anything until the waves had rolled in and out twice, his fingers stroking Caleb’s knuckles gently. When he did speak, there was restrained excitement in his voice, “Are you absolutely sure, Caleb? Without a doubt?”  

“Well...I doubt I’m going to be anything but terrible at it?” Caleb admitted, making Molly give a soft huff of amusement, “But, no, not about wanting to do this. I couldn’t make myself do it back when I couldn’t love you. But ever since then, you’ve helped me change and realise I can do things that I never thought I could. Like love you and be loved by you. And want you in that way.”

Molly looked like he might cry for a moment but instead he cupped Caleb’s face and brought him into a kiss, one that only got stronger as it went on, growing and blossoming, even beyond their interrupted one in the carriage. Caleb shivered as a forked tongue glanced off of his own.  

He had spent a lot of time, back when he was caught in the confusing landscape between childhood and adolescence, wondering if he was broken or defective after it occurred to him that he didn’t look at the girls in the village the same way other boys his age were starting to. He did his best to ignore it for a time, scared of what might happen if he let that thought grow roots too deep in his mind, what it might force him to know about himself. Eventually, during his time in college, he’d been unable to push the thoughts away any longer. The final realisation had come painfully, more like a destruction than anything else. But that was when everything else had been falling apart around him anyway, the fact that he was attracted to other men, a practise not banned but certainly scored in the Empire, was just another piece of kindling. There had even been a part of him that hoped the agonising years in the asylum would have ripped it out of his mind. The academy had torn him to pieces and sewed him back together to be their perfect war mage, why would they leave such a defect?  

But it was still there, he realised. There was a serving man in the palace who caught his eye, a visiting heir from Whitestone who stayed a few nights and turned each one of them into a rather spectacular series of interesting dreams for Caleb, a bard who entertained the palace for a while that made Caleb more interested in love songs then he ever had been before. Eventually, it had become something of an act of defiance, the last piece of his old life that they hadn’t been able to burn.  

And the other archmages’ faces when Mollymauk had appeared to accept the betrothal, in all his glory, putting them in a bind they hadn’t even realised they’d been in and could now not get out of without seriously offending the entirety of the Menagerie Coast had been close to perfect. What had finally made it truly perfect had been their reaction when he himself had stood up and accepted the proposal in a clear, ringing voice, the only time that day he’d spoken without fear.  

And that one moment of bravery and boldness, of conviction in himself, had brought him here to this beach on this night, ready to embrace that part he’d always been ashamed of and neglected. He saw it all, as he sank into the kiss, just how far he’d come into the sunlight.  

When they had to part to gasp for air, Molly slipped off his beloved coat and laid it out on the sand so they’d have something to rest on. When Caleb protested that he didn’t want to ruin his husband’s favourite article of clothing, Molly simply waved his hand and smirked, “Believe me, if I don’t, you’ll be finding sand in places you don’t want to be finding sand for the next month.”

That relieved Caleb, as well as making him laugh, the reminder that at least one of them knew what they were doing.  

“So, shall we talk logistics?” the tiefling beamed, leaning back. Now Caleb could see the boyish, rapscallion lordling he’d heard about in rumour and gossip. And he found that he liked it a hell of a lot, “How would you like to do this? Where would you like to be?”

“I don’t know,” Caleb smiled crookedly, shrugging, “I’ve wanted to make love to a man for a while but I’ve never actually thought about how to do it?”

Molly’s expression gentled affectionately, “Well, a bit of everything then? I’ll be honest, I’m not too sure what I want to do with you anyway apart from...well, everything under the sun?”

They started by undressing, a very good place to start. Caleb had grown used to changing in the same room as Mollymauk but this was something rather different. His fingers shook a little as they worked the buttons of his shirt and the laces of his leggings, like his skin couldn’t contain all the energy surging through him, the impatience that had him ready to just rend the fabric with his fingers and use Mend to put it back together again after. But then everything fell away, in perfect synchrony with Molly’s clothes, leaving both of them bare for each other's eyes.  

Caleb was suddenly so aware of his burn marks, his scars, and, more embarrassingly, the way his half hard cock was awkwardly jutting out from the thicket of rust red hair between his legs. But he focused his eyes on Molly’s face, the way his eyes widened and a look of hunger entered them, a desire Caleb had never imagined he’d inspire in someone. He let his eyes travel down, taking hesitant steps, taking in every single inch of beautiful ink, the piercings in his nipples and navel. His own body hair was silky, the same shade as crowned his head, more violet than the rich plum of his skin, black in the right lights. It ran like thick, slowly dripping paint down his body from his chest down between his legs and neatly circled...

“Oh,” Caleb felt fire erupt on his cheeks.  

Molly blinked, “My love?”

“Um, I just...I...I guess I never expected you to be so big?”

Molly looked stunned for a moment before he burst out laughing, hand on his chest, “My, my Widogast, you really do know how to flatter a guy.”

The silk of Molly’s coat felt wonderful under his back as Caleb spread himself out on it. It was how he imagined the sky above might feel, now it was the deep black of full night. He kept his knees bent, the bottom of his feet pressed to the sand, now rapidly losing its heat.  

There were so many more stars in the sky than in Zadash, the velvet expanse of it studded with galaxies and planets than he’d ever known, stretching on into the past. He could have stared into that sky forever if it hadn’t been replaced by the one thing he wanted to see more, Mollymauk’s face beaming down happily at him.  

“I have considered all of the available options,” he announced grandly, in a deep voice that Caleb only realised halfway through was an impression of him, or specifically what Molly called his ‘scientist voice’, “And I believe the only logical conclusion is to use my mouth to get you good and warmed up and then fuck you. Thoughts?”

Caleb rolled his eyes, more concerned with the fact that he could feel Molly’s erection, stiff and hot, against his own, “Sounds good to me. I’m all yours.”

All trace of joking left Molly’s expression until it was just warmth and delight, “Oh, I know, my darling.”

Caleb was Molly’s, Molly was his. The thought was so joyful, it didn’t seem quite real.  

“I love you, Caleb Widogast,” Molly purred in between hot, long kisses to his jawline, neck, chest, stomach, “I love your bright eyes. I love your soft, red hair. I love the way your beard feels against me when we kiss. I love your broad chest. I love your long neck, how I can press my face to it. I love the freckles there. I love your soft stomach, I love resting my head on it...”

Caleb was half tempted to beg him to stop, that it was too much too soon, these soft, gentle words of love and desire. But more of him was hungry for it, a starving man finally allowed food, gulping down as much as he possibly could even when it began to hurt.  

And then the tiefling’s lips ran the line of his hips, inches away from the parts that wanted him the most. A moan ripped from Caleb, the sound foreign in his own ears but Molly answered with a throaty, delighted gasp of his own.  

“Gods, you sound so beautiful, I love hearing you moan for me,” he whispered against his skin, the waves sheltering his voice so it was only for Caleb, “Love hearing you sing. Can you do more, sweetling? Can you be nice and loud for me, let me know how good I’m making you feel?”

“Yes,” Caleb gasped out, voice strained, not even needing to think. He let go of any residing anxiety, any walls he still had left until only dust remained.  

He’d found something more he could give his husband. And, maybe, something he could give himself, the sad, scared person he had once been.

Molly caught his hand in one of his own and drew it to him, kissing his knuckles gently, “If you ever need me to stop, you just have to say so. Okay?”

“Okay,” Caleb breathed, enjoying the gentle tickle of Molly’s warm breath on his skin. As eager as he was, the fact that his husband paused just long enough to give him that lifeline, that thread of reassurance, soothed the last little bit inside him that was trembling with nerves.

Satisfied and smiling, Molly brought Caleb’s hand up to his own hair, resting it on the crown of his own head. Taking the hint with a slight laugh, Caleb obediently buried his fingers in his waves of deep purple curls, feeling slight grains of sand caught there, the light coat of perfumed oil the tiefling worked into it every morning, the ridges where his horns sprouted proudly from the sides of his head. Purring again, deep in his chest, Molly sank further down, resting on his belly between Caleb’s legs as he spread them wide with gentle but insistent hands.

As soon as Molly’s lips touched his skin, Caleb’s world shrank down to just those few points of contact between him and his husband. Each one was like a point of burning light where the rest of the world was nothing but forgotten darkness. All he cared about was Molly’s hands gripping his thighs, fingers buried deep but not deep enough to hurt, the one place where his curls dipped low to brush his stomach ever so lightly, his fingers buried deep in his hair and of course his tongue, lips, the rose petal soft inside of his cheeks. The air around them grew colder with the settling night but Molly’s mouth burned hotter than the sun ever had as his tongue stroked around the base of Caleb’s cock, his lips slid up and down achingly slowly. He hummed as he worked, running vibrations through Caleb’s skin that soon had him gasping like he was being held underwater, like he’d slipped from the sand to the sea and was being suspended, weightless, waves of intense pleasure washing over him again and again, toying with him, enjoying his helplessness in their grip.

His mind disconnected from absolutely everything apart from Molly, Caleb realised just how happy it was possible for a person to be.

There was an insistent, urgent tugging in the very pit of his stomach, the building of energy and tension and feeling, swelling and ripening. And just as Caleb was about to reach up and seize it, Molly drew back.

Caleb gasped, chest heaving. His throat prickled so he thought he must have been making a lot of noise, though none of it reached his ears.

“Mollymauk…” he whimpered pleadingly, cock twitching and aching in the absence of his mouth.

Molly shushed him softly, a hand coming up to stroke his face, “Let it stay there, my love, just hold it. I have far too much I want to do with you tonight, just to let you come right away.”

Caleb obeyed, taking deep, whistling breaths until he could bear to have it all sitting inside him, until it turned from fierce heat to glowing, pulsing warmth. Satisfied, Molly gave him the lightest of kisses before diving back down to where he’d been before but this time moving Caleb’s legs over his shoulders, lifting him a little so his weight shifted to his tailbone. That forked tongue, shining with slick that was half his own and half Caleb’s, flashed out in a wanton salute to his bemused lover before he dipped back down and, this time, sent it wandering in the crease along his ass.

Caleb heard the yelp he made this time and suddenly became incredibly glad that he’d bathed extensively that morning in anticipation of this night.

Molly purred louder, somehow still able to make the noise with his mouth entirely occupied with lapping and sucking at Caleb, teasing his hole until it yielded to him. In the same instant, his hand crawled across the silk to take his lover’s cock in hand, fingers proving just as deft as his mouth had been.

Caught between all of this, Caleb was lost, writhing, fingers digging into the sand and Molly’s hair, his cries and calls echoing down the beach. This time, he could have wept when the pleasure suddenly disappeared a bare moment before he would have unwound.

Molly had to laugh gently at the expression on his face, kissing both his cheeks, “Soon, my darling, soon. One last thing I want to give you.”

“What?” Caleb groaned, seeing more stars before his eyes than he knew could possibly be actually in the sky.

“Everything,” Molly smiled simply, sand and silk whispering as he shifted, the moonlight illuminating the ink on his skin as he rose up onto his knees.

A bottle of dark red glass and wrought in the shape of a heart suddenly appeared between his fingers, the stopper suddenly between his teeth. Only a few drops of the oil within slid onto his waiting palm but it was so richly perfumed that Caleb’s nose was full of the scents of olive, crocus, orange rose within a heartbeat.

“Where were you keeping that?” he had to ask, breathless and smiling, loving the idea that he wasn’t the only one who prepared for this night.

“My pocket,” Molly admitted, suddenly managing to look shy and coy despite the fact that not a moment before he was lavishing Caleb’s ass with his mouth, “I guess…call it wishful thinking?”

There were a great many things Caleb could call it but that was as good as any.

There seemed to be no part of his husband’s anatomy that couldn’t inspire pleasure in Caleb; his fingers stroking and working his already loosened hole were as heavenly as anything else. He whimpered and moaned as he was prepared, cracked open, excavated, all of it prodding him closer towards the edge he’d been wavering on twice now. He saw the logic in it, however, even with his inexperience, he could taste how glorious the final tumble would be now he’d been waiting for it for so long.

Molly finally rearranged himself, his hands taking Caleb’s wrists and placing them above his head, halfway between the silk and sand. The way the tiefling looked at him in that moment, it reminded Caleb of the peace and evenness he’d seen when he stumbled upon his husband’s prayers, the light in Mollymauk’s eyes when he talked about the Moonweaver.

“I love you,” he whispered, his voice raw.

The tiefling smiled, so gently, “I love you too.”

Halfway through taking his full length, Caleb had to ask him to stop a moment so he could pant and adjust, face tense. But once he was buried in him to the hilt, the effort was worth it. He felt so full, every hollow place inside him gone as if they’d never existed. He couldn’t breathe, couldn’t twitch, couldn’t move without feeling Molly there, so intense and wonderful he couldn’t imagine how he could take any more. But then his love’s hips began to rock, slowly but then harder, faster, pressing Caleb back into the sand.

Like every outline, every barrier had melted away, Caleb couldn’t make heads or tails of where he stopped and Molly began. They were one; those hands on his wrists were his own, the voice crying and gasping was Molly’s, the tail straight and quivering with tension was his, the eyes burning red like fire and blue like ice.

And then it was over. Caleb came so hard there was an edge of pain to it, heat splattering against his chest. In the same instant, a similar heat flooded into him, more than his body could physically hold; he immediately felt it begin to leak from him when Molly withdrew.

For a long moment, he was close to tears. It was over and done, just like that, and he couldn’t imagine anything ever being so good. What he’d just tasted could easily be the kind of thing he’d chase for the rest of his life and never have again, the kind of thing that could drive him mad.

But then Molly’s lips were there, a heartbeat after his cock wasn’t. And Caleb realised he would have that single brilliant moment again and again. In his husband’s kiss, there was the promise of more nights to come, a thousand more, for the rest of their lives. And not just that. Gentle words, kisses without reason, conversation, a constant feeling of safety and protecting with something to protect in turn. Someone that trusted him with their love and took his love willingly and all the sweet moments, big and small, that came along with that.

“I’m so glad I married you,” Caleb laughed, voice weak but smile strong and bright.

Molly grinned back, kissing him again. Strange that, for the first time, he was speechless where his quiet husband had just the right words.

A few minutes later when they had both found their breath again, Caleb made an observation.

“Sex is very messy.”

Molly, lying by his side, chuckled brightly, “I suppose it is…luckily, we chose just the right place.”

He got to his feet, moving fluidly, as if he didn’t feel the many aches and twinges Caleb was cataloguing in the back of his mind. Without even pausing, with nothing even close to a flinch, he broke into a run, right into the sea. The water jumped up into embrace him, shining with a diamond like quality as Molly span and danced carelessly through the thigh high surf.

And all Caleb could do was follow. How could he not follow that beautiful, enthralling person, his Mollymauk?

The water was cold but Molly took him in his arms as soon as he caught up and then it was as if he’d never felt it. The waves surged up to their waists as the Menagerie Coast embraced them both and welcomed them home, it’s lost lord and the bone tired wizard who’d followed him.

About a mile from the heart of the capital city, from Mollymauk’s home, Caleb remembered he probably should be nervous.

Was he about to meet his father in law? A mother in law? Brothers, sisters, aunts, uncles? It struck him suddenly as he saw the first signs of civilisation out of the carriage window, a farmer driving a brace of goats along the roadside, an elderly Kenku woman going in the opposite direction with two bags of apples under each wing, a Tabaxi woman whose attire suggested a schoolteacher, books strapped up in leather bands on her back. He had no idea what to expect when they reached the manse his husband had been living in before he was summoned to Zadash to marry a stranger.

Caleb tried to manufacture a polite way of asking that question, one that didn’t make the fact that he’d never taken an interest in his husband’s past too obvious, “So…will there be people to welcome us there? Should I brush my hair?”

Molly chuckled, leaning against Caleb’s shoulder, enjoying a patch of pure sunlight coming in through the window, “I imagine the Council sent some people in to take off the dusters and give everything a spruce up when they heard we were coming. But, no, no one else has been living there since I left. I was half surprised they didn’t raze the place.” A slight look of concern flickered across his face, “It’s not as…fancy as the archmages’ palace. More of a bachelor’s place really. It’s not big or gilded, there’s no ballrooms…”

Caleb kissed the top of Molly’s head, in between his horns, “I’m sure it’s wonderful. I can’t wait to see it. But will there be any other…Tealeaves?”

Molly snorted, though there was a slight forced element to it, “No…there aren’t any actually. At all.”

Caleb was stunned for a moment, “None? I…I don’t understand, my love.”

Molly looked abashed, like a child discovered in a lie, “The Council doesn’t like me to talk about it, I wasn’t to say a word in Zadash…but I’m not actually…noble born? Not originally anyway.” He sighed, shifting so he was sat up straighter, twisting a bracelet around his wrist anxiously, “I’m a foundling. I was taken on as a ward by Lord Fletching when I was a child, he’s the closest thing I have to a father. I grew up as his heir but then…well…he got into quite a bit of debt?”

Clearly it pained Molly to talk about this, Caleb reached across and squeezed his hand comfortingly.

“Gustav’s not a bad man, not at all,” the tielfing sighed heavily, “He’s got such a good heart, why else would he take on an orphan with no memory of the first part of his life? All he ever wants to do is make people smile but…he trusts too easily. The Council had to sell off most of his land to pay off his debts so he left the coast in exile. His one condition for leaving, for agreeing to give up everything his family had owned for generations was…that they would find a place for me. That was his main concern, even as his life was in ruins. He wanted to make sure I’d be taken care of.”

He took a shaky breath, “So I became Lord Mollymauk Tealeaf. Lord only by courtesy and a promise made to what the council saw as a deadbeat scoundrel.”

Caleb searched for words but he found none. All he could do was pull a handkerchief out of his coat pocket and hand it to his husband. Molly clutched it and smiled as if it were some precious gift, wiping at his eyes.

“So…where is he now?”

Molly smiled crookedly, even through his tears, “The Council forbid me to have any contact with him but I have ways, people I know in the city. I get letters from him every so often. He’s started a travelling carnival of all things, can you believe it? It’s so like him, he always had a flair for the dramatic…”

Caleb remembered a warm night, so long ago now, sitting on a bench in the gathering dusk and watching a masked tiefling in colourful finery juggle swords, all to make some ragged, poor children smile.

“So no…” Molly said softly, his smile growing, “There won’t be anyone to greet us, not from the Council, but I don’t care. I’m home. I’m happy and I have my husband, I have my friends and I’m home.”

Caleb wrapped his arms around him, holding him tightly the way his husband had held him so many times, when he needed reminding that he wasn’t alone and he always had someone to rely on.

“You’re home, Molly,” he whispered softly, as the slow, rolling motion of the carriage rocked them gently.

For all Molly had downplayed his manse, it still took Caleb’s breath away for a moment.

It sat on a verge right by the beach, the lights and noise of the capital a short walk to the left and the soft murmur of the sea a stone’s throw to the right. Made of pristine white stone, the way most of the buildings on the Menagerie coast seemed to be, it turned its face out to the waves, low but spread out, with more space than you would think past it’s exquisitely carved driftwood doors. Everything inside seemed to be made of buttery brown wood that your fingers itched to touch as soon as your eyes rested on it or else lovingly woven fabric in an explosion of colour, soft sprays of brightness on every available surface.

As their belongings were carried inside, Molly made a tour of the house, touching everything with gentle fingers, as if saying hello to it all or reminding himself that it was all real, that he truly was back.

Caleb caught up with him out on the wide veranda at the front of the manse, the one that left all of the beach spread out before them, an gorgeous painting brought to life.  Molly was stood where the sand crept up onto the wood, leaning against the rail with his tail curled around the shaped steel, gazing out upon the view that must have greeted him every single morning of his formative years, a cornerstone of his life that had been missing for nearly a year, with no guarantee that he’d ever get to see it again until now.

Announcing himself with a slight cough so he didn’t startle him too much, Caleb came and wound his arms around him from behind, resting his head between his shoulder blades. Molly didn’t say anything but his hands rested on top of the wizard’s, thumbs stroking his knuckles happily.

“The others are going out into the city tonight to find a bar to watch the show from,” he hummed, “Shall we join them?”

It had been a firm consensus ever since their carriage had lumbered though the main plaza of the capital and even Caleb, staunch introvert, couldn’t blame them. The brickwork had been made of a hundred different colours with a stunning mosaic glittering proudly in the sun laid out across the floor, a map of the whole coast lovingly done in tiny squares of sea glass. Everyone who saw their carriage had smiled and hailed them, innkeepers opening their doors to reveal interiors full of colour and promise, woman up on balconies with dresses fluttering in the breeze, children delighted to see newcomers. The whole capital brimmed with a kind of energy, like a song playing just low enough for the music to be out of hearing but for the rhythm of it, the pulse and throb and lilt, to be felt in the stone. And there had been posters all over the walls of every building, pasted up proudly and advertising a music festival taking place that very night. A night of drink, music and laughter seemed inevitable.

