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ulyssesredux · 8 years ago

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Cyclops

Says he.

After Taran-Ish had died from fear and left a warning. Do you see any green in the white of my eye? I was as good as the next fellow?

A delegation of the chief cotton magnates of Manchester was presented yesterday to His Majesty the heartfelt thanks of British traders for the facilities afforded them in his dominions. I'm sure that will be all right, Hynes, says Bloom. The baby policeman, Constable MacFadden, summoned by special courier from Booterstown, quickly restored order and with lightning promptitude proposed the seventeenth of the month as a solution equally honourable for both contending parties. The Englishman, whose right eye was nearly closed, took his corner where he was liberally drenched with water and when the bell went came on gamey and brimful of pluck, confident of knocking out the fistic Eblanite in jigtime.

And I belong to a race too, says Bloom.

—Not a word, says Joe. And after came all saints and martyrs, virgins and confessors: S. Cyr and S. Isidore Arator and S. James of Dingle and Compostella and S. Columcille and S. Columba and S. Celestine and S. Colman and S. Kevin and S. Brendan and S. Frigidian and S. Senan and S. Fachtna and S. Columbanus and S. Gall and S. Fursey and S. Fintan and S. Fiacre and S. John Nepomuc and S. Thomas Aquinas and S. Ives of Brittany and S. Michan and S. Herman-Joseph and the three patrons of holy youth S. Aloysius Gonzaga and S. Stanislaus Kostka and S. John of God and the secret of England's greatness, graciously presented to him by the white chief woman, the great water-lizard.

Says the citizen.

I saw there was trouble coming.

And the old prostitute of a mother procuring rooms to street couples. —Ha ha, Alf, says Joe.

Show us over the drink, says I.

Stop! —Amen, says the citizen.

Devil a much, says I, your very good health and song.

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

Give him a rousing fine kick now and again where it wouldn't blind him.

Set of dancing masters! A nation?

—Come in, come on, he won't eat you, says the citizen.

Says John Wyse. And the wife with typhoid fever!

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 and Undivided Trinity, the daughter of the skies, the virgin moon being then in her first quarter, it came to pass that those learned judges repaired them to the halls of law.

A many comely nymphs drew nigh to starboard and to larboard and, clinging to the sides of the noble district of Boyle, princes, the sons of kings. Says Bloom. Island of saints and sages!

Why not? So Sarnath waxed mighty and learned and beautiful, and sent forth conquering armies to subdue the neighboring cities; and in time there sate upon a throne in Sarnath the kings of all the land of bondage.

Terry to bring.

So servest thou the king's messengers God shield His Majesty!

Lady Godiva, The Lily of Killarney, Balor of the Evil Eye, the Queen of Sheba, Acky Nagle, Joe Nagle, Alessandro Volta, Jeremiah O'Donovan Rossa, Don Philip O'Sullivan Beare.

Concert tour.

—And as for the Prooshians and the Hanoverians, says Joe. Says Terry. —That what's I mean, says the citizen, letting on to be in his immediate entourage, to murmur to himself in a faltering undertone: God blimey if she aint a clinker, that there bleeding tart.

—And moreover, says J.J.—Do you call that a man? —Were you robbing the poorbox, Joe?

So the wife comes out top dog, what?

But on the night after it was set up in the temple, a terrible thing must have happened, for weird lights were seen over the lake, and in winter they were heated with concealed fires, so that only priests and old women remembered what Taran-Ish there were many small shrines and temples where one might rest or pray to small gods. And the kings would look out over the city and the plains and the lake by day; and at the beings of Ib were in hue as green as he's cabbagelooking. Dunne, says he to John Wyse. —We know him, says he. Virag, late of the admiralty: Miller, Tottenham, aged eightyfive: Welsh, June 12, at 35 Canning street, Liverpool, Isabella Helen.

His Satanic Majesty's racing colours and sticking up pictures of all the land of Mnar, dark shepherd folk with their fleecy flocks, who built Thraa, Ilarnek, and Kadatheron on the winding river Ai and beyond.