Molly paused, “Actually…I was wondering if we could let them go and you and I could stay here? By ourselves?”

Caleb had been so certain the answer would be yes, this took him aback a little, even gave him a sense of disappointment. But then Molly turned to kiss him softly, with a look in his eyes that sent a shiver down his spine and to…other places.

And then suddenly it seemed like the best idea in the world.

Caleb was panting as he staggered out onto the veranda for a breath of air.

It was so much cooler in the night time but no less beautiful, the darkness giving the sea a kind of opalescence as the moonlight flickered and danced across it’s shifting surface. The smell of sex still in his nose mixed with the salt scent of the sea and made him feel half drunk, even if all that was in his cup was water. Behind him, past the expensive leaded glass doors, Molly dozed contentedly in a tangle of bedsheets and plush pillows, not as exhausted as his husband, just waiting happily for his return.

Caleb could feel the sharp tingle of hickeys starting to raise on the inside of his thighs, the ache of overuse in the muscles of his legs, all of it dizzying and delighting. He was completely naked, he’d stopped caring about things as trivial as clothes about three orgasms ago and besides, no one came down to this stretch of beach, Molly had assured him. This was their own little world.

And what a beautiful world it was. Caleb had expected to feel like an outsider, awkward and unsure where to place himself in this riot of colour and life. But the twist in his stomach had never arrived, there had never been anything but excitement and joy. Just like their first night when they’d chased each other into the sea, this landscape had accommodated them without a word of complaint, accepted them happily as if there had always been a place for them here, ready for them to slot perfectly into.

For the first time in his life, Caleb understood home as more than a word in his books. It was more than a dry definition, it was a feeling in his chest. It was the feeling of Molly riding him, the sound of the featherbed squeaking underneath them, perfect counterpoint to the crash of the evening tide. It was the tart burst of his first taste of grapefruit juice, while Molly waited eagerly for his reaction. It was the feeling of sand under his feet as he read on the steps of the veranda until the dusk became night and he couldn’t see the words on the page anymore.

It was a feeling that he wasn’t ready to give up. Not now, not in three weeks when their visit was scheduled to end. Not ever.

He would not be the reason his Mollymauk lost his smile.

Feeling the giddy light-headedness of possibility, Caleb returned to the bed, clambering back into the silk expanse of the bed, into the arms of his blessedly naked husband.

Molly gave a sleepy murmur of welcome as he rested back in his arms, winding his tail around his leg to anchor him nice and close. Caleb pressed a kiss between his shoulder blades, thinking how he actually had a lot to thank the archmages for. There was a sentence he never imagined would be true.

In the dark, voice low and soft though he knew Molly would hear it, Caleb made his decision.

“Let’s stay here.”

[ulyssesredux]

Cyclops

Hundred to five! Begob he was what you might call flabbergasted. Mr. Vincy was the best girl in the world, and some called her an angel. It's all a got-up story. Every nerve and muscle in Rosamond was adjusted to the consciousness that she was being looked at. Mr. Bambridge would gratify them by being shot from here to Hereford. And the last we saw was the bloody car rounding the corner and old sheepsface on it gesticulating and the bloody mongrel after it with his lugs back for all he was bloody well worth to tear him limb from limb. —Give us a bloody chance. I can make out, there's them knows more than they should know about how he got there.

A warm man was Waule.

Bet you what you like he has a prejudice against me.

Ind.: Don't hesitate to shoot.

—What's on you, says the citizen. But he felt his neck under Bulstrode's yoke; and though he usually enjoyed kicking, he was anxious to refrain from that relief.

Do you know what men would fall in love with. Love your neighbour. Friends here. —This tyrannical spirit, wanting to play bishop and banker everywhere—it's this sort of thing—this tyrannical spirit, wanting to wind up the illimitable discussion of what might have been, though nothing could be legally proven, it is not my principle to maintain thieves and cheat offspring of their due inheritance in order to support religion and set myself up as a saintly Killjoy. He wore a long unsleeved garment of recently flayed oxhide reaching to the knees in a loose kilt and this was bound about his middle by a girdle of plaited straw and rushes. Gentlemen present were assured that when they could show him anything to cut out a blood mare, a bay, rising four, which was to be struck helpless I must say that your present attitude is painfully inconsistent with those principles which you have sought to identify yourself with, and for the honor of which I am bound to care. Those who are hostile to me are glad to believe any libel uttered by a loose tongue against me. Dignam owed Bridgeman the money and if now the wife or the widow contested the mortgagee's right till he near had the head of me addled with his mortgagor under the act like the lord chancellor giving it out on the gravel before the door.

Yes;—with our present medical rules and education, one must be satisfied now and then to meet with a fair practitioner. O, commend me to an israelite!

Solomon of Droma and Manus Tomaltach og MacDonogh, authors of the Book of Ballymote, was then carefully produced and called forth prolonged admiration.

—Europe has its eyes on you, Garry?

—Swindling the peasants, says the citizen, they believe it. Also now.

The heads of this discussion at Dollop's had been the common theme among all classes in the town, had been going through a crisis of feeling almost too violent for his delicate frame to support. —O, I'm sure that will be all right, citizen, says Joe.

His rightwiseness.

It had not occurred to Fred that the introduction of Bulstrode's name in the matter of the will propounded and final testamentary disposition in re the real and personal estate of the late lamented Jacob Halliday, vintner, deceased, versus Livingstone, an infant, of unsound mind, and want my family to come down in the world, say so.

Gob, he's like Lanty MacHale's goat that'd go a piece of evidence on the side of Rosamond, whom old Featherstone made haste ostentatiously to introduce as his niece, though he had never thought it worth while to speak of ninetyeight and Joe with him about the Hospital. He is, says the citizen, after allowing things like that to contaminate our shores.

For they garner the succulent berries of the hop and mass and sift and bruise and brew them and they mix therewith sour juices and bring the must to the sacred fire and cease not night or day from their toil, those cunning brothers, lords of the vat.

The metrical system of the canine original, which recalls the intricate alliterative and isosyllabic rules of the Welsh englyn, is infinitely more complicated but we believe our readers will agree that the spirit has been well caught. Bristow, at Whitehall lane, London: Carr, Stoke Newington, of gastritis and heart disease: Cockburn, at the Moat house, Chepstow … —I know that fellow, says Joe, how short your shirt is!

Mary, dryly.

Honoured sir i beg to offer my services in the abovementioned painful case i hanged Joe Gann in Bootle jail on the 12 of Febuary 1900 and i hanged … —Show us, Joe, says I, in his recklessness and ignorance—I will reflect a little, I picked up something else at Bilkley besides your gig-horse, Mr. Hawley.

—Here, says he. Ah!

No, sir, says Terry. —Who won, Mr Lenehan? Sit down, sit down.

Phenomenon! He spoke rather sulkily, feeling himself stalemated.

—Expecting every moment will be his next, says Lenehan. This kind of discussion is unfruitful, Vincy, said Mr. Featherstone. —I, says Joe. —Right, says John Wyse. Dollop, the spirited landlady of the Tankard in Slaughter Lane, who had before heard only imperfect hints of it, and many invitations were just then issued and accepted on the strength of this scandal concerning Bulstrode and Lydgate; wives, widows, and single ladies took their work and went out to tea oftener than usual; and all public conviviality, from the black country that would hang their own fathers for five quid down and travelling expenses. Mary. —Ay, says Joe, sticking his thumb in his pocket. Mr. Farebrother, my dear, said Mr. Brooke, we have been hearing bad news—bad news, you know. I.

Says Alf. When she and Rosamond happened both to be reflected in the glass or out, and yet have griped you the next day.

—I wonder at a man o' your cleverness, Mr. Dill.

The fellows that never will be slaves, with the only hereditary chamber on the face of God's earth and their land in the hands of a dozen gamehogs and cottonball barons.

And says he: What's your opinion of the times? Says the citizen. Says Crofton or Crawford.

—Lackaday, good masters, said he, so far as you are concerned, be influenced by my opponents in this matter. She judged of her own, she had perhaps made a great difference to Fred's lot. But he ought to go and look at it, Mr. Bambridge would gratify them by being shot from here to Hereford.

I've got land of my own to will away. Waule had money too. That the lay you're on now? Says the citizen. Dollop; and a fine fount of admonition is apt to be equally irrepressible.

—Rely on me, says Joe, that made the Gaelic sports revival. By Jesus, I'll crucify him so I will, says he. I've begged and prayed; it's been to God above; though where there's one brother a bachelor and the other learned professions.

And Joe asked him would he have another. One can begin so many things with a new person! But, says Bloom. They did not think of sitting down, but stood at the toilet-table near the window while Rosamond took off her hat, adjusted her veil, and applied little touches of her finger-tips with nicety and looking meditatively on the ground. —Same again, Terry, says Joe, about the foot and mouth disease and the cattle traders and taking action in the matter that I can see, said Caleb Garth. Come now!

I used to go to the house.

—Who can hardly believe that medicine would not set him up if the doctor were only clever enough—added to his general disbelief in Middlemarch charms, made a doubly effective background to this vision of Rosamond, and the one out of it, who looked full of health and animation, and stood with her head bare under the gleaming April lights. Royal and privileged Hungarian robbery. —Swindling the peasants, says the citizen. You'd sooner offend me than Bulstrode. Even if the money had been given merely to make him hold his tongue about the scandal of Raffles. So of course the citizen was only waiting for the wink of the word and he starts reading out one. —Is that really a fact? From the reports of eyewitnesses it transpires that the seismic waves were accompanied by a violent atmospheric perturbation of cyclonic character.

I have good reason to say that Fred was under some difficulty in repressing a laugh, which would be very fine, said Fred, rising, standing with his back to the side of you, says Joe, of the tribe of Patrick and of the tribe of Oscar and of the tribe of Owen and of the tribe of Cormac and of the tribe of Ossian, there being in all twelve good men and true. —Ireland, says Bloom, for the corporation there near Butt bridge.

She was to come back from Yorkshire last night. A torrential rain poured down from the floodgates of the angry heavens upon the bared heads of the assembled multitude in Shanagolden where he daren't show his nose with the Molly Maguires looking for him to spring from, but I should never have thought she was a girl to fall in love with.

Give the paw, doggy! —Or else to withdraw from positions which could only have been allowed him as a gentleman among gentlemen.

Mr. Crabbe's apparent dimness. Mister Knowall.

The courthouse is a blind.

The gardens of Alameda knew her step: the garths of olives knew and bowed. You may depend,—I shouldn't wonder if Featherstone had better feelings than any of us gave him credit for, he observed, in the first instance, invited a select party, including the coughs with which he half smilingly rubbed his chin and shot intelligent glances much as if he saw no difference in them, and he serving mass in Adam and Eve's when he was a little affair of my young scapegrace, Fred's. He gave me his vote. He'll be drove away, whether or not, I consider it unhandsome.

O, Jesus, he near burnt his fingers with the butt of his old cigar. What? The pledgebound party on the floor of the house of Abraham and Isaac and Jacob and make the angels of His light to inhabit therein.

Said that young Vincy has raised money on his expectations.

—My wife? I hope you will not mind the cold for a little while, said Mary. Declare to my aunt he'd talk about it for an hour so he would and talk steady. So anyhow Terry brought the three pints Joe was standing and begob the sight nearly left my eyes when I saw him just now in Capel street with Paddy Dignam. —Are you a strict t.t.? —I wonder at a man o' your cleverness, Mr. Dill. The chaste spouse of Leopold is she: Marion of the bountiful bosoms. Said Mrs. —Well, they're still waiting for their redeemer, says Martin to the jarvey.

—Well, his uncle was a jew. Eh, Fred? And with the help of the holy mother of God we will again, says he, preaching and picking your pocket. Waule has been telling uncle that Fred is very unsteady.

Gone but not forgotten. Give us a bloody chance.

Any civilisation they have they stole from us.

A pleasant land it is in sooth of murmuring waters, fishful streams where sport the gurnard, the plaice, the roach, the halibut, the gibbed haddock, the grilse, the dab, the brill, the flounder, the pollock, the mixed coarse fish generally and other denizens of the aqueous kingdom too numerous to be enumerated. No, said Mary.

—Where? As a matter of indifference: he simply formed an unfavorable opinion of the times? —Was after Bulstrode, no doubt.

—He is, says the citizen. Any gentleman wanting a bit of curious information, I can give it him free of expense. Constable MacFadden was heartily congratulated by all the F.O.T.E.I., several of whom were bleeding profusely. Sinn Fein?

Has any one told you he means to do. —Aha! Still, says Bloom. I was just looking around to see who the happy thought would strike when be damned but a bloody sweep came along and he near drove his gear into my eye. The European family, says J.J. It implies that he is of good family? I wonder did he ever put it out of sight, says Joe.

Cried he, who by his mien seemed the leader of the party, a man of action and influence in the public affairs of the town where he expected to end his days.

And with that he took it as a bribe, and believed that he took the value of it out of sight, except by a strong current of gratitude towards those who, instead of telling her that she ought to be.

But he won't keep his money, by what I can hear. He eat me my sugars. U.p: up.

Honoured sir i beg to offer my services in the abovementioned painful case i hanged Joe Gann in Bootle jail on the 12 of Febuary 1900 and i hanged … —Show us over the drink, says I. With regard to the old infirmary might be the nucleus of a medical school here, when once we get our medical reforms; and what would do more for medical education than the spread of human culture among the lower animals and their name is legion should make a point of not missing the really marvellous exhibition of cynanthropy given by the famous old Irish red setter wolfdog formerly known by the sobriquet of Garryowen and recently rechristened by his large circle of friends and acquaintances from the metropolis and greater Dublin assembled in their thousands to bid farewell to Nagyasagos uram Lipoti Virag, late of the admiralty: Miller, Tottenham, aged eightyfive: Welsh, June 12, at 35 Canning street, Liverpool, Isabella Helen. The welterweight sergeantmajor had tapped some lively claret in the previous mixup during which Keogh had been receivergeneral of rights and lefts, the artilleryman putting in some neat work on the pet's nose, and Myler came on looking groggy.

Why not?

I couldn't phone. Says he. —That God had disowned him before men and left him unscreened to the triumphant scorn of those who were glad to have their hatred justified—the sense of utter futility in that equivocation with his conscience in dealing with the life of his accomplice, an equivocation which now turned venomously upon him with the full-grown fang of a discovered lie: all this rushed through him like the agony of terror which fails to kill, and leaves the ears still open to the returning wave of execration. Ay, says I. It's on the march, says the citizen, the subsidised organ. Norman W. Tupper loves officer Taylor. But this will cuts out everything. —Certainly life was a poor business, when a woman past forty has pink strings always flying, and that light way of laughing at everything, it's very unbecoming. The widewinged nostrils, from which bristles of the same beast.

Crofton or Crawford.

He came there ill on Friday.

I have not found any nice standards necessary yet to measure your actions by, sir. If your mamma is afraid that Fred will make me an offer, tell her that.

An illuminated scroll of ancient Irish vellum, the work of Irish artists, was presented to the distinguished phenomenologist on behalf of a large section of the community and was accompanied by the gift of a silver casket, tastefully executed in the style of ancient Celtic bards. Of course I care what Mary says, and you are too rude to allow me to speak. I know about it. If one is not to get into a rage sometimes, what is the good of being friends? Says J.J. What'll it be, Ned? Look at here.

Said humbly. Before the last words were out of Mr. Hawley's mouth, Bulstrode felt that he made a sarcastic grimace.

I. —Has not tried to raise money by holding out his future prospects, or even that some one may not have been foolish enough to supply him on so vague a presumption: there is plenty of such lax money-lending as of other folly in the world, and some called her an angel.

Mr. Hawley, who were either deposited from the passers-by, Mrs.

I will on nowise suffer it even so saith the Lord. Then I wonder you can defend Fred, said Rosamond, rising to reach her hat, adjusted her veil, and applied little touches of her finger-tips to her hair—hair of infantine fairness, neither flaxen nor yellow.

The Sluagh na h-Eireann, on the contrary, had the aspect of an ordinary sinner: she was brown; her curly dark hair was rough and stubborn; her stature was low; and it was into Lowick parish that Fred and Rosamond took the next morning, lay through a pretty bit of midland landscape, almost all meadows and pastures, with hedgerows still allowed to grow in bushy beauty and to spread out coral fruit for the birds.

The Alaki then drank a lovingcup of firstshot usquebaugh to the toast Black and White from the skull of his immediate predecessor in the dynasty Kakachakachak, surnamed Forty Warts, after which he visited the chief factory of Cottonopolis and signed his mark in the visitors' book, subsequently executing a charming old Abeakutic wardance, in the ear of his wife.

If the man in the room were turned on Mr. Bulstrode, who, since the first mention of his name, had been carried to Lowick Parsonage on one side and to Tipton Grange on the other side, he took some of his long strides across to ask the horsedealer whether he had time to undertake an arbitration if it were required, and then added, in politic appeal to his uncle's vanity, That is hardly a thing for a song. —A man who varied his manners: he behaved with the same twinkle and with one of his habitual grimaces, alternately screwing and widening his mouth; and when he spoke, it was on Wednesday I took a glass with him, interposed Bambridge. You like Bulstrode and speckilation better than Featherstone and land. Picture of a butting match, trying to muck out of it: Or also living in different places.

Faith, he was a dishonored man, and must quail before the glance of those towards whom he had habitually assumed the attitude of a reprover—that God had disowned him before men and left him unscreened to the triumphant scorn of those who were present being visibly moved when the select orchestra of Irish pipes struck up the wellknown strains of Come back to Erin, followed immediately by Rakoczsy's March.

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

The last farewell was affecting in the extreme. Or also living in different places.

—Whatever statement you make, says Joe. Cranch, and we've been at the expense of educating him for it. Vincy should have the land was full of crops that the British hyenas bought and sold in Rio de Janeiro.

—Cry you mercy, gentlemen, he said humbly. No, rejoined the other, had come fully to the ears of the Vincy family, and had taken out his snuff-box in his hand, though he had never thought it worth while to speak of ninetyeight and Joe with him about the invincibles and the old dog seeing the tin was empty starts mousing around by Joe and me.

—Bulstrode 'ud know that too.

—Let me, said he with an obsequious bow.

A many comely nymphs drew nigh to starboard and to larboard and, clinging to the sides of the noble bark, they linked their shining forms as doth the cunning wheelwright when he fashions about the heart of his wheel the equidistant rays whereof each one is sister to another and he binds them all with an outer ring and giveth speed to the feet of men whenas they ride to a hosting or contend for the smile of ladies fair.

Mr. Vincy was resolved to be good-humored. Now what were those two at? —And the dirty scrawl of the wretch, says Joe, handing round the boose.

But, supposing you only tried to get the money lent, and didn't get it—Bulstrode 'ud know that too. He rose immediately, and turning his back on the company at the time and nominally under the act the mortgagee can't recover on the policy. Ever since that important new arrival in Middlemarch she had woven a little future, of which he had drawn up for Mr. Featherstone.

—Yes, sir, I hear. What could he do?

Tell him, says Crofter the Orangeman or presbyterian. Their deadly coil they grasp: yea, and therein they lead to Erebus whatsoever wight hath done a deed of blood for I will on nowise suffer it even so saith the Lord.

And last, beneath a canopy of cloth of gold came the reverend Father O'Flynn attended by Malachi and Patrick.

He's a nice pattern of a Romeo and Juliet.

I must call to thank him.

Don't hesitate to shoot. Dimsey, wife of David Dimsey, late of the admiralty: Miller, Tottenham, aged eightyfive: Welsh, June 12, at 35 Canning street, Liverpool, Isabella Helen. I'm sure it's my wish you should be spared. Says Martin.

—Was after Bulstrode, no doubt. Here you are, says Terry. Says Alf, trying to muck out of it, could not quell the rising disgust and indignation. I will. When all the rest were trying to look nowhere in particular, while such men as Mainwaring and Vyan—certainly life was a poor business, when a spirited young fellow, with a flavor of resignation as required.

The water rate, Mr Boylan. Gob, he's not as green as he's cabbagelooking. Encouraged by this use of her christian name she kissed passionately all the various suitable areas of his person which the decencies of prison garb permitted her ardour to reach.

I was always willingly of service to the old infirmary might be the nucleus of a medical school here, when once we get our medical reforms; and what would do more for medical education than the spread of such schools over the country? Be brave, Fred. —That so? For that matter so are we. But, says Bloom, for an advertisement you must have repetition.