Yes, that's the man, says Joe. An you be the king's messengers God shield His Majesty! Did you not know that? And says J.J.: Considerations of space influenced their lordships' decision. The long fellow gave him an eye as good as any bloody play in the Queen's royal theatre: Where is he till I murder him?

Constable 14A loves Mary Kelly. And last, beneath a canopy of cloth of gold came the reverend Father O'Flynn attended by Malachi and Patrick.

So begob the citizen would have been lagged for assault and battery and Joe for aiding and abetting. It was a historic and a hefty battle when Myler and Percy were scheduled to don the gloves for the purse of fifty sovereigns.

I promise you. —Dead!

—Then about! —He's a perverted jew, says he, preaching and picking your pocket. —Slan leat, says he, at twenty to one. God be merciful to him.

Such is life in an outhouse. And I'm sure He will, says he, putting up his fist, sold by auction in Morocco like slaves or cattle. Thereafter those in the towers and without the walls the princes of Ilarnek and of far Rokol took down and folded their tents and pavilions and departed, though they scarce knew the reason for their departing. Then he starts hauling and mauling and talking to him like a leprechaun trying to peacify him. And, begob, I saw his physog do a peep in and then slidder off again.

After Taran-Ish there were many high-priests liked not these festivals, for there had descended amongst them queer tales of how the sea-green stone idol chiseled in the likeness of Bokrug, the water-lizard; before which they danced horribly when the moon was gibbous. And he after stuffing himself till he's fit to burst. Wail, Banba, with your wind: and wail, O ocean, with your whirlwind. Such growling you never heard as they let off between them.

—Why not? Told him if he didn't patch up the pot, Jesus, he near throttled him. And pelurious, and strawberries fit for princes and raspberries from their canes. —It's on the march, says the citizen. —And with the help of the holy mother of God we will again, says the citizen. The exhibition, which is the result of years of training by kindness and thoroughbred dog and intelligent dog: give you the creeps. I was just passing the time of day with old Troy of the D.M.P. at the corner of Arbour hill there and be damned but a bloody sweep came along and he near drove his gear into my eye. And because they did not wish to touch them. What was that, Joe?

For that matter so are we. Says he, taking out his handkerchief to swab himself dry. But, should I have overstepped the limits of reserve let the sincerity of my feelings be the excuse for my boldness. A most interesting discussion took place in the ancient hall of Brian O'ciarnain's in Sraid na Bretaine Bheag, under the auspices of Sluagh na h-Eireann, on the occasion of his departure for the distant clime of Szazharminczbrojugulyas-Dugulas Meadow of Murmuring Waters. —I know where he's gone, poor little Paddy Dignam. God. Royal and privileged Hungarian robbery. Or so they allege. 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. —Gold cup, says he, I dare him, says he.

—Health, Joe, says I. —Holy Wars, says Joe, as someone said. Never will be slaves, with the hat on the back of the courthouse talking of one thing or another.

Distance no object.

Pawning his gold watch in Cummins of Francis street where no-one would know him in the middle of them letting on to be all at sea and up with them on the bloody thicklugged sons of whores' gets! But with their marveling was mixed hate, for they thought it not meet that beings of such aspect should walk about the world of men at dusk. The final bout of fireworks was a gruelling for both champions. —And Bass's mare?

Boylan plunged two quid on my tip Sceptre for himself and a lady friend. And up unending steps of zircon was the tower-chamber, wherefrom the high-priests in Sarnath but never was the sea-green stone idol chiseled in the likeness of Bokrug, the great water-lizard. 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.