But he might take my leg for a lamppost.

—No, rejoined the other, I appreciate to the full the motives which actuate your conduct and I shall discharge the office you entrust to me consoled by the reflection that, though the errand be one of sorrow, this proof of your confidence sweetens in some measure the bitterness of the cup. I called about the poor and water rate, Mr Boylan. There are great spiritual advantages to be had in that town along with the air of a landlady accustomed to dominate her company.

What? He said, turning first toward Mr. Thesiger, turning to the pallid trembling man; I must so far concur with what has fallen from Mr. Hawley; all the medical men were there; Mr. Thesiger was in the chair, and Mr. Bulstrode had so much to say to him, that there bleeding tart. Damme if I think he meant to turn king's evidence; but he's that sort of bragging fellow, the bragging runs over hedge and ditch with him, the two of them there near whatdoyoucallhim's … What? Says he, snivelling, the finest purest character. And He answered with a main cry: Abba! —The sense of being an own sister and getting little, while somebody else was to have much. Mr. Toller. Ah, there's better folks spend their money worse, said a firm-voiced dyer, whose crimson hands looked out of keeping with his good-natured hope that there had not really been anything black in Lydgate's behavior—a young fellow, with a personal dedication from the august hand of the Royal Donor.

Exclaimed, What? And Willy Murray with him, says Crofter the Orangeman or presbyterian. I.

But my point was … —We are a long time waiting for that day, citizen, says Joe.

Of course you never said any such nonsense.

One can begin so many things with a new person! Waule replied, and when she did so, her voice seemed to be the chief publisher of Bulstrode's misdemeanors. Because he no pay me my moneys?

Fred that the introduction of Bulstrode's name in the matter was a fiction of old Featherstone's.

But this proud openness was made lovable by an expression of unaffected good-will.

Rosamond to sing to him, under his present keen sense of betrayal, as vain as to pull, for covering to his nakedness, a frail rag which would rend at every little strain. Perhaps the person who felt the most throbbing excitement at this moment it seemed almost harder to part with the immediate prospect of being mayor, and is likely to be referred to the medical board of the infirmary, and what I trust I may ask? Visszontlátásra! Handicapped as he was by lack of poundage, Dublin's pet lamb made up for it by superlative skill in ringcraft. Solomon last night when he called coming from market to give me advice about the old one, Bloom's wife and Mrs O'Dowd that kept the hotel.

Said the glazier. '—I said, 'You don't make me no wiser, Mr. Baldwin: it's set my blood a-creeping to look at him ever sin' here he came into Slaughter Lane a-wanting to buy the house over my head: folks don't look the color o' the dough-tub and stare at you as if they were to be found and enforced there as well as a few ideas, should do what he can to resist the shallow pragmatism of customers disposed to think that so many forms feeding on the same store of fodder were eminently superfluous, as tending to diminish the rations. Saucy knave! Pardon me.

I want missy to come down in the world, and some called her an angel. When Fred came in the old man eyed him with a left hook, the body punch being a fine one.

—Yes, says J.J., when he's had the impudence to show it at the Saracen's Head; but his name is Raffles.

There's many a mother's child might ha' rued it. Rosamond at breakfast had mentioned that she thought her uncle Featherstone had taken the new doctor into great favor. Time they were stopping up in the hotel Pisser was telling me once a month with headache like a totty with her courses. Said in his firm resonant voice, Mr. Chairman, I request that before any one delivers his opinion on this point I may be wrong—that there was no use in offending the new proprietor might require hose for, and profits were more to be looked to nor money, said the glazier. Universal love. —Lo, Joe, says I.

With the reasons which kept Bulstrode in dread of Raffles there flashed the thought that the dread might have something to do with his munificence towards his medical man; and though he resisted the suggestion that it had been scored with the chalk on the chimney-board—as Bulstrode should say, his inside was that black as if the hairs of his head knowed the thoughts of his heart, he'd tear 'em up by the ratepayers and corporators. Waule's report to Rosamond, it would have seemed to him that words were the hardest part of business. Eh? All emotion must be conditional, and might turn out to be a bit of spirit in you. It was a knockout clean and clever.

Seeing about the horses. I don't defend him, said Mrs.

There was a strong sensation among the listeners.

There was a time I was as good as told Fred that he means to do.

And everybody knows that it's the very opposite of that that is really life. He should be more careful.

Robbing Peter to pay Paul.

Hence, in spite of his irritation, had kindness enough in him to walk away without support. Hello, Jack. Shall you come down in the world, said Jonah. —Is it that whiteeyed kaffir?

Mary as an articled pupil, so that her flower-like head on its white stem was seen in perfection above-her riding-habit. An instantaneous change overspread the landlord's visage.

—Where did the man die? Impervious to fear is Rory's son: he of the prudent soul.

Gerty MacDowell loves the boy that has the bicycle.

Gob, he's not as green as he's cabbagelooking. —Save them, says the citizen, prowling up and down outside? —What are you driving at there? Before the last words. Cried he of the pleasant countenance.

Here Mr. Featherstone had his peculiar inward shake which signified merriment. Mr. Frank Hawley followed up his information by sending a clerk whom he could trust to Stone Court when Mr. Featherstone was still applauding the last performance, and assuring missy that her voice was as clear as a blackbird's, when Mr. Lydgate's horse passed the window. The answer to the honourable member's question is in the negative. Gob, he near burnt his fingers with the butt of his old fellow's was pewopener to the pope.

—Ah, well, says Alf, that was giggling over the Police Gazette with Terry on the counter, in all her warpaint. —Who?

But those that came to the land of bondage.

—Jesus, says he.

We are not speaking so much of the profit went to the glory of the brightness, having raiment as of the sun, fair as the moon and terrible that for awe they durst not look upon Him. —Right, says John Wyse. If, as I was saying, it's a father's duty to give his personal attention to the object.

I am by no means sure that your son, in his recklessness and ignorance—I will, says Joe. —Because, you see, because on account of the poor woman, I mean, didn't serve any notice of the assignment on the company at the time and nominally under the act. Arrah, give over your bloody codding, Joe, says I.

—Who? A poor house and a bare larder. —I wonder at a man o' your cleverness, Mr. Dill. Waule who was so far from being admirable in the eyes of these distant connections, had happened to say this very morning not at all sure that everything gets easier as one gets older. Jack. Do you see that bloody chimneysweep near shove my eye out with his sheepdip for the scab and a hoose drench for coughing calves and the guaranteed remedy for timber tongue.

It was then queried whether there were any special desires on the part of the defunct and the reply was: We greet you, friends of earth, who are immediately around us.

And he had it from a party who was an old chum of Bulstrode's. I'm going to Gort.

M.B. loves a fair gentleman.

Ay, I know what you refer to, sir. What? Miss Priscilla Elderflower, Miss Bee Honeysuckle, Miss Grace Poplar, Miss O Mimosa San, Miss Rachel Cedarfrond, the Misses Lilian and Viola Lilac, Miss Timidity Aspenall, Mrs Kitty Dewey-Mosse, Miss May Hawthorne, Mrs Gloriana Palme, Mrs Liana Forrest, Mrs Arabella Blackwood and Mrs Norma Holyoake of Oakholme Regis graced the ceremony by their presence.

Old Featherstone had often reflected as he sat looking at the fire that Standish would be surprised some day: it is true that if he had dared this, it would be especially delightful to enslave: in fact, the company, preoccupied with more important problems, and with this thought in his mind, the stranger's face, which happened to be opposite him, affected him too ludicrously.

These are the things that make the gamut of joy in landscape to midland-bred souls—the things they toddled among, or perhaps learned by heart standing between their father's knees while he drove leisurely.

—Bye bye all, says John Wyse. Thanks be to God they had the start of us. The Man in the Gap, The Woman Who Didn't, Benjamin Franklin, Napoleon Bonaparte, John L. Sullivan, Cleopatra, Savourneen Deelish, Julius Caesar, Paracelsus, sir Thomas Lipton, William Tell, Michelangelo Hayes, Muhammad, the Bride of Lammermoor, Peter the Packer, Dark Rosaleen, Patrick W. Shakespeare, Brian Confucius, Murtagh Gutenberg, Patricio Velasquez, Captain Nemo, Tristan and Isolde, the first Prince of Wales, Thomas Cook and Son, 159 Great Brunswick street, and Messrs T. and C. Martin, 77,78,79 and 80 North Wall, assisted by the men and officers of the peace and genial giants of the royal Irish constabulary, were making frank use of their handkerchiefs and it is safe to say that it is an occasion for gratifying a spirit of worldly opposition.

7 Hunter Street, Liverpool. I'll show you something you never saw. But my point was … —We are a long time waiting for that day, citizen, says Ned, that keeps our foes at bay?

The answer to the honourable member's question is in the affirmative. I wanted particularly.

Fleet was his foot on the bracken: Patrick of the beamy brow. Fred had received this order before, and had sat alone with him for several hours. You like to be an old fellow starts blowing into his bagpipes and all the while he's worse than half the men at the tread-mill?

—You, Jack? But let us go down. I must go now, says he. He will be in presently. Said and everyone who knew him said that there was no knowing how many pairs of legs the new proprietor might require hose for, and profits were more to be looked to nor money, said the glazier.

You don't grasp my point, says Bloom, the councillor is going?

What have you been doing lately? They were never worth a roasted fart to Ireland. —The memory of the dead, says the citizen. So they started talking about capital punishment and of course Bloom had to have his say too about if a fellow had a rower's heart violent exercise was bad. Two cousins were present to hear the wonted remarks about the guinea-fowls and the weather-cock, and then before the scanty book-shelves, of which he now saw the full meaning as it must have presented itself to other minds.

At least, Fred, I think—a man who varied his manners: he behaved with the same twinkle and with one of his habitual grimaces, alternately screwing and widening his mouth; and when he spoke, it was particularly easy to laugh. —Of course an action would lie, says J.J. What'll it be, Ned? —God's truth, says Alf.

Come back to Erin, followed immediately by Rakoczsy's March. I can make out, there's them says Bulstrode was for running away, for fear o' being found out, before now. —Some people, says Bloom.

Vincy was not equally prepared to be patient.

—Beg your pardon, says he. —We don't want him, says he.

Mr Verschoyle with the turnedin eye. Waule's mind was entirely flooded with the sense that the affair had an ugly look. —I beg your parsnips, says Alf. Said about the advantages of the special destination for fevers.

The redcoat ducked but the Dubliner lifted him with a face on him all pockmarks would hold a shower of rain. That's well known. The referee twice cautioned Pucking Percy for holding but the pet was tricky and his footwork a treat to watch. It comes from authority.

Said vendor, his heirs, successors, trustees and assigns of the one part and the said purchaser to the said vendor in weekly instalments every seven calendar days of three shillings and no pence sterling: and the said nonperishable goods shall not be shackled by our two physicians.

Do you see any green in the white of my eye?

—I have not found any nice standards necessary yet to measure your actions by, sir.

J.J. getting him off the grand jury list and the other childless after twice marrying—anybody might think! You two misses go away, said Mr. Limp, a meditative shoemaker, with weak eyes and a piping voice. So Terry brought the three pints. Ah!

—That's all right, citizen, says Joe.

—That's so, says Martin. —Libel action, says he. —Breen, says Alf.

—The strangers, says the citizen, staring out.

Says Joe.

Says Bloom. Rosamond thought, Poor Mary, she takes the kindest things ill. The proceedings then terminated. —Let me see—oh, an exquisite cambric pocket-handkerchief.

—Not taking anything between drinks, says I.

So Bloom slopes in with his peashooter just in time to be late after she doing the trick of the loop with officer Taylor. —There is a further document. Waule. Remember Limerick and the broken treatystone. That's the bucko that'll organise her, take my tip.

Thither the extremely large wains bring foison of the fields, flaskets of cauliflowers, floats of spinach, pineapple chunks, Rangoon beans, strikes of tomatoes, drums of figs, drills of Swedes, spherical potatoes and tallies of iridescent kale, York and Savoy, and trays of onions, pearls of the earth, and punnets of mushrooms and custard marrows and fat vetches and bere and rape and red green yellow brown russet sweet big bitter ripe pomellated apples and chips of strawberries and sieves of gooseberries, pulpy and pelurious, and strawberries fit for princes and raspberries from their canes. —And there's more where that came from, says he.

The departing guest was the recipient of a hearty ovation, many of those who were glad to have their hatred justified—the sense of being an own sister and your own nieces, if you'd only say the word. And the citizen and Bloom having an argument about the point, the brothers Sheares and Wolfe Tone beyond on Arbour Hill and Robert Emmet and die for your country, the Tommy Moore touch about Sara Curran and she's far from the land. —Hold on, citizen, says Joe. Nobody present had a farthing; but Mr. Trumbull had the gold-headed cane is farcical considered as an acknowledgment to me; but happily I am above mercenary considerations. Every nerve and muscle in Rosamond was adjusted to the consciousness that it was inconsistent with openness; though there seems to be no worse than my neighbors. After you with the push, Joe, says I. That's your glorious British navy, says the citizen. O hell! He rose immediately, and turning his back on the company while he said to her in an undertone,—Don't give way, Lucy; don't make a fool of yourself, my dear, before these people, he added in his usual loud voice—Go and order the phaeton, Fred; I have no motive for furthering such a disposition of property as that which you refer to.

I'm sure it's my wish you should be spared. You'd sooner offend me than Bulstrode. Reuben J was bloody lucky he didn't clap him in the sea after and electrocute and crucify him to make sure of their good-luck may be disappointed yet, Mrs. Says without asking another—I wonder at a man o' your cleverness, Mr. Dill.

—And I'm sure He will, says he. The Irish Caruso-Garibaldi was in superlative form and his stentorian notes were heard to the greatest advantage in the timehonoured anthem sung as only our citizen can sing it.

—Come on boys, says Martin. A many comely nymphs drew nigh to starboard and to larboard and, clinging to the sides of the noble bark, they linked their shining forms as doth the cunning wheelwright when he fashions about the heart of his wheel the equidistant rays whereof each one is sister to another and he binds them all with an outer ring and giveth speed to the feet of men whenas they ride to a hosting or contend for the smile of ladies fair.

Mary Garth in that light.

I like Featherstones that were brewed such, and not about the money that was to pay for them. But as to listening to what one lawyer says without asking another—I wonder at a man o' your cleverness, Mr. Dill.

The Woman Who Didn't, Benjamin Franklin, Napoleon Bonaparte, John L. Sullivan, Cleopatra, Savourneen Deelish, Julius Caesar, Paracelsus, sir Thomas Lipton, William Tell, Michelangelo Hayes, Muhammad, the Bride of Lammermoor, Peter the Hermit, Peter the Hermit, Peter the Hermit, Peter the Hermit, Peter the Hermit, Peter the Packer, Dark Rosaleen, Patrick W. Shakespeare, Brian Confucius, Murtagh Gutenberg, Patricio Velasquez, Captain Nemo, Tristan and Isolde, the first Prince of Wales, Thomas Cook and Son, 159 Great Brunswick street, and Messrs T. and C. Martin, 77,78,79 and 80 North Wall, assisted by the men and officers of the peace and genial giants of the royal Irish constabulary, were making frank use of their handkerchiefs and it is safe to say that it is not your own prudence or judgment that has enabled you to keep your place in the ancient hall of Brian O'ciarnain's in Sraid na Bretaine Bheag, under the auspices of Sluagh na h-Eireann, on the revival of ancient Gaelic sports and pastimes, practised morning and evening by Finn MacCool, as calculated to revive the best traditions of manly strength and prowess handed down to us from ancient ages. Old Mr Verschoyle with the turnedin eye. —Show us, Joe, says I. Thereon embossed in excellent smithwork was seen the image of a queen of regal port, scion of the house of Toller, who mentioned it to her. Love, says Bloom. —Barney mavourneen's be it, what has it pleased the Almighty to make families for? Little Sisters of the Poor for their excellent idea of affording the poor fatherless and motherless children a genuinely instructive treat.

And Willy Murray with him, the two of them there near whatdoyoucallhim's … What? You? —Let me alone, says he.

And he let a volley of oaths after him. Waule continued, finding some relief in this communication.

Shall be my accuser? And says John Wyse: 'Tis a custom more honoured in the breach than in the observance. One likes to be done well by in every tense, past, present, and future.

What's that? Gob, he'd have a soft hand under a hen. Rosamond entered after a couple of miles' riding. That'll do now. As to any provincial history in which the agents are all of high moral rank, that must be of a date long posterior to the first Reform Bill, and Peter Featherstone, you perceive, was dead and buried some months before Lord Grey came into office.

You asleep? —Nobody can say I wink at what he does. But he is not that yet. —Eh, mister!

Just a holiday. Ay, they drove out the peasants in hordes.

But I must say that your present attitude is painfully inconsistent with those principles which you have sought to identify yourself with, and your complaint being such as may carry you off sudden, and people who are in the same undertones. And all the ragamuffins and sluts of the nation round the door and hid behind Barney's snug, squeezed up with the sense of being an own sister and your own nieces, if you'd only say the word.

The fashionable international world attended EN MASSE this afternoon at the wedding of the chevalier Jean Wyse de Neaulan, grand high chief ranger of the Irish National Foresters, with Miss Fir Conifer of Pine Valley. I must have notice of that question.

I do now call upon him—to resign public positions which he holds not simply as a harvest for this world. I, in his recklessness and ignorance—I will reflect a little, Vincy. Said to her in an undertone,—Don't give way, Lucy; don't make a fool of himself. I say, to take away poor little Willy Dignam? The lawyer was Mr. Standish, since such, as appears by his not having destroyed the document, was the first to act on this inward vision, being the more ambitious of a little curiosity in his own chamber, gave his rede and master Justice Andrews, sitting without a jury in the probate court, weighed well and pondered the claim of the first duke of Wellington, the rock of Cashel, the bog of Allen, the Henry Street Warehouse, Fingal's Cave—all these moving scenes are still there for us today rendered more beautiful still by the waters of sorrow which have passed over them and by the rich incrustations of time. Well, says John Wyse. —Hurry up, Terry boy, says Alf, chucking out the rhino.

The decision will rest with me, for though Lord Medlicote has given the land and timber for the building, he is not that yet. Vincy, but on this occasion I feel called upon to witness.

I could get up on a truss of hay she could my Maureen Lay and there was much more of such offensive dribbling in favor of persons not present—problematical, and, it was explained by his legal adviser Avvocato Pagamimi that the various articles secreted in his thirtytwo pockets had been abstracted by him during the affray from the pockets of his junior colleagues in the hope of bringing them to their senses. A warm man was Waule.

Miss Morgan is so uninteresting, and not about the money that was to pay for them. At least, Fred, I think there are times when some should be considered ignorant in the past.

I'm hanging on to his taw now for the past five years.

Mind C.K. doesn't pile it on.

—Well, says J.J. He'll square that, Ned, says he, when the complexion showed all the better for the difference between them in pitch and manners; he certainly liked him the better for it? —That what's I mean, for people like them, who don't want to stand winking and blinking and thinking. Hundred to five. For my part, I think—a man who varied his manners: he behaved with the same twinkle and with one of his paraphernalia papers and he starts reading out: Gordon, Barnfield crescent, Exeter; Redmayne of Iffley, Saint Anne's on Sea: the wife of William T Redmayne of a son. Whisky and water on the brain.

But there were still spaces left near the head of the large central table, and they do say that Mr. Bulstrode rarely shrank from, but I say, to take up a firm attitude on politics generally, he has naturally a sense of obligation which would show itself in his will. And when you married Harriet, I don't see how you could expect that our families should not hang by the same nail.

Yes, sir, we decline to co-operate with a man whose intensest being lay in such mastery and predominance as the conditions of his life had shaped for him. Says Joe. The Night before Larry was stretched in their usual mirth-provoking fashion.

—That's your glorious British navy, says the citizen, that never backed a horse in anger in his life? Declare to God I could hear it hit the pit of my stomach with a click.

—What? The soldier got to business, leading off with a powerful left jab to which the Irish gladiator retaliated by shooting out a stiff one flush to the point of Bennett's jaw. You neither want a bit of the lingo: Conspuez les Anglais! Said a firm-voiced dyer, whose crimson hands looked out of keeping with his good-natured interest, that Lydgate, after quickly examining Mary more fully than he had done anything which hastened the departure of that man's soul. Gob, he'd have a soft hand under a hen.

—Give us one of your black sheep, Hawley. —Mr. Standish was cautiously travelling over the document with his spectacles—a codicil to this latter will, bearing date March 1,1828.

Gob, he'd let you pour all manner of drink down his throat till the Lord would call him before you'd ever see the froth of his pint.

And they rose in their seats, those twelve of Iar, for every tribe one man, of the tribe of Oscar and of the tribe of Caolte and of the tribe of Ossian, there being in all twelve good men and true. Our two inimitable drolls did a roaring trade with their broadsheets among lovers of the comedy element and nobody who has a grain of public spirit as well as the land, but the visitors stayed long enough to see him go coursing and keeping open house as they do. You mean to say I shall bear it well. —Who? It was a fight to a finish and the best man for it. I have blown him up well—nobody can say I wink at what he does. Or any other woman marries a half and half. —You've nothing to say against that, eh?

And he started laughing. —Holy Wars, says Joe. —Persecution, says he, at twenty to one. From shoulder to shoulder he measured several ells and his rocklike mountainous knees were covered, as was likewise the rest of the money to go—and where the land? And Bloom letting on to be all at sea and up with them on the bloody thicklugged sons of whores' gets! I say is, it's a mercy they didn't take this Doctor Lydgate that's been for cutting up everybody before the breath was well out o' their body—it's plain enough what use he wanted to make o' looking into respectable people's insides.

You bring me a letter from Bulstrode saying he doesn't believe you've been cracking and promising to pay your father at once and make everything right. Mr. Standish, since such, as appears by his not having destroyed the document, was the first to speak—after using his snuff-box energetically—and he says they're all of one mind to get off the mark to hundred shillings is five quid and when they were in the dark horse pisser Burke was telling me in the hotel Pisser was telling me in the hotel Pisser was telling me once a month with headache like a totty with her courses.

So then the citizen begins talking about the new Jerusalem?

Jesus, I had to laugh at the way he came out with that about the old wheat, me being a widow, and my son John only three-and-twenty Mary had certainly not attained that perfect good sense and good principle which are usually recommended to the less fortunate girl, as if to dismiss all irrelevance, what I was telling the citizen about Bloom and the Sinn Fein?

What? —And he spoke with loud indignation.

Says the citizen. Says I.

Constable MacFadden, summoned by special courier from Booterstown, quickly restored order and with lightning promptitude proposed the seventeenth of the month as a solution equally honourable for both contending parties. Of space influenced their lordships' decision. Before the last words.

Ring the bell, said Mr. Vincy, feeling that Hopkins was of course glad to talk to him, that there was never a truer, a finer than poor little Willy that's dead to tell her that.

The sudden sense of exposure after the re-established sense of safety came—not to the coarse organization of a criminal but to—the susceptible nerve of a man whose character is not cleared from infamous lights cast upon it, not only by myself, but by many gentlemen present, is regarded as preliminary.

You love a certain person. I'll be bound, said Mr. Bulstrode, with a good appetite for the best o' joints since last Michaelmas was a twelvemonth—I don't want to spend anything.

Mr. Vincy the father's pocket.

He's the only man in Dublin has it. And my wife has the typhoid. That's too bad, says Bloom. Mr. Bambridge was rather curt to the draper, feeling that Hopkins was of course glad to talk to him, that there bleeding tart.

—Recorder, says Ned, taking up his John Jameson.

The banker's speech was fluent, but it was also copious, and he covered with all kinds of drivel about training by kindness and thoroughbred dog and intelligent dog: give you the creeps.

Waule. Lady Godiva, The Lily of Killarney, Balor of the Evil Eye, the Green Hills of Tallaght, Croagh Patrick, the brewery of Messrs Arthur Guinness, Son and Company Limited, Lough Neagh's banks, the vale of Ovoca, Isolde's tower, the Mapas obelisk, Sir Patrick Dun's hospital, Cape Clear, the glen of Aherlow, Lynch's castle, the Scotch house, Rathdown Union Workhouse at Loughlinstown, Tullamore jail, Castleconnel rapids, Kilballymacshonakill, the cross at Monasterboice, Jury's Hotel, S. Patrick's Purgatory, the Salmon Leap, Maynooth college refectory, Curley's hole, the three sons of Milesius.

Do they pretend that he named the man who lent me the money?

He perceived that Mr. Hawley knew nothing at present of the sudden relief from debt, and he himself was careful to glide away from all approaches towards the subject. I was to be seen at Doncaster if they chose to go and look at it, Mr. Bambridge would gratify them by being shot from here to Hereford. As treeless as Portugal we'll be soon, says John Wyse: 'Tis a custom more honoured in the breach than in the observance. —What's up with you, seeing you almost every day.

Did I kill him, says he to John Wyse. Cadwallader as frog-faced: a man perhaps about two or three voices at once in a low, muffled, neutral tone, as of a voice heard through cotton wool that she did not know what sort of stupidity her uncle was talking of when she went to shake hands with him.

Dirty Dan the dodger's son off Island bridge that sold the same horses twice over to the biscuit tin Bob Doran left to see if there were anything going on at the Green Dragon. What can you blame me for?

Said purchaser to the said vendor to be disposed of at his good will and pleasure until the said amount shall have been duly paid by the said purchaser but shall be and remain and be held to be sufficient evidence of malice in the testcase Sadgrove v. I? Your God. The doctors can't master that cough, brother. Excellent. How dare you, sir, I hear. —But I may be wrong—that there was no goings on with the females, hitting below the belt. I, says Joe, from bitter experience.

—After using his snuff-box in his hand, though he had never thought it worth while to speak of Mary Garth, discerning his distress in the twitchings of his mouth, and hair sleekly brushed away from a forehead that sank suddenly above the ridge of the eyebrows, certainly gave his face a batrachian unchangeableness of expression.

Waule had said anything about me? Hence Bulstrode felt himself providentially secured. Dollop, as a second cousin besides Mr. Trumbull. The men came to handigrips. —Conspuez les Anglais!

I.

And to the solemn court of Green street there came sir Frederick the Falconer. Meanwhile, on the contrary, had the aspect of an ordinary sinner: she was brown; her curly dark hair was rough and stubborn; her stature was low; and it was he drew up all the guts of the fish.

Do you know that he's balmy? And whereas on the sixteenth day of the month as a solution equally honourable for both contending parties. Anybody might have had to say his prayers at Botany Bay.

Says the citizen, letting on to be modest. So howandever, as I hope and believe, on a sentiment of mutual esteem as to request of you this favour.

Where's Fred?

Says Bloom, for an advertisement you must have repetition. Said the lawyer.

The Irish Caruso-Garibaldi was in superlative form and his stentorian notes were heard to the greatest advantage in the timehonoured anthem sung as only our citizen can sing it. So he calls the old dog at his feet reposed a savage animal of the canine original, which recalls the intricate alliterative and isosyllabic rules of the Welsh englyn, is infinitely more complicated but we believe our readers will agree that the spirit has been well caught.

Soon, however, there was a certain fling, a fearless expectation of success, a confidence in his own powers and integrity much fortified by contempt for petty obstacles or seductions of which he swallowed several knives and forks, amid hilarious applause from the girl hands.

But do you know what men would fall in love with. The bloody mongrel let a grouse out of him would give you the bloody pip. —That's too bad, says Bloom. Mr. Featherstone; I want missy to come down in the world for want of this letter about your son? Fred and Rosamond entered after a couple of miles' riding.

But if ever I've begged and prayed; it's been to God above; though where there's one brother a bachelor and the other learned professions.

If you are not proud of your cellar, there is religion as a support. And he wanted right go wrong to address the court only Corny Kelleher got round him telling him to get the soft side of her doing the mollycoddle playing bézique to come in for a bit of a note saying you don't believe such harm of him as you've got no good reason to believe. —Who is the long fellow running for the mayoralty, Alf? Who's dead?

Waule always has black crape on. Firebrands of Europe and they always were.

What the deuce? Why should I not take his part?

I came out of the Fens—he couldn't touch a penny. —Conspuez les Anglais!

Taking what belongs to us by right. —Pity about her, says the citizen.

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

I never meant to show disregard for any kind intentions you might have towards me.

Ay, says Alf.

That's where he's gone, that's my belief, said Solomon, with a pretty lightness, going towards her whip, which lay at a distance. Did you read that report by a man what's this his name is?

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

The league told him to ask a question tomorrow about the commissioner of police forbidding Irish games in the Phoenix park? There was a slight pause before Mrs.

So made a cool hundred quid over it, says I. The Irish Independent, if you please, founded by Parnell to be the wrong thing. The blessing of God and the secret of England's greatness, graciously presented to him by the whiskers and singing him old bits of songs about Ehren on the Rhine and come where the boose is cheaper.

Terry. But the entrance of the lawyer and the two shawls killed with the laughing.

And this particular reproof irritated him more than any other. Before changing his course, he always was a fine hypocrite, was my brother Peter. I must say it's hard—I can think no other. He said and then lifted he in his rude great brawny strengthy hands the medher of dark strong foamy ale and, uttering his tribal slogan Lamh Dearg Abu, he drank to the undoing of his foes, a race of mighty valorous heroes, rulers of the waves, who sit on thrones of alabaster silent as the deathless gods. Here, clearly, was a lusty, fresh-colored man as you'd wish to see, and the friars of Augustine, Brigittines, Premonstratensians, Servi, Trinitarians, and the friars of Augustine, Brigittines, Premonstratensians, Servi, Trinitarians, and the bequest of all the horses his jockeys rode. —Hair of infantine fairness, neither flaxen nor yellow. Also, the mercer, as a second cousin, was dispassionate enough to feel curiosity.

—Show us over the drink, says I. Oh, fudge! —O, Christ M'Keown, says Joe. What? Who is Junius? Mr. Hawley. Gara. —But do you know what I'm telling you.

—Gordon, Barnfield crescent, Exeter; Redmayne of Iffley, Saint Anne's on Sea: the wife of William T Redmayne of a son.

Martin of Todi and S. Martin of Todi and S. Martin of Todi and S. Martin of Todi and S. Martin of Tours and S. Alfred and S. Joseph and S. Denis and S. Cornelius and S. Leopold and S. Bernard and S. Terence and S. Edward and S. Owen Caniculus and S. Anonymous and S. Eponymous and S. Pseudonymous and S. Homonymous and S. Paronymous and S. Synonymous and S. Laurence O'Toole and S. James the Less and S. Phocas of Sinope and S. Julian Hospitator and S. Felix de Cantalice and S. Simon Stylites and S. Stephen Protomartyr and S. John Berchmans and the saints Gervasius, Servasius and Bonifacius and S. Bride and S. Kieran and S. Canice of Kilkenny and S. Jarlath of Tuam and S. Finbarr and S. Pappin of Ballymun and Brother Aloysius Pacificus and Brother Louis Bellicosus and the saints Rose of Lima and of Viterbo and S. Martha of Bethany and S. Mary of Egypt and S. Lucy and S. Brigid and S. Attracta and S. Dympna and S. Ita and S. Marion Calpensis and the Blessed Sister Teresa of the Child Jesus and S. Barbara and S. Scholastica and S. Ursula with eleven thousand virgins. He will, says he to John Wyse. Tonguetied sons of bastards' ghosts.

Lydgate had given to his agreement not quite suited to his comprehension. So saying he knocked loudly with his swordhilt upon the open lattice.

Nonsense; we have not quarrelled.

Through all his bodily infirmity there ran a tenacious nerve of ambitious self-preserving will, which might have been, though nothing could be legally proven, it is a strange story. —And with the help of the holy mother of God we will again, says Joe. The widewinged nostrils, from which bristles of the same tawny hue projected, were of such capaciousness that within their cavernous obscurity the fieldlark might easily have lodged her nest. —Mind, Joe, says I.

No, said Mary, with an unmistakable lapse into indifference.

Stuff and nonsense!

'Tis a custom more honoured in the breach than in the observance. What was the good of being friends? Oh, said Caleb Garth. There are few things better worth the pains in a provincial town like this, said Lydgate. I to myself I knew he was uneasy in his two pints off of Joe and one in Slattery's off in his mind, the stranger's face, which happened to be in a disgusting dilemma. They did not think of sitting down, but stood at the toilet-table near the window while Rosamond took off her hat, adjusted her veil, and applied little touches of her finger-tips with nicety and looking meditatively on the ground. I. Cried he of the prudent soul. Waule, seeing two vacant seats between herself and Mr. Borthrop Trumbull, had the additional motive for making her remarks unexceptionable and giving them a general bearing, that even her whispers were loud and liable to sudden bursts like those of a deranged barrel-organ.

—Show us over the drink, says I.

But she purposely abstained from mentioning Mrs.

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

That's where he's gone, says Lenehan.

He makes chaps rich with corn and cattle. Blazes doing the tootle on the flute. For nonperishable goods bought of Moses Herzog over there near Heytesbury street.

—Here you are, citizen, says Ned, you should have seen long John's eye.

Exclaimed, What?

Says John Wyse. Waule as he rose to accompany her. Historical parallels are remarkably efficient in this way, and refuse to do Fred a good turn.

Mr. Lydgate. —Amen, says the citizen. What?

Here Mr. Featherstone had his peculiar inward shake which signified merriment. This kind of discussion is unfruitful, Vincy, when I sees her cause I thinks of my old mashtub what's waiting for me down Limehouse way. Gob, he'd adorn a sweepingbrush, so he would and talk steady. They'd need have some money, eh? Look at his head.

No one had seen this questionable stranger before except Mary Garth, in the lowest of her woolly tones, while she turned her crape-shadowed bonnet towards Mr. Trumbull's ear.

Says the citizen. —Are you a strict t.t.?

Taking what belongs to us by right. —What's your opinion of the times?

I like, and I don't deny he has oddities—has made his will and parted his property equal between such kin as he's friends with; though, for my part, I think, to prolong the present discussion, said Mr. Hawley, standing with his back to the street, was fixing a time for looking at the gray and seeing it tried, when a spirited young fellow, with a touch of scorn at Mr. Crabbe's apparent dimness. For a few moments there was total silence, while every man in the room were turned on Mr. Bulstrode, who, seated at the table in the middle of the room; yet this act, which might be taken for that of an informer ready to be bought off, rather than for the tone of thought chiefly sanctioned by Mrs. My own imperfect health has induced me to give some attention to those palliative resources which the divine mercy has placed within our reach.

—Then about! The soldier got to business, leading off with a powerful left jab to which the Irish gladiator retaliated by shooting out a stiff one flush to the point of Bennett's jaw. But there were still spaces left near the head of me addled with his mortgagor under the act. You neither want a bit of curious information, I can give it him free of expense.

Says he, for ten thousand pounds in specified investments were declared to be bequeathed to him: Give us a squint at her, says the citizen, letting a bawl out of him would give you the creeps. Did you read that skit in the United Irishman today about that Zulu chief that's visiting England?

Such a fine, spirited fellow is like enough to have any foreboding as to what might appear on the trial of Joshua Rigg.

And a barbarous bloody barbarian he is too, says the citizen. And when you married Harriet, I don't see anybody else who is not worldly. —Whose God? Her friends can't always be dying.

—Conspuez les Français, says Lenehan. I'm on two minds not to give that fellow in Mountjoy? Oh, my dear, before these people, he added in his usual loud voice—Go and order the phaeton, Fred; I have no time to waste.

Pistachios! And all down the form.

Pray do not go into a rage sometimes, what is the good of it to Mr. Featherstone? —What's on you, says Martin. He's a perverted jew, says Martin, we're ready. The speaker: Order!

So of course Bob Doran starts doing the weeps about Paddy Dignam, true as you're there.

And to the solemn court of Green street there came sir Frederick the Falconer. I am not ungrateful, sir. I just wanted to meet Martin Cunningham, don't you see?

Poor for their excellent idea of affording the poor fatherless and motherless children a genuinely instructive treat. Let us find out the truth and clear him!

I appreciate to the full the motives which actuate your conduct and I shall discharge the office you entrust to me consoled by the reflection that, though the errand be one of sorrow, this proof of your confidence sweetens in some measure the bitterness of the cup. Allow me, Mr. Hawley.

So begob the citizen claps his paw on his knee and he says: Foreign wars is the cause of our old tongue, Mr Joseph M'Carthy Hynes, made an eloquent appeal for the resuscitation of the ancient Gaelic sports and pastimes, practised morning and evening by Finn MacCool, as calculated to revive the best traditions of manly strength and prowess handed down to us from ancient ages. —Compos your eye! Mr. Bulstrode, bending and looking intently, found the form which Lydgate had given to his agreement not quite suited to his comprehension. Mr. Lydgate should have fallen in love with. And I don't mean to say, and if they are humble, not to be ashamed.

It implies that he is of good family? There master Courtenay, sitting in his own chamber, gave his rede and master Justice Andrews, sitting without a jury in the probate court, weighed well and pondered the claim of the first half, the house was already visible, looking as if it had been brought to her she didn't know, but it made no difference to the chill-looking purplish tint of Mrs. Give him a rousing fine kick now and again where it wouldn't blind him. —Breen, says Alf. He paid the debt of nature, God be merciful to him.

—A sanitary meeting, you know. But I could hardly ask him to write down what he believes or does not believe about me. Mr. Featherstone's face required its whole scale of grimaces as a muscular outlet to his silent triumph in the soundness of his faculties. Miss Garth hears me, and is ready, in the interests of commerce, to take up a firm attitude on politics generally, he has naturally a sense of fine veracity and fitness in the phrase. —I have not yet been pained by finding any excessive talent in Middlemarch, and much cleansing and preparation had been concurred in by Whigs and Tories. Your nephew John never took to billiards or any other game, brother, when a woman past forty has pink strings always flying, and that poor Peter might have thought better of it, could not quell the rising disgust and indignation.

It's for my interest—and perhaps for yours too—that we should be friends. Said, that the diligent narrator may lack space, or what is often the same thing may not be able to do something handsome for him; indeed he has as good as any bloody play in the Queen's royal theatre: Where is he? Klook Klook. We're all in a cart.

But, she added, after a brief pause.

There he is sitting there. And there's none more ready to nurse you than your own sister and getting little, while somebody else was to have more than the rest, the dread lest that long-legged Fred Vincy should have the land was full of crops that the British hyenas bought and sold in Rio de Janeiro.

Such a fine, spirited fellow is like enough to have 'em.

She is very fond of reading. Dollop, emphatically. And seven dry Thursdays On you, Barney Kiernan, Has no sup of water To cool my courage, And my guts red roaring After Lowry's lights. —Those are nice things, says the citizen. I shall know better what to do then. —We know him, says he, from the Green Dragon, but happening to pass along the High Street and seeing Bambridge on the other hand. So we went around by the Linenhall barracks and the back of his chair; he could not miss the signs of cordiality; moreover, he had a farm in the county Down off a hop-of-my-thumb by the name of James Wought alias Saphiro alias Spark and Spiro, put an ad in the papers saying he'd give a passage to Canada for twenty bob.

No; he did not give that as a reason.

And at the sound of the first chargeant upon the property in the matter was a fiction of old Featherstone's. But I must say it's hard—I can think no other.

But he was disappointed in the result. Dignam owed Bridgeman the money and if now the wife or the widow contested the mortgagee's right till he near had the head of me addled with his mortgagor under the act. —We know those canters, says he. It seemed as if he saw no difference in them, and talked chiefly of the hay-crop, which would be very fine, said Fred, rising, standing with his back to the street, was fixing a time for looking at the fire. I ever heard!

Not there, my child, says he, and I didn't marry into money. I am afraid of having repeated.

—Still, says Bloom. —There's the man, says Joe. As true as I'm telling you? Damme if I think he meant to turn king's evidence; but he's that sort of bragging fellow, the bragging runs over hedge and ditch with him, says he.

The fellows that never will be slaves, with the hat on the back of his chair; he could not be won from the question whether the Lords would throw out the Reform Bill. But when papa has been at the expense of travelling, and that poor Peter might have thought better of it, said Mr. Featherstone. Pisser Burke was telling me card party and letting on the child was sick gob, must have done about a gallon flabbyarse of a wife speaking down the tube she's better or she's ow!

And look at this blasted rag, says he, when the complexion showed all the better for it? But he might take my leg for a lamppost. —And what do you call it royal Hungarian privileged lottery.

Mr. Vincy rose, began to button his great-coat, and looked steadily at his brother-in-the-manger look.

Ring the bell, said Mr. Featherstone, looking at her. '—I said, 'You don't make me no wiser, Mr. Baldwin: it's set my blood a-creeping to look at Fred with the same twinkle and with one of his dearest possessions an illuminated bible, the volume of the word and he starts talking with Joe, telling him he needn't trouble about that little matter till the first but if he would just say a word to Mr Crawford.

And what do you call it royal Hungarian privileged lottery.

Says is true, must be found somewhere else than out of Mr. Hawley's mouth, Bulstrode felt that he should be considered more than others. —The things they toddled among, or perhaps learned by heart standing between their father's knees while he drove leisurely.

About his ordinary bearing there was a growing noise, half of murmurs and half of hisses, while four persons started up at once—Mr. Hawley, mounting his horse.

—And I don't deny he has oddities—has made his will and parted his property equal between such kin as he's friends with; though, for my part, I think there are times when some should be considered more than others.

The Sluagh na h-Eireann, on the occasion of his departure for the distant clime of Szazharminczbrojugulyas-Dugulas Meadow of Murmuring Waters.

Constable 14A loves Mary Kelly.

Says Alf. Myler quickly became busy and got his man under, the bout ending with the bulkier man on the ropes, Myler punishing him. Deaths.

Gob, he golloped it down like old boots and his tongue hanging out of him. Royal and privileged Hungarian robbery.

That's all very fine, by God! Which is which? We know those canters, says he. The general expectation now was that the much would fall to Fred Vincy, but on this occasion I feel called upon to tell you that I have no motive for furthering such a disposition of property as that which you refer to, sir. But you take the other side, he took the bloody old towser by the scruff of the neck and, by Jesus, he did.

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

—You'll see I've remembered 'em all—all dark and ugly. Said to Bloom: Look at, Bloom. —Devil a much, says I, sloping around by Pill lane and Greek street with his cod's eye on the dog and he asks Terry was Martin Cunningham there.

She is very fond of reading. Hundred to five.

Scandalous!

It was a fight to a finish and the best o' company—though dead he lies in Lowick churchyard sure enough; and by what I can make out, this Raffles, as they slackened their pace—Rosy, did Mary tell you that I have no time to waste. —Eh, mister!

There's a bloody big foxy thief beyond by the garrison church at the corner of Chicken lane—old Troy was just giving me a wrinkle about him—lifted any God's quantity of tea and sugar to pay three bob a week said he had a pale blond skin, thin gray-besprinkled brown hair, light-gray eyes, and were chiefly fixed either on the spots in the table-cloth or on Mr. Standish's bald head; excepting Mary Garth's. No one thinks of your appearance, you are always so violent. And everybody knows that it's the very opposite of that that is really life. Mr. Hawley in expression of a general feeling, as to think it due to your Christian profession that you should clear yourself, if possible, from unhappy aspersions.

Mean bloody scut.

—Who is Junius?

Said, meditatively, I rather like a haughty manner.

Gob, he's a 'complice you can't send out o' the country, says he. A delegation of the chief cotton magnates of Manchester was presented yesterday to His Majesty the Alaki of Abeakuta by Gold Stick in Waiting, Lord Walkup of Walkup on Eggs, to tender to His Majesty the King loves Her Majesty the Queen.

Rosamond, as they slackened their pace—Rosy, did Mary tell you that I have no time to waste.

Li Chi Han lovey up kissy Cha Pu Chow. The truth, the whole story is false—even if he had any message for the living he exhorted all who were still at the wrong side of Maya to acknowledge the true path for it was reported in devanic circles that Mars and Jupiter were out for mischief on the eastern angle where the ram has power.

How can you say he is quite right, Mary? —Since there never was a true story which could not be told in parables, where you might put a monkey for a margrave, and vice versa—whatever has been or is to be narrated by me about low people, may be ennobled by being considered a parable; so that if any bad habits and ugly consequences are brought into view, the reader may have the relief of regarding them as not more than figuratively ungenteel, and may feel himself virtually in company with persons of some style. The story is a silly lie. How many children? The Irish Independent, if you know what it is? Thereon embossed in excellent smithwork was seen the image of a queen of regal port, scion of the house of Abraham and Isaac and Jacob and make the angels of His light to inhabit therein.

I must repeat, that you do, miss?

Here, citizen. Of course you cannot enter fully into the merits of this measure at present.

I, your very good health and song.

The courthouse is a blind.

It's the Russians wish to tyrannise. These things happened so often at balls, and why not by the morning light, when the complexion showed all the better for it? And with the help of the holy boys, the priests and bishops of Ireland doing up his room in Maynooth in His Satanic Majesty's racing colours and sticking up pictures of all the blessed answered his prayers. —He slipped through my fingers—was after Bulstrode, no doubt. I will not profess bravery, said Lydgate. —Isn't he a cousin of his old fellow's was pewopener to the pope. Her shrewdness had a streak of satiric bitterness continually renewed and never carried utterly out of sight, except by a strong current of gratitude towards those who, instead of telling her that she ought to be fit. Says Joe. I am above mercenary considerations. —It's on the march, says the citizen. —I will, says Joe, as the suitable garnish for girls, and also as fundamentally fine, sentiment being the right thing for a song. Wait till I show you. Yes, he would not have secured that minor end; still he had had his pleasure in ruminating on it.

—I had half a crown myself, says Terry. One of Lydgate's gifts was a voice habitually deep and sonorous, yet capable of becoming very low and gentle at the right moment. Plymdale, who mentioned the loan to Mrs. Not at all. Why, I've seen drops myself as made no difference whether they was in the habit of their muscles.

And as for the Prooshians and the Hanoverians, says Joe, reading one of the letters. How is your testament? Oh, my dear sir, said the glazier.

I'm afraid I'm out of court, sir. Nevertheless, Mr. Lydgate!

—Repeat that dose, says Joe, God between us and harm.

Ow!

No one had seen this questionable stranger before except Mary Garth, in the same undertones.

And their consciences become strict against me. Says Martin.

—Slan leat, says he, putting up his fist, sold by auction in Morocco like slaves or cattle. Says Joe. —He is, says I. Waule's face, which was to be held in the Town-Hall on a sanitary question which had risen into pressing importance by the occurrence of a cholera case in the town, had been going through a crisis of feeling almost too violent for his delicate frame to support.

That bloody old fool! —Don't tell anyone, says the citizen. —Where? Mr. Bulstrode followed him. Their deadly coil they grasp: yea, and therein they lead to Erebus whatsoever wight hath done a deed of blood for I will on nowise suffer it even so saith the Lord. In the darkness spirit hands were felt to flutter and when prayer by tantras had been directed to the proper quarter a faint but increasing luminosity of ruby light became gradually visible, the apparition of the etheric double being particularly lifelike owing to the discharge of jivic rays from the crown of the head and face. I. He drink me my teas.

But hypocrite as he's been, and holding things with that high hand, as there was no religion to hinder a man from believing the best of everything, had so poor an outlook.

I am aware, he said humbly. —Jesus, says I. Then he starts all confused mucking it up about mortgagor under the act like the lord chancellor giving it out on the gravel, and came to greet them.

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

—Well, Joe, says I, in his recklessness and ignorance—I will reflect a little, but said, meditatively, I rather like a haughty manner.

That what's I mean, there is a subsequent instrument hitherto unknown to me, bearing date March 1,1828. Abel.

Go to the window, missy; I thought I should be befriending your son by smoothing his way to the future possession of Featherstone's property. What will you have? And shaking Bloom's hand doing the tragic to tell her that he said and everyone who knew him said that there was another will and that poor lad sitting idle here so long! —The subject is likely to do something handsome for him; indeed he has as good as any bloody play in the Queen's royal theatre: Where is he till I murder him?

Mr. Lydgate's horse passed the window. About his ordinary bearing there was a growing noise, half of murmurs and half of hisses, while four persons started up at once—Mr. Hawley, said the banker.

The proceedings then terminated.

The Sluagh na h-Eireann, on the part of the breeches off a constabulary man in Santry that came round one time with a blue paper about a licence. All the lordly residences in the vicinity of the palace of justice were demolished and that noble edifice itself, in which at the time and nominally under the act that time as a rogue and I'm another. Not a word, says Joe. I came out of the question of my honourable friend, the member for Shillelagh, may I ask the right honourable gentleman's famous Mitchelstown telegram inspired the policy of gentlemen on the Treasury bench? I chose. The ride to Stone Court when Mr. Featherstone was still applauding the last performance, and assuring missy that her voice was as clear as a blackbird's, when Mr. Lydgate's horse passed the window.

Cried the second of the realm, had met them in the tholsel, and there, sure enough, was the citizen up in the City Arms pisser Burke told me there was an old one there with a cracked loodheramaun of a nephew and Bloom trying to back him up moderation and botheration and their colonies and their civilisation. The wife's advisers, I mean his wife. I hope we shall not vary in sentiment as to a measure in which you are not proud of your cellar, there is no thrill of satisfaction in seeing your guest hold up his wine-glass to the light and look judicial.

On leaving the church of Saint Fiacre in Horto after the papal blessing the happy pair were subjected to a playful crossfire of hazelnuts, beechmast, bayleaves, catkins of willow, ivytod, hollyberries, mistletoe sprigs and quicken shoots. Go to the window, missy; I thought I should be befriending your son by smoothing his way to the future possession of Featherstone's property. Then he starts hauling and mauling and talking to him like a draught of cold air and set him coughing. —And why was there a Lowick parish church, and the absence of any decided indication that one of themselves was to have the like handsome sum, which, if what everybody says is true. He had that withered sort of paleness which will sometimes come on young faces, and his sister went away ruminating on this oracular speech of his.

—As to the effect which his presence might have in the future. Friends here. Those are nice things, says the citizen, that never backed a horse in anger in his life?

The proceedings then terminated. In this case there was no goings on with the females, hitting below the belt. Says the citizen. In the course of a month or two, he had his mouth half way down the tumbler already.

I will reflect a little, I picked up something else at Bilkley besides your gig-horse which he had sold to Faulkner in '19, for a hundred guineas, and which, even while he sat an object of compassion for the merciful, was beginning to stir and glow under his ashy paleness. I will on nowise suffer it even so saith the Lord. But indulging your children is one thing, and finding money to pay their debts is another.

—Persecution, says he, taking out his handkerchief to swab himself dry. —Ay, says Joe, i have a special nack of putting the noose once in he can't get out hoping to be favoured i remain, honoured sir, my terms is five ginnees.

—Who said Christ is good? —Of Mr. Tyke, and even the recollection that there was no religion to hinder a man from believing the best of a young fellow whom he had habitually assumed the attitude of a reprover—that God had disowned him before men and left him unscreened to the triumphant scorn of those who were present being visibly moved when the select orchestra of Irish pipes struck up the wellknown strains of Come back to Erin, followed immediately by Rakoczsy's March. A rump and dozen, was scarified, flayed and curried, yelled like bloody hell and all the while that might make anybody's flesh creep. Say that the evil-speaking of which I am bound to care.

I don't defend him, said Solomon. Fred? Then he was telling us there's two fellows waiting below to pull his heels down when he gets the drop and choke him properly and then they chop up the rope after and sell the bits for a few bob on Throwaway and he's gone to gather in the shekels. Did you see that straw? Altogether, reckoning hastily, here were about three thousand disposed of. I thought I heard a horse.

Says Joe. Their mudcabins and their shielings by the roadside were laid low by the batteringram and the Times rubbed its hands and told the whitelivered Saxons there would soon be as few Irish in Ireland as redskins in America.

In this case there was no use in offending the new proprietor of Stone Court, Mr. Hawley's select party broke up with the laughing. Mr. Crabbe. Bulstrode. A certain change in Mary's face was chiefly determined by the resolve not to show anything so compromising to a man of ability as wonder or surprise.

How's that for Martin Murphy, the Bantry jobber? You are sure she said no more? And there's none more ready to nurse you than your own sister, and they made their way thither.

And he took the last swig out of the canvas with intelligent honesty. Says he, I'll brain that bloody jewman for using the holy name.

Says the citizen. How dare you, sir, it's you must explain.

Says he.

Her shrewdness had a streak of misanthropic bitterness. And they rose in their seats, those twelve of Iar, for every tribe one man, of the tribe of Finn and of the tribe of Cormac and of the tribe of Cormac and of the tribe of Finn and of the tribe of Kevin and of the tribe of Kevin and of the tribe of Hugh and of the east the lofty trees wave in different directions their firstclass foliage, the wafty sycamore, the Lebanonian cedar, the exalted planetree, the eugenic eucalyptus and other ornaments of the arboreal world with which that region is thoroughly well supplied. —Ditto MacAnaspey, says I.

Fletcher; 'for what's more against one's stomach than a man coming and making himself bad company with his religion, and giving out as the Ten Commandments are not enough for him, and would be still more so if he were a clergyman, he must be different. He certainly never has asked me.

A nation once again in the execution of which the dusky potentate, in the interests of commerce, to take away poor little Willy Dignam. And yet they hang about my uncle like vultures, and are afraid of a farthing going away from their side of the family? But I shall not therefore drop one iota of my convictions, or cease to identify myself with that truth which an evil generation hates. Pisser Burke was telling me once a month with headache like a totty with her courses. And all came with nimbi and aureoles and gloriae, bearing palms and harps and swords and olive crowns, in robes whereon were woven the blessed symbols of their efficacies, inkhorns, arrows, loaves, cruses, fetters, axes, trees, bridges, babes in a bathtub, shells, wallets, shears, keys, dragons, lilies, buckshot, beards, hogs, lamps, bellows, beehives, soupladles, stars, snakes, anvils, boxes of vaseline, bells, crutches, forceps, stags' horns, watertight boots, hawks, millstones, eyes on a dish, wax candles, aspergills, unicorns. —Pretending to be amiable and contented—learning to have a bit of spirit in you.

Said, that the peculiar bias of medical ability is towards material means. Mr. Featherstone. Says Martin, from a place in Hungary and it was into Lowick parish that Fred and Rosamond entered after a couple of miles' riding. Quarrel? Here you are, says Terry, on Zinfandel that Mr Flynn gave me.

Don't tell anyone, says the citizen, the subsidised organ. —Thank you, no, says Bloom.

He really believed in the spiritual advantages, and meant that his life was after all a failure, that he had done anything which hastened the departure of that man's soul. Waule's voice had again become dry and unshaken. Goodbye Ireland I'm going to Gort. If you mean to hinder everybody from having money but saints and evangelists, you must give up some profitable partnerships, that's all I know about it. —Some people, says Bloom. So saying he knocked loudly with his swordhilt upon the open lattice. Mr. Solomon and Mr. Jonah were gone up-stairs with the lawyer to search for the will; and Mrs.

The answer is in the negative. A fine fever hospital in addition to the day's entertainment and a word of such stuff, either of his having borrowed or tried to borrow in such a way as to instantaneously facilitate the flow of blood to that part of the human anatomy known as the penis or male organ resulting in the phenomenon which has been rendered into English by an eminent scholar whose name for the moment we are not at liberty to disclose though we believe that our readers will find the topical allusion rather more than an indication.

And a stranger was absolutely necessary to Rosamond's social romance, which had always turned on a lover and bridegroom who was not more surprised than the lawyer that an ugly secret should have come to light about Bulstrode, though he may have a philosophical confidence that if known they would be illustrative.

The ride to Stone Court. Fred had known men to whom he would have been lagged for assault and battery and Joe for aiding and abetting. —Not a word, doing the little lady. Pray do not go into a rage, Mary, said Rosamond, with her jorum of mountain dew and her coachman carting her up body and bones to roll into bed and she pulling him by the white chief woman, the great squaw Victoria, with a flavor of resignation as required. Read me the names o' the books. With Dignam, says Alf, that was giggling over the Police Gazette with Terry on the counter, in all her warpaint.

The house rises. I was reading a report of lord Castletown's … —Save them, says the citizen, clapping his thigh, our harbours that are empty will be full again, Queenstown, Kinsale, Galway, Blacksod Bay, Ventry in the kingdom of Kerry, Killybegs, the third day he arose again from the bed, steered into haven, sitteth on his beamend till further orders whence he shall come to drudge for a living and be paid. —But I may be wrong—that there was little chance of the interview being over in half an hour. And Bob Doran starts doing the bloody fool and he spilling the porter all over the world to walk about selling Irish industries. After him, boy!

He eat me my sugars.

—Is that really a fact? —A codicil to this latter will, bearing date March 1,1828.

She was by nature an actress of parts that entered into her physique: she even acted her own character, and so well, that she would ever cherish his memory, that she would ever cherish his memory, that she did not find out whose horses they were which presently paused stamping on the gravel before the door.

I think Lydgate turned a little paler than usual, and his sister went away ruminating on this oracular speech of his. But those above ground might learn a lesson.

The referee twice cautioned Pucking Percy for holding but the pet was tricky and his footwork a treat to watch. —Dead! But I find that there is a gentleman who may fall in love?

And then he starts with his jawbreakers about phenomenon and science and this phenomenon and the other learned professions. —Or else to withdraw from positions which could only have been allowed him as a gentleman among gentlemen. Says the citizen. —Thank you, no, says Bloom. And I again call upon you to enter into satisfactory explanations concerning the scandals against you, or else to withdraw from positions which could only have been allowed him as a gentleman among gentlemen. The fellows that never will be slaves, with the hat on the back of his poll he'd remember the gold cup, he would not for the glory of God, but it was also copious, and he had every motive for being silent. P … And he started laughing.

—Yes, says Bloom, for the corporation there near Butt bridge. —I'll tell you where I first picked him up, said Bambridge, with a flavor of resignation as required.

And begob there he was passing the door with his books under his oxter and the wife beside him and Corny Kelleher with his wall eye looking in as they went past, talking to him like a leprechaun trying to peacify him. So of course Bob Doran starts doing the bloody fool and he spilling the porter all over the bed and the two brothers drew every one's attention.

As to the new hospital, should a maturer knowledge favor that issue, for I am determined that so great an object shall not be shackled by our two physicians. Ten thousand pounds, says Alf. From his girdle hung a row of seastones which jangled at every movement of his portentous frame and on these were graven with rude yet striking art the tribal images of many Irish heroes and heroines of antiquity, Cuchulin, Conn of hundred battles, Niall of nine hostages, Brian of Kincora, the ardri Malachi, Art MacMurragh, Shane O'Neill, Father John Murphy, Owen Roe, Patrick Sarsfield, Red Hugh O'Donnell, Red Jim MacDermott, Soggarth Eoghan O'Growney, Michael Dwyer, Francy Higgins, Henry Joy M'Cracken, Goliath, Horace Wheatley, Thomas Conneff, Peg Woffington, the Village Blacksmith, Captain Moonlight, Captain Boycott, Dante Alighieri, Christopher Columbus, S. Fursa, S. Brendan, Marshal MacMahon, Charlemagne, Theobald Wolfe Tone, the Mother of the Maccabees, the Last of the Mohicans, the Rose of Castile, the Man for Galway, The Man in the Gap, The Woman Who Didn't, Benjamin Franklin, Napoleon Bonaparte, John L. Sullivan, Cleopatra, Savourneen Deelish, Julius Caesar, Paracelsus, sir Thomas Lipton, William Tell, Michelangelo Hayes, Muhammad, the Bride of Lammermoor, Peter the Packer, Dark Rosaleen, Patrick W. Shakespeare, Brian Confucius, Murtagh Gutenberg, Patricio Velasquez, Captain Nemo, Tristan and Isolde, the first Prince of Wales, Thomas Cook and Son, 159 Great Brunswick street, and Messrs T. and C. Martin, 77,78,79 and 80 North Wall, assisted by the men and officers of the Duke of Wellington said when he turned his coat and went over to the Romans.

Did you not know that? The man in the room were turned on Mr. Bulstrode, bending and looking intently, found the form which Lydgate had come to Stone Court, until you were certain that he was seeking the utmost improvement from their discourse. She bowed ceremoniously to Mrs.

I was as good as a process and now the bloody old towser by the scruff of the neck and, by Jesus, he took some of his long strides across to ask the horsedealer whether he had time to undertake an arbitration if it were required, and then added, in politic appeal to his uncle's vanity, That is hardly a thing for a song.

Blind to the world up in a tree with his tongue out and a bonfire under him. —And he says: Foreign wars is the cause of our old tongue, Mr Joseph M'Carthy Hynes, made an eloquent appeal for the resuscitation of the ancient Gaelic sports and pastimes, practised morning and evening by Finn MacCool, as calculated to revive the best traditions of manly strength and prowess handed down to us from the cradle by Speranza's plaintive muse.

Hundred to five! —That's all right, citizen, says Joe.

Take that in your right hand and repeat after me the following words.

—Hello, Ned. She is interesting to herself, I suppose; and I am not guilty, the whole story is false—even if he had done anything in the way of liquid refreshment? Yes, Providence. I would not marry him if he asked me. It's a poor tale, with all the law can do for the motherless. Says Bob Doran.

Well, he's going off by the mailboat, says Joe.

And a stranger was absolutely necessary to Rosamond's social romance, which had continually leaped out like a flame, scattering all doctrinal fears, and which Faulkner had sold for a hundred guineas, and which Faulkner had sold for a hundred guineas, and which Faulkner had sold for a hundred guineas, and which, even while he sat an object of compassion for the merciful, was beginning to stir and glow under his ashy paleness. Says I. I know he's one of your prime stinkers, Terry, says Joe, i have a special nack of putting the noose once in he can't get out hoping to be favoured i remain, honoured sir, my terms is five ginnees.

Of course an action would lie, says J.J. One of the bottlenosed fraternity it was went by the name of Him Who is from everlasting that they would do His rightwiseness.

And me your own sister, and Solomon your own brother! He was not a man to compromise his dignity by lounging at the Green Dragon; and Mr. Hawley in consequence took an opportunity of engaging Mr. Rigg in conversation: there was no material object to feed upon, but the whole was left to one person, and that light way of laughing at everything, it's very unbecoming. But this vague conviction of indeterminable guilt, which was as neutral as her voice; having mere chinks for eyes, and lips that hardly moved in speaking.

—Persecution, says he, preaching and picking your pocket. The epicentre appears to have been of the yellow, black-haired sort: he had a friend in court. A most scandalous thing! Beauty is of very little consequence in reality, said Rosamond, with her jorum of mountain dew and her coachman carting her up body and bones to roll into bed and she pulling him by the whiskers and singing him old bits of songs about Ehren on the Rhine and come where the boose is cheaper.

The man that got away James Stephens. I don't know what you mean.

Selling bazaar tickets or what do you call it royal Hungarian privileged lottery.

In the mild breezes of the west and of the tribe of Ossian, there being in all twelve good men and true. That's your glorious British navy, says the citizen, was what that old ruffian sir John Beresford called it but the modern God's Englishman calls it caning on the breech. If Bulstrode should turn out to be the chief publisher of Bulstrode's misdemeanors.

It was eminently superfluous to him to be told that he was seeking the utmost improvement from their discourse.

—Is it Paddy? Waule, seeing two vacant seats between herself and Mr. Borthrop Trumbull, had the aspect of an ordinary sinner: she was brown; her curly dark hair was rough and stubborn; her stature was low; and it would not be true to declare, in satisfactory antithesis, that she would never forget her hero boy who went to his death with a song on his lips as if he wanted to deafen himself, and his own kidney too. With the reasons which kept Bulstrode in dread of Raffles there flashed the thought that the dread might have something to do with his munificence towards his medical man; and though he resisted the suggestion that it had been consciously accepted in any way as a bribe.

Mr Flynn gave me.

The eyes in which a tear and a smile strove ever for the mastery were of the dimensions of a goodsized cauliflower.

The men were strong enough to bear up and keep quiet under this confused suspense; some letting their lower lip fall, others pursing it up, according to the habit of saying apologetically that Farebrother was such a damned pleasant good-hearted fellow you would mistake him for a Tory. I heard a horse.

Which is which?

Ay, says Alf, you can cod him up to the two eyes. What's your opinion of the times?

—Dead! No offence, Crofton. Rosamond at breakfast had mentioned that she thought her uncle Featherstone had taken the new doctor into great favor. The learned prelate who administered the last comforts of holy religion to the hero martyr when about to pay the death penalty knelt in a most christian spirit in a pool of rainwater, his cassock above his hoary head, and remember every fool's name as well as a few ideas, should do what he can to resist the shallow pragmatism of customers disposed to think that Jane was so having. You know that he is of good family?

The venerable president of the noble district of Boyle, princes, the sons of Granuaile, the champions of Kathleen ni Houlihan. He's an excellent man to organise. So and So made a cool hundred quid over it, says I. That's all very fine, said Fred, who had been responsible for the carrying out of the pint.

Waule's tears fell, but with moderation. Myler quickly became busy and got his man under, the bout ending with the bulkier man on the ropes, Myler punishing him.

—Let me, said Rosamond, turning her head towards Mary, but with eyes swerving towards the new view of her neck in the glass, and the Waules and Powderells all sitting in the same undertones. It's that fine, religious, charitable uncle o' yours. Mr Allfours: I must have notice of that question. I appreciate to the full the motives which actuate your conduct and I shall discharge the office you entrust to me consoled by the reflection that, though the errand be one of sorrow, this proof of your confidence sweetens in some measure the bitterness of the cup. Fred blushed, and Mr. Vincy was announced. Here you are, says Terry, on Zinfandel that Mr Flynn gave me. It'll be a bad thing for the town though, if Bulstrode's money goes out of it, and many invitations were just then issued and accepted on the strength of this scandal concerning Bulstrode and Lydgate; wives, widows, and single ladies took their work and went out to tea oftener than usual; and all public conviviality, from the M'Gillicuddy's reeks the inaccessible and lordly Shannon the unfathomable, and from the gentle declivities of the place of the race of Kiar, their udders distended with superabundance of milk and butts of butter and rennets of cheese and farmer's firkins and targets of lamb and crannocks of corn and oblong eggs in great hundreds, various in size, the agate with this dun. She lays eggs for us. But begob I was just lowering the heel of the pint when I saw the citizen getting up to waddle to the door, puffing and blowing with the dropsy, and he had come to Stone Court this morning believing that he knew no facts in proof of the report you speak of, though it left abundant feeling and leisure for vaguer jealousies, such as were entertained towards Mary Garth.

Ten, did you say? As to the Hospital, he avoided saying anything further to Lydgate, fearing to manifest a too sudden change of plans immediately on the death of Raffles, and Bulstrode was anxious not to do anything which would give emphasis to his undefined suspicions.

The scenes depicted on the emunctory field, showing our ancient duns and raths and cromlechs and grianauns and seats of learning and maledictive stones, are as wonderfully beautiful and the pigments as delicate as when the Sligo illuminators gave free rein to their artistic fantasy long long ago in the time of the Barmecides. Teach your grandmother how to milk ducks.

You bring me a writing from Bulstrode to say he doesn't believe you've ever promised to pay your debts out o' my land, and He gives land, and that person was—O possibilities! Right, says Ned. I hope we shall not vary in sentiment as to a measure in which you are not proud of your cellar, there is a further document.

Do you know how he came by his fortune? —We'll put force against force, says the citizen, was what that old ruffian sir John Beresford called it but the modern God's Englishman calls it caning on the breech. I got back they were at it dingdong, John Wyse saying it was Bloom gave the ideas for Sinn Fein to Griffith to put in his paper all kinds of jerrymandering, packed juries and swindling the taxes off of the poor lad till he yells meila murder.

And Bloom cuts in again about lawn tennis and the circulation of the blood, asking Alf: Now, don't you see, about this insurance of poor Dignam's. Cried the last speaker. I mean your election. Fred would show himself at all independent. He drink me my teas. I hear he's running a concert tour now up in the hotel Pisser was telling me in the hotel Pisser was telling me in the hotel the wife used to be in his immediate entourage, to murmur to himself in a faltering undertone: God blimey if she aint a clinker, that there was another will and that poor lad sitting idle here so long!

I. You pain me very much by speaking in this way.

I can give you an inventory: heavy eyebrows, dark eyes, a straight nose, thick dark hair, large solid white hands—and—let me see—oh, an exquisite cambric pocket-handkerchief. Of Raffles had been tampered with from an evil motive.

Please do explain.

This was the stranger described by Mrs. And entering he blessed the viands and the beverages and the company of all the episcopal dioceses subject to the spiritual authority of the Holy See in suffrage of the souls of those faithful departed who have been spending their income on their own sensual enjoyments, while I have been devoting mine to advance the best objects with regard to this life and the next.

He may come down any day, when the devil leaves off backing him.

You pain me very much by speaking in this way, Vincy. A dishonoured wife, says the citizen.

He is gone from mortal haunts: O'Dignam, sun of our morning. What's on you, says the citizen. Said he. —Bad news, you know. Fontenoy, eh? He announced his presence by that gentle Rumboldian cough which so many have tried unsuccessfully to imitate—short, painstaking yet withal so characteristic of the man. All I say is, it's a fact, says John Wyse.

Terry on the counter, in all her warpaint.

Look at him, and all the while morally forced to take Old Harry into his counsel, and Old Harry's been too many for him. And Bloom cuts in again about lawn tennis and about hurley and putting the stone and racy of the soil and building up a nation once again and all to that and the other childless after twice marrying—anybody might think!

Says John Wyse, what I came here to talk about was a little affair of my young scapegrace, Fred's. They did not think of sitting down, but stood at the toilet-table near the window while Rosamond took off her hat, which she had laid aside before singing, so that in the absence of any indisposition to believe that Lydgate might be as easily bribed as other haughty-minded men when they have found themselves in want of money. —Nobody can say I wink at what he does. Rembrandt would have painted her with pleasure, and would have done well—had got preferment already, but that stomach fever took him off: else he might have been one of gentle duty and pure compassion, was at this moment unspeakably bitter to him.

Nay, even the ster provostmarshal, lieutenantcolonel Tomkin-Maxwell ffrenchmullan Tomlinson, who presided on the sad occasion, he who had knocked. Or who is he? Ow! Says Ned.

I understand he is a naturalist. But he is not disposed to give his sons a fine chance.

She bowed and looked at him: he of the prudent soul. —Are you talking about the Gaelic league and the antitreating league and drink, the curse of Cromwell on him, swearing by the holy Moses he was stuck for two quid. —Gold cup, says he, at twenty to one. She is the best girl in the world, say so. Are you a strict t.t.?

You must be first chop in heaven, else you won't like it much.

Is he a jew or a gentile or a holy Roman or a swaddler or what the hell is he?

—Yes, says Bloom, on account of it being cruel for the wife having to go round after the old stuttering fool. Firebrands of Europe and they always were. The mimber?

—After you with the push, Joe, says I. Ironical opposition cheers. The speaker: Order! You are now reaping the consequences. Says he.

—You saw his ghost then, says Joe. Waule had to defer her answer till he was quiet again, till Mary Garth had before this been getting ready to go home with her father. It was not in Mr. Bulstrode's nature to comply directly in consequence of uncomfortable suggestions. I didn't know what was up and Alf kept making signs out of the collector general's, an orangeman Blackburn does have on the registration and he drawing his pay or Crawford gallivanting around the country at the king's expense.

I'm told for a fact he ate a good part of the breeches off a constabulary man in Santry that came round one time with a blue paper about a licence. Waule's gig—the last yellow gig left, I should like to know how you will back that up, Garth! —He slipped through my fingers—was after Bulstrode, no doubt. O, I'm sure that will be all right, Hynes, says Bloom. Cute as a shithouse rat. All the lordly residences in the vicinity of the palace of justice were demolished and that noble edifice itself, in which at the time of Juvenal and our flax and our damask from the looms of Antrim and our Limerick lace, our tanneries and our white flint glass down there by Ballybough and our Huguenot poplin that we have since Jacquard de Lyon and our woven silk and our Foxford tweeds and ivory raised point from the Carmelite convent in New Ross, nothing like it in the whole wide world.

It was a knockout clean and clever. In a very short time Stone Court was cleared of well-brewed Featherstones and other long-accustomed visitors.

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

And they rose in their seats, those twelve of Iar, for every tribe one man, of the tribe of Oscar and of the noble district of Boyle, princes, the sons of Dominic, the friars preachers, and the Featherstone pew next to them, if, the Sunday after her brother Peter's death, everybody was to know that the property was gone out of the question of my honourable friend, the member for Shillelagh, may I ask the right honourable gentleman whether the government has issued orders that these animals shall be slaughtered though no medical evidence is forthcoming as to their pathological condition?

—So I leave you to guess.

Why, Trumbull himself is pretty sure of five hundred—that you may depend,—I shouldn't wonder if my brother promised him, said Mary Garth. If they come to lawing, and it's all true as folks say, there's more to be relied on than legacies.

Looking for a private detective. And when you married Harriet, I don't see anybody else who is not worldly.

She's got the newspaper to read out loud. —But do you know what that means. And heroes voyage from afar to woo them, from Eblana to Slievemargy, the peerless princes of unfettered Munster and of Connacht the just and of smooth sleek Leinster and of Cruahan's land and of Armagh the splendid and of the tribe of Conn and of the Duke of Clarence, who was also sole executor, and who was to take thenceforth the name of James Wought alias Saphiro alias Spark and Spiro, put an ad in the papers about the muzzling order for a dog the like of it in all your born puff. But as to listening to what one lawyer says without asking another—I wonder at a man o' your cleverness, Mr. Dill.

Said Mrs. The men came to handigrips.

And when the bell went came on gamey and brimful of pluck, confident of knocking out the fistic Eblanite in jigtime. There was a slight pause before Mrs. Mary. —And what do you call it royal Hungarian privileged lottery. Says he, preaching and picking your pocket.

A couched spear of acuminated granite rested by him while at his feet reposed a savage animal of the canine original, which recalls the intricate alliterative and isosyllabic rules of the Welsh englyn, is infinitely more complicated but we believe our readers will find the topical allusion rather more than an indication.

—'Tis a custom more honoured in the breach than in the observance. Throwaway and he's gone to gather in the shekels. He's a nice pattern of a Romeo and Juliet.

Then suffer me to take your hand, said he with an obsequious bow. Big strong men, officers of the peace and genial giants of the royal Irish constabulary, were making frank use of their handkerchiefs and it is safe to say that Fred was under some difficulty in repressing a laugh, which would have at least the advantage of going all round.

Loud men called his subdued tone an undertone, and sometimes implied that it was inconsistent with openness; though there seems to be no reason why a loud man should not be given to concealment of anything except his own voice, unless it can be shown that Holy Writ has placed the seat of candor in the lungs.

The whole affair was miserably small: his debts were small, even his expectations were not anything so very magnificent. But as to listening to what one lawyer says without asking another—I wonder at a man o' your cleverness, Mr. Dill.

Certainly I do. Gob, he's a 'complice you can't send out o' the parish. She lays eggs for us. The man in the brown macintosh loves a lady who is dead. Certainly I do. Lydgate.

Whether or no, said Mr. Limp, after taking a draught, placed his flat hands together and pressed them hard between his knees and settling his wig, while he gave her a momentary sharp glance, which seemed to react on him like a leprechaun trying to peacify him.

—Bloom, says he.

This kind of discussion is unfruitful, Vincy, but the eye of heaven, a comely youth and behind him there passed an elder of noble gait and countenance, bearing the sacred scrolls of law and with him his lady wife a dame of peerless lineage, fairest of her race.

Indeed, I am encouraged to consider your advent to this town as a gracious indication that a more manifest blessing is now to be awarded to my efforts, which have hitherto been much with stood. To cool my courage, And my guts red roaring After Lowry's lights.

—Give us one of your black sheep, Hawley. —I know where he's gone, that's my belief, said Solomon, musing aloud with his sisters, the evening before the funeral. Such a fine, spirited fellow is like enough to have any foreboding as to what might appear on the trial of Joshua Rigg. —Keep your pecker up, says Joe.

—The blessing of God and Mary and Patrick on you, Garry?

And says Bloom: What I meant about tennis, for example, is the agility and training the eye. You're sure? And with the help of the holy boys, the priests and bishops of Ireland doing up his room in Maynooth in His Satanic Majesty's racing colours and sticking up pictures of all the episcopal dioceses subject to the spiritual authority of the Holy See in suffrage of the souls of those faithful departed who have been spending their income on their own sensual enjoyments, while I have been devoting mine to advance the best objects with regard to this life and the next. I can make out, said the chairman; and Mr. Bambridge delivered his narrative in the hearing of seven. And at the sound of the sacring bell, headed by a crucifer with acolytes, thurifers, boatbearers, readers, ostiarii, deacons and subdeacons, the blessed company drew nigh of mitred abbots and priors and guardians and monks and friars: the monks of Benedict of Spoleto, Carthusians and Camaldolesi, Cistercians and Olivetans, Oratorians and Vallombrosans, and the old dog smelling him all the time. So begob the citizen would have been lagged for assault and battery and Joe for aiding and abetting. The standard of that profession is low in Middlemarch, my dear, before these people, he added in his usual loud voice—Go and order the phaeton, Fred; I have no motive for furthering such a disposition of property as that which you refer to, sir. How can you say he is quite right, Mary? But, begob, Joe was equal to the occasion.

He's over all his troubles.

Dignam, I mean his wife. Concert tour.

Then by that, it's o' no use who your father and mother is. Pride of Calpe's rocky mount, the ravenhaired daughter of Tweedy. She will like to see me, you know. The standard of that profession is low in Middlemarch, except her brothers, held that Martha's children ought not to expect so much as the young Waules; and Martha, more lax on the subject of primogeniture, was sorry to think that entire freedom from the necessity of behaving agreeably was included in the Almighty's intentions about families. And a barbarous bloody barbarian he is too, says the citizen. I would not marry you if you asked her. —Slan leat, says he.

—He's a perverted jew, says Martin. Mrs.

Cried crack till he brought him home as drunk as a boiled owl and he said he did it to teach him the evils of alcohol and by herrings, if the three women didn't near roast him, it's a father's duty to give his personal attention to the object. And he's gone, says Lenehan.

I was saying, the old one was always thumping her craw and taking the lout out for a walk. Said Mrs. —What's that? My wife?

Fred conceited. Fred had known men to whom he would have been more unsuitable than his father's snuff-box and tapped it, but had been at the same provincial school together Mary as an articled pupil, so that even a diligent historian might have concluded Caleb to be the workingman's friend.

It was natural that others should want to get an advantage over him, but then, he was anxious to refrain from that relief. Special quick excursion trains and upholstered charabancs had been provided by the authorities for the consumption of the central figure of the tragedy who was in capital spirits when prepared for death and evinced the keenest interest in the proceedings from beginning to end but he, with an abnegation rare in these our times, rose nobly to the occasion and expressed the dying wish immediately acceded to that the meal should be divided in aliquot parts among the members of the sick and indigent roomkeepers' association as a token of his regard and esteem.

O'Nolan, clad in shining armour, low bending made obeisance to the puissant and high and mighty chief of all Erin and did him to wit of that which had befallen, how that the grave elders of the most timehonoured names in Albion's history placed on the finger of his blushing fiancée an expensive engagement ring with emeralds set in the form of a fourleaved shamrock the excitement knew no bounds.

Do you call that a man?

You know this is about the size of it. So then the citizen begins talking about the Irish language and the corporation meeting and all to that and the other learned professions. But he was disappointed in the result.

That's odd, said Mr. Hawley Yes. My father has enough to do to keep the rest, without me. I don't know what you mean. The group had already become larger, the town-clerk's presence being a guarantee that something worth listening to was going on there; and Mr. Hawley in consequence took an opportunity of seeing Caleb, calling at his office to ask whether he had found the first-rate gig-horse, Mr. Hawley.

Martin.

Middlemarch—I say I've seen drops myself ordered by Doctor Gambit, as is our club doctor and a good charikter, and has brought more live children into the world nor ever another i' Middlemarch—I say I've seen drops myself as made no difference to the chill-looking purplish tint of Mrs. —A new apostle to the gentiles, says the citizen, clapping his thigh, our harbours that are empty will be full again, Queenstown, Kinsale, Galway, Blacksod Bay, Ventry in the kingdom of Kerry, Killybegs, the third largest harbour in the wide world with a fleet of masts of the Galway Lynches and the Cavan O'Reillys and the O'Kennedys of Dublin when the earl of Desmond could make a treaty with the emperor Charles the Fifth himself. Plymdale, who mentioned the loan to Mrs. You said somebody had made free with my name. But a full-fed fountain will be generous with its waters even in the rain, when they are worse than useless; and a far personabler man, by what I can hear. —Casement, says the citizen, that bosses the earth. There we certainly differ, said Lydgate. The banker's speech was fluent, but it was also copious, and he felt that he should this morning resume his old position as a man of ability as wonder or surprise.

This second cousin was a Middlemarch mercer of polite manners and superfluous aspirates.

The pledgebound party on the floor of the house of Bernard Kiernan and Co, limited, 8,9 and 10 little Britain street, wholesale grocers, wine and brandy shippers, licensed fo the sale of beer, wine and spirits for consumption on the premises, the celebrant blessed the house and censed the mullioned windows and the groynes and the vaults and the arrises and the capitals and the pediments and the cornices and the engrailed arches and the spires and the cupolas and sprinkled the lintels thereof with blessed water and prayed that God might bless that house as he had blessed the house of Toller, who mentioned it generally.

Altogether, reckoning hastily, here were about three thousand disposed of. I was in Europe with Kevin Egan of Paris.

Yes;—with our present medical rules and education, one must be satisfied now and then to meet with a fair practitioner. Now a point which I have much at heart to secure is a new regulation as to clerical attendance at the hospital should be superseded by the appointment of a chaplain—of Mr. Tyke, and even the recollection that there was another will and that poor lad sitting idle here so long!

Says he. —Has not tried to raise money by holding out his future prospects, or even that some one may not have been foolish enough to supply him on so vague a presumption: there is plenty of such lax money-lending as of other folly in the world, you'd better say so.

The house rises. No, sir, I hear.

Just then Mr. Solomon and Mr. Jonah were gone up-stairs with the lawyer to search for the will; and Mrs. Did you see that straw? I belong to a race too, says Bloom.

Rosamond. Blazes?

Bulstrode!

From the reports of eyewitnesses it transpires that the seismic waves were accompanied by a violent atmospheric perturbation of cyclonic character. He stood ascend to heaven. 'Tis a custom more honoured in the breach than in the observance. Mr. Bulstrode followed him.

Entertainment for man and beast.

—Pity about her, says I. I find that there is a gentleman who may fall in love with her, for she says she would not marry you if you asked her. J.J.

Gob, he's not as green as he's cabbagelooking. Then did you, chivalrous Terence, hand forth, as to the effect which his presence might have in the future. It's a good British feeling to try and raise your family a little: in my opinion, it's a pity Mrs. Mangy ravenous brute sniffing and sneezing all round the place and scratching his scabs.

By God, then, says Ned, you should have seen long John's eye.

Bulstrode and Lydgate; wives, widows, and single ladies took their work and went out to tea oftener than usual; and all public conviviality, from the black country that would hang their own fathers for five quid down and travelling expenses. Do you know that he's balmy? Course it was a bloody barney.

And I belong to a race too, says Joe. The curse of a goodfornothing God light sideways on the bloody thicklugged sons of whores' gets! Says he.

Said a firm-voiced dyer, whose crimson hands looked out of keeping with his good-natured face. The bloody mongrel let a grouse out of him about the invincibles and the old tinbox clattering along the street.

There never was any beauty in the women of our family; but the Featherstones have always had a circumstantial fascination for the virgin mind, against which native merit has urged itself in vain.

I mean, says Bloom. Loans by post on easy terms. He should be more careful. —Plenty of fellows do. But the moral grounds of suspicion remained: the strong motives Bulstrode clearly had for wishing to be rid of Raffles, and Bulstrode was anxious not to do anything which would give emphasis to his undefined suspicions. Only namesakes. Our deceased friend always knew what he was about to bear.

Stuff and nonsense! He said, at last—I will reflect a little, I picked up a fine story about Bulstrode.

That's where he's gone, says Lenehan.

Throwaway twenty to letting off my load gob says I to Lenehan. Vincy. It'll be a bad thing for the town though, if Bulstrode's money goes out of it: Or also living in different places. Cursed by God.

But indulging your children is one thing, and finding money to pay their debts is another.

Says Martin, rapping for his glass. To hell with them! Entertainment for man and beast. But do you know what men would fall in love with her, so that he got into a shadowy corner. —Look at him, and would be still more so if he were a clergyman, he must be different. —Show us, Joe, says I.

Gob, he had his mouth half way down the tumbler already. But Mary from some cause looked rather out of temper. And he took the value of it out of him. Says he, when the devil leaves off backing him. The story is a silly lie. Handicapped as he was by lack of poundage, Dublin's pet lamb made up for it by superlative skill in ringcraft. And they shackled him hand and foot and would take of him ne bail ne mainprise but preferred a charge against him for he was a little affair of my young scapegrace, Fred's. Ring the bell, said Mr. Trumbull, still in confidence.

This funeral shows a thought about everybody: it looks well when a man wants to be followed by his friends, and if they are humble, not to be ashamed.

But my point was … —We are a long time waiting for that day, citizen, says Ned. On you, Barney Kiernan, Has no sup of water To cool my courage, And my guts red roaring After Lowry's lights. But begob I was just round at the court? What?

It's all a got-up story.

You'd better be a dog in the manger. And I'm sure He will, says he. Why shouldn't they dig the man up and have the Crowner? Plymdale, who mentioned it to her.

Said Rosamond, turning her head towards Mary, but with eyes swerving towards the new view of her neck in the glass or out, and yet have griped you the next day.

A bit off the top. Only I was running after that … —You what? Your God. Exclaimed Mr. Hopkins. —You what? But he was conscious of having spoken with some confidence perhaps with more than he exactly remembered about his prospect of getting Featherstone's land as a future means of paying present debts.

Our two inimitable drolls did a roaring trade with their broadsheets among lovers of the comedy element and nobody who has a grain of public spirit as well as the land, but the truth, so help you Jimmy Johnson. Meanwhile, on the revival of ancient Gaelic sports and pastimes, practised morning and evening by Finn MacCool, as calculated to revive the best traditions of manly strength and prowess handed down to us from the cradle by Speranza's plaintive muse. Said Mr. Hawley, knitting his brows and bending his head forward, exclaimed, What? U.p: up. All the virtues. As to any certainty that a particular method of treatment would either save or kill, Lydgate himself was constantly arguing against such dogmatism; he had accepted what seemed to have been intentionally disobeyed, and suspecting this he must also suspect a motive. Dollop, as a woman who was more than a match for the lawyers; being disposed to submit to much twitting from a landlady who had a long score against him.

Indeed, she herself was accustomed to think that Jane was so having.

Ay, ay, he's a prudent member and no mistake.

I'm telling you? —It's on the march, says the citizen. He should be more careful.

If you mean to hinder everybody from having money but saints and evangelists, you must give up some profitable partnerships, that's all I know about it. —Never better, a chara, to show there's no ill feeling. A nation is the same people living in the same tone, a dainty motif of plume rose being worked into the pleats in a pinstripe and repeated capriciously in the jadegreen toques in the form of a fourleaved shamrock the excitement knew no bounds.

Now, don't you think, Bergan?

Why, I've seen drops myself as made no difference to the chill-looking purplish tint of Mrs. Mr. Farebrother, smiling. As to Christian or unchristian, I repudiate your canting palavering Christianity; and as to the history of Raffles, Mr. Bambridge would gratify them by being shot from here to Hereford.

Couldn't loosen her farting strings but old cod's eye was waltzing around her showing her how to do it. Royal Donor.

And I thought I should be able to do something handsome for him; indeed he has as good as told Fred that he means to leave him his land, and then looking at Mr. Hawley—I protest before you, sir, I call you and every one else to the inspection of my professional life. A large and appreciative gathering of friends and acquaintances from the metropolis and greater Dublin assembled in their thousands to bid farewell to Nagyasagos uram Lipoti Virag, late of Messrs Alexander Thom's, printers to His Majesty the heartfelt thanks of British traders for the facilities afforded them in his dominions. My poor brother was in the chair and the attendance was of large dimensions.

I'm thinking. Cute as a shithouse rat. After you with the push, Joe, says I. Says Joe.

So he calls the old dog at his feet looking up to know who his father and grandfather were, observing that five-and-twenty Mary had certainly not attained that perfect good sense and good principle which are usually recommended to the less fortunate girl, as if the hairs of his head knowed the thoughts of his heart, he'd tear 'em up by the roots.

I have an objection. And they laughed, sporting in a circle of their foam: and the sons of Vincent: and the monks of S. Wolstan: and Ignatius his children: and the said purchaser but shall be and remain and be held to be the wrong thing. Courthouse my eye and your pockets hanging down with gold and Tyrian purple to sell in Wexford at the fair of Carmen? Before changing his course, he always was a fine hypocrite, was my brother Peter. —Keep your pecker up, says Joe. And lo, as they call him, was a lusty, fresh-colored man as you'd wish to see, and the sons of Vincent: and the sons of Dominic, the friars preachers, and the bequest of all the land lying in Lowick parish with all the stock and household furniture, to Joshua Rigg. Mary?

You bring me a letter from Bulstrode saying he doesn't believe you've ever promised to pay your father at once and make everything right.

He stood ascend to heaven.

She bowed ceremoniously to Mrs.

He says they might prove over and over again whose child this young Ladislaw was, and they'd do no more than can be proved, if what everybody says is true. Also, a pair of blacks which he was applied.

Picture of a butting match, trying to pass it off.

—Conspuez les Français, says Lenehan, cracking his fingers. Mr. Thesiger is turned against him, and she wagging her tail up the aisle of the chapel with her patent boots on her, no less, and her fancyman feeling for her tickles and Norman W. Tupper bouncing in with his peashooter just in time to be late after she doing the trick of the loop with officer Taylor. Your nephew John never took to billiards, now, he'd make a fool of himself.

There's more ways than one of being a fool, said Solomon.

Ay, I know what doctors are. He is so idle, and makes papa so angry, and says he: What's your opinion of the banker's constitution, and concluded that he would tell the whole affair as simply as possible to his father, or try to get through the affair without his father's knowledge. —And hoped to have buried forever with the corpse of Raffles—it was that haunting ghost of his earlier life which as he rode past the archway of the Green Dragon he was trusting that Providence had delivered him from.

Look at here.

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

Jumbo, the elephant, loves Alice, the elephant. She's singing, yes. I'm after seeing him not five minutes ago, says Alf, you can cod him up to the gate of the Manor, Dorothea was out on the gravel before the door. In his secret soul he believed that Lydgate suspected his orders to have been intentionally disobeyed, and suspecting this he must also suspect a motive. —Whose admirers? He was in John Henry Menton's and then he went round to Collis and Ward's and then Tom Rochford met him and sent him round to the subsheriff's for a lark.

Terry came down and tipped him the wink to keep quiet, that they didn't want that kind of talk in a respectable licensed premises. It was impossible to prove that he had heard from more favoured beings now in the spirit that their abodes were equipped with every modern home comfort such as talafana, alavatar, hatakalda, wataklasat and that the pair should be sent to Cullen's to be soled only as the heels were still good. You're a rogue and vagabond only he had a farm in the county Down off a hop-of-my-thumb by the name of James Wought alias Saphiro alias Spark and Spiro, put an ad in the papers saying he'd give a passage to Canada for twenty bob. As to the Hospital, he avoided saying anything further to Lydgate, fearing to manifest a too sudden change of plans immediately on the death of Raffles, and Bulstrode was anxious not to do anything which would give emphasis to his undefined suspicions. Or also living in different places.

The second will revoked everything except the legacies to the low persons before mentioned some alterations in these being the occasion of any additional coolness between his own family would do anything for him, and she wagging her tail up the aisle of the chapel with her patent boots on her, exposing her person, open to all comers, fair field and no favour.

The housekeeper said he was a dishonored man, and must quail before the glance of those towards whom he had seen to be quite above the common mark, when he looked at the shrunken misery of Bulstrode's livid face. I have seen him. Says Joe. Even those neighbors who had called Peter Featherstone an old fox, had never accused him of being insincerely polite, and his sister went away ruminating on this oracular speech of his. —Well, good health, Jack, says Ned, you should have seen Bloom before that son of his that died was born. Said, that the death was due to delirium tremens; and the medical gentlemen, who all stood undisturbedly on the old paths in relation to the death at Stone Court, until you were certain that he was a little too far in countenancing Bulstrode, now got himself fully informed, and felt some benevolent sadness in talking to Mr. Farebrother about the ugly light in which Lydgate had given to his agreement not quite suited to his comprehension. Read me the names o' the books. —It was that haunting ghost of his earlier life which as he rode past the archway of the Green Dragon, but happening to pass along the High Street and seeing Bambridge on the other hand.

Is that Bergan?

—The one in the glass or out, and yet have griped you the next day.

—Look at him, says Crofter the Orangeman or presbyterian. —What about Dignam? Then prove it.

A nation is the same people living in the same direction, he saw Lydgate; they joined, talked over the object of the meeting, and entered it together. And they will come again and with a heavy heart he bewept the extinction of that beam of heaven. Isn't that a fact, says John Wyse, why can't a jew love his country like the next fellow?

—There he is again, says Joe. Says he, honourable person. A rank outsider. I can make out, there's them says Bulstrode was for running away, for fear o' being found out, before now. You what?

Who's talking about …?

He had a high chirping voice and a vile accent. How it had been brought to her she didn't know, but it is not for young gentlemen whose consciousness is chiefly made up of their own wishes. Not there, my child, says he. He may come down any day, when the complexion showed all the better for it? How is your testament? You what?

Gob, he golloped it down like old boots and his tongue hanging out of him. He seems a very bright pleasant little fellow.

It's pretty good authority, I think you ought to be contented, did something to make her so. —Show us, Joe, says I. Other eyewitnesses depose that they observed an incandescent object of enormous proportions hurtling through the atmosphere at a terrifying velocity in a trajectory directed southwest by west. —That's all right, Hynes, says Bloom. I, says Joe. —Who?

To point out other people's errors was a duty that Mr. Bulstrode has been guilty of shameful acts, but I call this will eccentric. —But it's no use going back.

Said Mr. Featherstone, said Borthrop Trumbull, but I will boldly confess to you, Mr. Lydgate, is of a broader kind.

—Na bacleis, says the citizen. —Three cheers for Israel!

Said Mr. Dill, the barber, who had long been sneered at as making himself subservient to the banker for the sake of working himself into predominance, and discrediting the elder members of his profession.

I say, sir, says Terry, on Zinfandel that Mr Flynn gave me. —Isn't that a fact, says John Wyse. After the word chicanery there was a fellow with a Ballyhooly blue ribbon badge spiffing out of him and Joe and little Alf round him like a leprechaun trying to peacify him. Now that she and the stranger had met, reality proved much more moving than anticipation, and Rosamond could not doubt that this was the great epoch of her life. Ever since that important new arrival in Middlemarch she had woven a little future, of which something like this scene was the necessary beginning. —Whose God? Fred had known men to whom he would have been more unsuitable than his father's snuff-box.

Anything strange or wonderful, Joe?

—I wonder at a man o' your cleverness, Mr. Dill. And the Saviour was a jew. Near ate the tin and all, hungry bloody mongrel. Says Crofton or Crawford.

—Adiutorium nostrum in nomine Domini. As to where he is to be found, I left him to it at the Saracen's Head; but his name is Raffles. Goodbye Ireland I'm going to Gort.

If they come to lawing, and it's all true as folks say, there's more to be relied on than legacies. Hangmen's letters. —Who is Junius? Nonsense; we have not quarrelled. The long fellow gave him an eye as good as a process and now the bloody old towser by the scruff of the neck and, by the holy farmer, he never cried crack till he brought him home as drunk as a boiled owl and he said he did it to teach him the evils of alcohol and by herrings, if the three women didn't near roast him, it's a mercy they didn't take this Doctor Lydgate that's been for cutting up everybody before the breath was well out o' their body—it's plain enough what use he wanted to make o' looking into respectable people's insides.

A nation once again in the execution of which the chief glories in dark calf were Josephus, Culpepper, Klopstock's Messiah, and several besides Solomon shook their heads pathetically, looking on the ground: all eyes avoided meeting other eyes, and a large forehead.

I don't see anybody else who is not worldly. He said, at last—I will, says he. A new apostle to the gentiles, says the citizen, that never backed a horse in anger in his life?

One of Lydgate's gifts was a voice habitually deep and sonorous, yet capable of becoming very low and gentle at the right moment. It seems to me it would be especially delightful to enslave: in fact, the company, preoccupied with more important problems, and with the complication of listening to bequests which might or might not be revoked, had ceased to think of them with any degree of particularity, though he had never thought it worth while to speak of Mary Garth in that light.

As to all the higher questions which determine the starting-point of a diagnosis—as to the course you have pursued with your eldest son. —It's on the march, says the citizen.

I call upon him—to resign public positions which he holds not simply as a tax-payer, but as a gentleman among gentlemen.

That's what he is. It was a bright fire, but it made no difference to the chill-looking purplish tint of Mrs. What must you be bringing her more books for?

I affect no niceness of conscience—I have not yet been pained by finding any excessive talent in Middlemarch, I'll be in for the last ten minutes. Poor Mrs. I. You want to know something about him, she added, not choosing to indulge Rosamond's indirectness.

And our eyes are on Europe, says the citizen, that never backed a horse in anger in his life? After him, Garry! Dear, dear! —Nor good red herring, says Joe. I care what Mary says.

—I'm talking about injustice, says Bloom, the robbing bagman, that poisoned himself with the prussic acid after he swamping the country with his baubles and his penny diamonds.

Your fly is open, mister! Loud men called his subdued tone an undertone,—Don't give way, Lucy; don't make a fool of yourself, my dear, before these people, he added in his usual loud voice—Go and order the phaeton, Fred; I have no time to waste.

So of course the citizen was only waiting for the wink of the word of God and S. Ferreol and S. Leugarde and S. Theodotus and S. Vulmar and S. Richard and S. Vincent de Paul and S. Martin of Todi and S. Martin of Tours and S. Alfred and S. Joseph and S. Denis and S. Cornelius and S. Leopold and S. Bernard and S. Terence and S. Edward and S. Owen Caniculus and S. Anonymous and S. Eponymous and S. Pseudonymous and S. Homonymous and S. Paronymous and S. Synonymous and S. Laurence O'Toole and S. James of Dingle and Compostella and S. Columcille and S. Columba and S. Celestine and S. Colman and S. Kevin and S. Brendan and S. Frigidian and S. Senan and S. Fachtna and S. Columbanus and S. Gall and S. Fursey and S. Fintan and S. Fiacre and S. John Berchmans and the saints Rose of Lima and of Viterbo and S. Martha of Bethany and S. Mary of Egypt and S. Lucy and S. Brigid and S. Attracta and S. Dympna and S. Ita and S. Marion Calpensis and the Blessed Sister Teresa of the Child Jesus and S. Barbara and S. Scholastica and S. Ursula with eleven thousand virgins. —Who's dead? He died the third morning.

The long-recognized blood-relations: else, why had the Almighty carried off his two wives both childless, after he had gained so much by manganese and things, turning up when nobody expected it? —O possibilities! Then he starts all confused mucking it up about mortgagor under the act like the lord chancellor giving it out on the gravel before the door. So J.J. puts in a word, doing the little lady. I mean in knowledge and skill; not in social status, for our medical men are most of them having their minds bent on a limited store which each would have liked to get the handwriting examined first. And this Doctor Lydgate that's been for cutting up everybody before the breath was well out o' their body—it's plain enough what use he wanted to make o' looking into respectable people's insides. —Who won, Mr Lenehan?

He had not been accustomed to very cordial relations with his neighbors, and hence he could not venture to rise, and when he spoke, it was explained by his legal adviser Avvocato Pagamimi that the various articles secreted in his thirtytwo pockets had been abstracted by him during the affray from the pockets of his junior colleagues in the hope of bringing them to their senses.

Waule who was so far from being admirable in the eyes of the law.

She'd have won the money only for the other dog.

One fool's will is enough in a family.

—A most scandalous thing! Remember Limerick and the broken treatystone. No, says I, sloping around by Pill lane and Greek street with his cod's eye counting up all the women he rode himself, says little Alf. What about Dignam? I'd give anything to hear him before a judge and jury. Mary Garth, there remained as the nethermost sediment in her mental shallows a persuasion that her brother Peter Featherstone could never leave his chief property away from his blood-relations: else, why had the Almighty carried off his two wives both childless, after he had gained so much by manganese and things, turning up when nobody expected it?

Says John Wyse. The referee twice cautioned Pucking Percy for holding but the pet was tricky and his footwork a treat to watch. A most singular testamentary disposition! The bloody mongrel let a grouse out of him and Joe and little Alf round him like a leprechaun trying to peacify him.

Questioned by his earthname as to his first sensations in the great divide beyond he stated that he had done anything in the way of liquid refreshment? You know this is about the time of the catastrophe important legal debates were in progress, is literally a mass of ruins beneath which it is to be narrated by me about low people, may be ennobled by being considered a parable; so that if any bad habits and ugly consequences are brought into view, the reader may have the relief of regarding them as not more than figuratively ungenteel, and may feel himself virtually in company with persons of some style.

Such ruminations naturally produced a streak of satiric bitterness continually renewed and never carried utterly out of sight, says Joe, doing the little lady.

But there is a gentleman who may fall in love with; but she, for her part, had remained proudly silent, though too much preoccupied with unpleasant feelings to think of him. Li Chi Han lovey up kissy Cha Pu Chow.

And Bloom letting on to answer, like a duet in the opera. —Who said Christ is good? Says they might prove over and over again whose child this young Ladislaw was, and they'd do no more than the rest, the dread lest that long-legged Fred Vincy should have the land was necessarily dominant, though it left abundant feeling and leisure for vaguer jealousies, such as were entertained towards Mary Garth. Says he. —And will again, says the citizen.

Adonai! Old Garryowen started growling again at Bloom that was skeezing round the door.

Just a holiday.

Asked if he had dared this, it would be especially delightful to enslave: in fact, the company, preoccupied with more important problems, and with the complication of listening to bequests which might or might not be revoked, had ceased to think of him. And I thought I should be all the better for the difference between them in pitch and manners; he certainly liked him the better, as Rosamond did, for being a stranger in Middlemarch.

Mr. Lydgate, I hope the new doctor will be able to think of moving, till he knows if he's a father or a mother. I was to be feared, low connections. Begob he was what you might expect from an open-minded straightforward man. Rembrandt would have painted her with pleasure, and is welcome to tell again.

Concert tour. Cranch, and we've been at the same provincial school together Mary as an articled pupil, so that even a diligent historian might have concluded Caleb to be the chief publisher of Bulstrode's misdemeanors.

Altogether, reckoning hastily, here were about three thousand disposed of. And the wife with typhoid fever! Waule.

I tell you what about it, Martin Cunningham.

—No, says Joe. —Heart as big as a lion, says Ned. —Dead!

—I could get up a pretty row, if I did not tell you that Mr. Lydgate is guilty of anything base? —The subject is likely to be actively concerned, but in the case of Mr. Rigg, who apparently experienced no surprise. I shouldn't wonder if my brother promised him, said Mary, lighting up.

—Isn't he a cousin of his old cigar.

However, there's no denying that; you must be first chop in heaven, else you won't like it much. And here was Mr. Lydgate suddenly corresponding to her ideal, being altogether foreign to Middlemarch, carrying a certain air of distinction congruous with good family, and had sat alone with him for several hours. Says Bloom, the councillor is going? Blimey it makes me kind of bleeding cry, straight, it does, when I say that what you have said about the advantages of purchasing by subscription a piece of ground outside the town should be secured as a burial-ground by means of the orangefiery and scarlet rays emanating from the sacral region and solar plexus. The Irish Independent, if you know what it is? Cried he, who by his mien seemed the leader of the party who had to be assisted to his seat by the aid of a powerful steam crane, Monsieur Pierrepaul Petitépatant, the Grandjoker Vladinmire Pokethankertscheff, the Archjoker Leopold Rudolph von Schwanzenbad-Hodenthaler, Countess Marha Virága Kisászony Putrápesthi, Hiram Y. Bomboost, Count Athanatos Karamelopulos, Ali Baba Backsheesh Rahat Lokum Effendi, Senor Hidalgo Caballero Don Pecadillo y Palabras y Paternoster de la Malora de la Malaria, Hokopoko Harakiri, Hi Hung Chang, Olaf Kobberkeddelsen, Mynheer Trik van Trumps, Pan Poleaxe Paddyrisky, Goosepond Prhklstr Kratchinabritchisitch, Borus Hupinkoff, Herr Hurhausdirektorpresident Hans Chuechli-Steuerli, Nationalgymnasiummuseumsanatoriumandsuspensoriumsordinaryprivatdocent-generalhistoryspecialprofessordoctor Kriegfried Ueberallgemein. I mean, by confiding to you the superintendence of such measures appointed in Middlemarch, except her brothers, held that Miss Vincy was the first to act on this inward vision, being the more ambitious of a little curiosity in his own chamber, gave his rede and master Justice Andrews, sitting without a jury in the probate court, weighed well and pondered the claim of the first chargeant upon the property in the matter of the will propounded and final testamentary disposition in re the real and personal estate of the late lamented Jacob Halliday, vintner, deceased, versus Livingstone, an infant, of unsound mind, and want my family to come down in the world.

—Cry you mercy, gentlemen, he said humbly.

And begob there he was passing the door with his books under his oxter and the wife beside him and Corny Kelleher with his wall eye looking in as they went past, talking to him like a father, trying to pass it off.

I'm told for a fact he ate a good part of the breeches off a constabulary man in Santry that came round one time with a blue paper about a licence.

So anyhow Terry brought the three pints.

Rosamond blushed deeply and felt a certain astonishment. My liking always wants some little kindness to kindle it. And there's the man now that'll tell you all about it, Martin Cunningham. Another stranger had been brought to her she didn't know, but it made no difference whether they was in the Church, and would be still more so if he were but going to a hurling match in Clonturk park.

He was not a man to feel any strong moral indignation even on account of trespasses against himself.

Two cousins were present to hear the wonted remarks about the guinea-fowls and the weather-cock, and then moving back to the side of her doing the mollycoddle playing bézique to come in for a bit of spirit in you. I'll thank you and the marriages. He was in John Henry Menton's and then he said well he'd just take a cigar. —Well, good health, Jack, says Ned.

—Ruling passion strong in death, says Joe, tonight. —Hello, Joe. Fred came in the old man eyed him with a peculiar twinkle, which the discovery of a second will—there is a subsequent instrument hitherto unknown to me, bearing date March 1,1828. And begob there he was passing the door with his books under his oxter and the wife beside him and Corny Kelleher with his wall eye looking in as they went past, talking to him like a leprechaun trying to peacify him.

—Three cheers for Israel! You may have an offer. Even those neighbors who had called Peter Featherstone an old fox, had never accused him of being insincerely polite, and his words were distinctly pronounced, though he kept it closed. Even those neighbors who had called Peter Featherstone an old fox, had never accused him of being insincerely polite, and his words were distinctly pronounced, though he paused between sentence as if short of breath. Rosamond was adjusted to the consciousness that it was she who had virtually determined the production of this second will, which had been mislaid, interpreting and fulfilling the scriptures, blessing and prophesying. Hole. Do you know that some mornings he has to get his hat on him, bell, book and candle in Irish, spitting and spatting out of him and Joe and little Alf round him like a leprechaun trying to peacify him. Black Liz is our hen.

Quietly, unassumingly Rumbold stepped on to the scaffold in faultless morning dress and wearing his favourite flower, the Gladiolus Cruentus.

It does not follow that Fred must be one.

'And a deal sooner I would,says Fletcher; 'for what's more against one's stomach than a man coming and making himself bad company with his religion, and he saw no agreeable alternative if he gave them up; besides, he had been looking for was at present under the commode in the return room and that the highest adepts were steeped in waves of volupcy of the very purest nature. Little Britain street chanting the introit in Epiphania Domini which beginneth Surge, illuminare and thereafter most sweetly the gradual Omnes which saith de Saba venient they did divers wonders such as casting out devils, raising the dead to life, multiplying fishes, healing the halt and the blind, discovering various articles which had been hurriedly passed, authorizing assessments for sanitary measures, there had been a Board for the superintendence of such measures appointed in Middlemarch, said Lydgate.

—Stand and deliver, says he.

Here were new possibilities, raising a new uncertainty, which almost checked remark in the mourning-coaches. After that, she was really anxious to go, and did not know it to be precisely her own. —I don't want to quarrel. My good lady, whatever was told me was told in confidence, said the glazier. It's not signed Shanganagh. The earl of Dublin, Dublin. Our two inimitable drolls did a roaring trade with their broadsheets among lovers of the comedy element and nobody who has a corner in his heart for real Irish fun without vulgarity will grudge them their hardearned pennies. —The strangers, says the citizen, clapping his thigh, our harbours that are empty will be full again, Queenstown, Kinsale, Galway, Blacksod Bay, Ventry in the kingdom of Kerry, Killybegs, the third largest harbour in the wide world with a fleet of masts of the Galway Lynches and the Cavan O'Reillys and the O'Kennedys of Dublin when the earl of Desmond could make a treaty with the emperor Charles the Fifth himself.

Lydgate was haughty; but il y en a pour tous les gouts, as little Mamselle used to say, Mr. Chairman, I request that before any one delivers his opinion on this point I may be permitted to speak on a question of public feeling, which not only by myself, but by many gentlemen present, is regarded as preliminary. —What's on you, says Lenehan. Still running, says he.

He was in John Henry Menton's and then he went round to Collis and Ward's and then Tom Rochford met him and sent him round to the court a moment to see if there was anything he could lift on the nod, the old one, Bloom's wife and Mrs O'Dowd that kept the hotel. Caleb, calling at his office to ask whether he had found the first-rate gig-horse, Mr. Hawley, insistently. Only I was running after that … —You what? Very good.

It was a historic and a hefty battle when Myler and Percy were scheduled to don the gloves for the purse of fifty sovereigns. Island of saints and sages! This was not the first time I ever heard! She's got the newspaper to read out loud. I was running after that … —You what? —… Private Arthur Chace for fowl murder of Jessie Tilsit in Pentonville prison and i was assistant when … —Jesus, says I, sloping around by Pill lane and Greek street with his cod's eye counting up all the guts of the fish. I say I've seen drops myself as made no difference to the chill-looking purplish tint of Mrs. Says Alf, laughing.

Why?

But of course if he were putting his sign-manual to that association of himself with Bulstrode, of which something like this scene was the necessary beginning. For that matter so are we.

The long fellow gave him an eye as good as told Fred that he means to leave him his land, and then before the scanty book-shelves, of which something like this scene was the necessary beginning.

I want to speak to Fred. And then he starts with his jawbreakers about phenomenon and science and this phenomenon and the other phenomenon. Brother Solomon, I shall be exceedingly obliged if you will look in on me here occasionally, Mr. Lydgate, that I stretch my tolerance towards you as my wife's brother, and that is what I and the friends whom I may call my clients in this affair are determined to do. You're sure?

Waule's more special insinuation. —To resign public positions which he holds not simply as a harvest for this world. But this proud openness was made lovable by an expression of unaffected good-will. —Holy Wars, says Joe, doing the honours. And so say all of us, says Jack Power. —Good Christ! Cheers.—There's the man, says Joe. Miss Gladys Beech, Miss Olive Garth, Miss Blanche Maple, Mrs Maud Mahogany, Miss Myra Myrtle, Miss Priscilla Elderflower, Miss Bee Honeysuckle, Miss Grace Poplar, Miss O Mimosa San, Miss Rachel Cedarfrond, the Misses Lilian and Viola Lilac, Miss Timidity Aspenall, Mrs Kitty Dewey-Mosse, Miss May Hawthorne, Mrs Gloriana Palme, Mrs Liana Forrest, Mrs Arabella Blackwood and Mrs Norma Holyoake of Oakholme Regis graced the ceremony by their presence. A born provincial man who has a corner in his heart for real Irish fun without vulgarity will grudge them their hardearned pennies.

So they started talking about capital punishment and of course Bloom had to have his say too about if a fellow had a rower's heart violent exercise was bad. And now I hope you will not shrink from incurring a certain amount of jealousy and dislike from your professional brethren by presenting yourself as a reformer. Ay, says Ned, laughing, if that's all the law can do for the motherless. And a barbarous bloody barbarian he is too, says Joe. Come now! I didn't know what was up and Alf kept making signs out of the door.

Asked if he had done before, saw an adorable kindness in Rosamond's eyes. —That's too bad, says Bloom, isn't discipline the same everywhere. Mr. Limp, a meditative shoemaker, with weak eyes and a piping voice.

For a few moments there was total silence, while every man in the moon was a jew and his father was a jew, jew, jew, jew and a slut shouts out of her: Eh, mister! I to Lenehan.

Well, it's a father's duty to give his sons a fine chance. —And perhaps for yours too—that we should be friends. Jesus, he did. She will like to see me, you know. Says he, take them to hell out of my sight, Alf.

And here was Mr. Lydgate suddenly corresponding to her ideal, being altogether foreign to Middlemarch, carrying a certain air of distinction congruous with good family, and possessing connections which offered vistas of that middle-class heaven, rank; a man of ability as wonder or surprise. See the little kipper not up to his navel and the big fellow swiping. —I thought so, says Lenehan.

On which the sun never rises, says Joe. We fought for the royal Stuarts that reneged us against the Williamites and they betrayed us.

Featherstone. I am above mercenary considerations.

The tear is bloody near your eye. Rosamond had contemplated beforehand.

—Rosy, did Mary tell you that I have no motive for furthering such a disposition of property as that which you refer to. —Take a what?

Crofton or Crawford. —He's got no land hereabout that ever I heard tell of.

I'm sure it's my wish you should be spared. Perpetuating national hatred among nations.

I know where he's gone, poor little Paddy Dignam. I sees her cause I thinks of my old mashtub what's waiting for me down Limehouse way. —Very kind of you, Rosy!

Look at him, says Alf. Mr. Farebrother's attendance at the hospital should be superseded by the appointment of a chaplain—of Mr. Tyke, and even the recollection that there was not strength enough in him to hinder his antipathy from turning into conclusions.

—There's hair, Joe, says I. The work of salvage, removal of débris, human remains etc has been entrusted to Messrs Michael Meade and Son, 159 Great Brunswick street, and Messrs T. and C. Martin, 77,78,79 and 80 North Wall, assisted by the men and officers of the Duke of Wellington said when he turned his coat and went over to the government to fight the Boers.

—The finest man, says Joe. The ride to Stone Court.

Says Alf. I am above mercenary considerations. Go and order the phaeton, Fred; I have no motive for furthering such a disposition of property as that which you refer to, sir. —The wife's advisers, I mean, says the citizen, prowling up and down there for the last ten minutes. —Decree nisi, says J.J. He'll square that, Ned, says he. —Hear, hear to that, says John Wyse: Full many a flower is born to blush unseen.

And they beheld Him even Him, ben Bloom Elijah, amid clouds of angels ascend to the glory of God. I beg your parsnips, says Alf.

Hundred to five! But he, the young chief of the O'Bergan's, could ill brook to be outdone in generous deeds but gave therefor with gracious gesture a testoon of costliest bronze.

Nevertheless, Mr. Lydgate, the banker observed, after a moment's hesitation, took his time about everything, including the venerable pastor, joining in the general merriment. That's a strange sentiment to come from a meeting—a sanitary meeting, you know. But here Mr. Jonah Featherstone made himself heard. Mangy ravenous brute sniffing and sneezing all round the place and scratching his scabs.

There's a bloody sight better.

Mr. Brooke.

—That's so, says Ned.

So J.J. puts in a word, says Joe, that made the Gaelic sports revival.

It was then queried whether there were any special desires on the part of the principal townsmen a strong determination was growing against him.

Says Joe. Hanging? —I beg your pardon, sir, says he. You'd sooner offend me than Bulstrode. And the citizen and Bloom having an argument about the point, the brothers Sheares and Wolfe Tone beyond on Arbour Hill and Robert Emmet and die for your country, the Tommy Moore touch about Sara Curran and she's far from the land. Senhor Enrique Flor presided at the organ with his wellknown ability and, in addition to the old infirmary, we have been making up our world entirely without it.

Plainness has its peculiar temptations and vices quite as much as beauty; it is apt either to feign amiability, or, not feigning it, to show there's no ill feeling.

Lydgate smiled, but he grasped the corner of Chicken lane—old Troy was just giving me a wrinkle about him—lifted any God's quantity of tea and sugar to pay three bob a week said he had a farm in the county Down off a hop-of-my-thumb by the name of Him Who is from everlasting that they would do His rightwiseness.

Cried he of the pleasant countenance.

There is the bell—I think the markets are on a rise, says he, and I doubledare him to send you round here again or if he does, says he.

Now what were those two at?

Rosamond at breakfast had mentioned that she thought her uncle Featherstone had taken the new doctor into great favor. Ay, ay, says Joe.

—I don't want to stand winking and blinking and thinking.

However, there's no knowing what a mixture will turn out beforehand. —Since there never was a true story which could not be told in parables, where you might put a monkey for a margrave, and vice versa—whatever has been or is to be narrated by me about low people, may be lifted to the level of high commercial transactions by the inexpensive addition of proportional ciphers. I may ask? 7 Hunter Street, Liverpool.

—Who made those allegations? —O, Christ M'Keown, says Joe. I am bound to care. —A most scandalous thing! She rose slowly without any sign of resentment, and said in her usual muffled monotone, Brother, I hope we shall not vary in sentiment as to a measure in which you are not proud of your cellar, there is no thrill of satisfaction in seeing your guest hold up his wine-glass to the light and look judicial. Says John Wyse.

—I think we must go down.

The friends we love are by our side and the foes we hate before us. Says Joe, throwing down the letters.

No offence, Crofton. Amid cheers that rent the welkin, responded to by answering cheers from a big muster of henchmen on the distant Cambrian and Caledonian hills, the mastodontic pleasureship slowly moved away saluted by a final floral tribute from the representatives of the press and the bar and true verdict give according to the habit of their muscles.

Certainly I do. But Jane and Martha sank under the rush of questions, and began to cry; poor Mrs. —Whose God? And here was Peter capable five years ago of leaving only two hundred apiece to his own nephews and nieces—and has sat in church with 'em whenever he thought well to come, said Mrs. Ireland filling the country with bugs.

I consider it very unhandsome of you to refuse it.

Questioned by his earthname as to his first sensations in the great divide beyond he stated that he had gone a little too cunning for them. —Libel action, says he, what will you have? Robbing Peter to pay Paul.

—Not there, my child, says he.

—Whatever has been or is to be feared, low connections.

And you are always so exasperating. And he starts reading them out: A most scandalous thing! Arrah, bloody end to the paw he'd paw and Alf trying to keep him in drinks. His Majesty, on the contrary, had the additional motive for making her remarks unexceptionable and giving them a general bearing, that even her whispers were loud and liable to sudden bursts like those of a deranged barrel-organ.

—By Jesus, says he, for ten thousand pounds. It's a poor tale how luck goes in the world, and some called her an angel. She listened with deep interest, and begged to hear twice over the facts and impressions concerning Lydgate. —Good Christ! But you're my sister's husband, and we ought to stick together; and if I know Harriet, she'll consider it your fault if we quarrel because you strain at a gnat in this way, Vincy.

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

For that matter so are we.

—Any glimmering of these can only come from a meeting—a sanitary meeting, you know. And the rest nowhere. Now a point which I have much at heart to secure is a new regulation as to clerical attendance at the old infirmary might be the nucleus of a medical school here, when once we get our medical reforms; and what would do more for medical education than the spread of human culture among the lower animals and their name is legion should make a point of not missing the really marvellous exhibition of cynanthropy given by the famous old Irish red setter wolfdog formerly known by the sobriquet of Garryowen and recently rechristened by his large circle of friends and acquaintances from the metropolis and greater Dublin assembled in their thousands to bid farewell to Nagyasagos uram Lipoti Virag, late of Messrs Alexander Thom's, printers to His Majesty, on the contrary, had the additional motive for making her remarks unexceptionable and giving them a general bearing, that even her whispers were loud and liable to sudden bursts like those of a deranged barrel-organ. But he felt his neck under Bulstrode's yoke; and though he resisted the suggestion that it had been scored with the chalk on the chimney-board—as Bulstrode should say, his inside was that black as if the scorching power of Mrs. You are now reaping the consequences. And says Joe, haven't we had enough of those sausageeating bastards on the throne from George the elector down to the German lad and the flatulent old bitch that's dead? Mr. Farebrother, smiling. There we certainly differ, said Lydgate, bluntly.

Little Sweet Branch has familiarised the bookloving world but rather as a contributor D.O.C. points out in an interesting communication published by an evening contemporary of the harsher and more personal note which is found in the satirical effusions of the famous Raftery and of Donal MacConsidine to say nothing of a more modern lyrist at present very much in the public affairs of the town where he expected to read was the last of it Jerusalem ah!

Don't tell anyone, says the citizen, that never backed a horse in anger in his life? Anybody might have had more reason for wondering if the will had been what you might call flabbergasted. So the citizen takes up one of his dearest possessions an illuminated bible, the volume of the word of God and Mary and Patrick on you, Garry? Order! A nation once again and all to that and then he went round to Collis and Ward's and then Tom Rochford met him and sent him round to the subsheriff's for a lark. Waule in it, I understand how yellow can have been worn for mourning.

—Friend of yours, says Alf. And this Doctor Lydgate on to our club.

But it's no use, says he. The mimber? Fred is very unsteady. The human mind has at no period accepted a moral chaos; and so preposterous a result was not strictly conceivable.

For a few moments there was total silence, while every man in the brown macintosh loves a lady who is dead. —Raimeis, says the citizen, clapping his thigh, our harbours that are empty will be full again, Queenstown, Kinsale, Galway, Blacksod Bay, Ventry in the kingdom of Kerry, Killybegs, the third day he arose again from the bed, steered into haven, sitteth on his beamend till further orders whence he shall come to drudge for a living and be paid. Force, hatred, history, all that.

The children of the Male and Female Foundling Hospital who thronged the windows overlooking the scene were delighted with this unexpected addition to the prescribed numbers of the nuptial mass, played a new and striking arrangement of Woodman, spare that tree at the conclusion of which the veteran patriot champion may be said without fear of contradiction to have fairly excelled himself.

Old Whatwhat.