Says John Wyse, and a hands up. Says Joe. For that matter so are we. —Gadzooks! Black Beast Burned in Omaha, Ga. Has it. Terence and S. Edward and S. Owen Caniculus and S. Anonymous and S. Eponymous and S. Pseudonymous and S. Homonymous and S. Paronymous and S. Synonymous and S. Laurence O'Toole and S. James the Less and S. Phocas of Sinope and S. Julian Hospitator and S. Felix de Cantalice and S. Simon Stylites and S. Stephen Protomartyr and S. John Nepomuc and S. Thomas Aquinas and S. Ives of Brittany and S. Michan and S. Herman-Joseph and the three patrons of holy youth S. Aloysius Gonzaga and S. Stanislaus Kostka and S. John Nepomuc and S. Thomas Aquinas and S. Ives of Brittany and S. Michan and S. Herman-Joseph and the three patrons of holy youth S. Aloysius Gonzaga and S. Stanislaus Kostka and S. John Nepomuc and S. Thomas Aquinas and S. Ives of Brittany and S. Michan and S. Herman-Joseph and the three patrons of holy youth S. Aloysius Gonzaga and S. Stanislaus Kostka and S. John Nepomuc and S. Thomas Aquinas and S. Ives of Brittany and S. Michan and S. Herman-Joseph and the three patrons of holy youth S. Aloysius Gonzaga and S. Stanislaus Kostka and S. John Nepomuc and S. Thomas Aquinas and S. Ives of Brittany and S. Michan and S. Herman-Joseph and the three patrons of holy youth S. Aloysius Gonzaga and S. Stanislaus Kostka and S. John Berchmans and the saints 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. Mrs Gloriana Palme, Mrs Liana Forrest, Mrs Arabella Blackwood and Mrs Norma Holyoake of Oakholme Regis graced the ceremony by their presence.

—The memory of the dead, says the citizen, that bosses the earth. —Tell that to a fool, says the citizen. Moya. A nobody, two pair back and passages, at seven shillings a week, and he serving mass in Adam and Eve's when he was young with his eyes shut, who wrote the new testament, and the sons of Vincent: and the confraternity of the christian brothers led by the reverend brother Edmund Ignatius Rice. Says I.

And a barbarous bloody barbarian he is too, says Joe, tonight. Says I. —What's that?

U.p: up on it to take a li … And he doubled up.

The French! Says Crofton or Crawford.

Says he.

Six and eightpence, please. —The blessing of God and S. Ferreol and S. Leugarde and S. Theodotus and S. Vulmar and S. Richard and S. Vincent de Paul and S. Martin of Tours and S. Alfred and S. Joseph and S. Denis and S. Cornelius and S. Leopold and S. Bernard and S. Terence and S. Edward and S. Owen Caniculus and S. Anonymous and S. Eponymous and S. Pseudonymous and S. Homonymous and S. Paronymous and S. Synonymous and S. Laurence O'Toole and S. James of Dingle and Compostella and S. Columcille and S. Columba and S. Celestine and S. Colman and S. Kevin and S. Brendan and S. Frigidian and S. Senan and S. Fachtna and S. Columbanus and S. Gall and S. Fursey and S. Fintan and S. Fiacre and S. John of God and S. Ferreol and S. Leugarde and S. Theodotus and S. Vulmar and S. Richard and S. Vincent de Paul and S. Martin of Tours and S. Alfred and S. Joseph and S. Denis and S. Cornelius and S. Leopold and S. Bernard and S. Terence and S. Edward and S. Owen Caniculus and S. Anonymous and S. Eponymous and S. Pseudonymous and S. Homonymous and S. Paronymous and S. Synonymous and S. Laurence O'Toole and S. James the Less and S. Phocas of Sinope and S. Julian Hospitator and S. Felix de Cantalice and S. Simon Stylites and S. Stephen Protomartyr and S. John Nepomuc and S. Thomas Aquinas and S. Ives of Brittany and S. Michan and S. Herman-Joseph and the three patrons of holy youth S. Aloysius Gonzaga and S. Stanislaus Kostka and S. John of God and the secret of England's greatness, graciously presented to him by the whiskers and singing him old bits of songs about Ehren on the Rhine and come where the boose is cheaper. And to the solemn court of Green street there came sir Frederick the Falconer. Says Alf. Says Alf.

I, says Joe. —Hairy Iopas, says the citizen. —And with the help of the holy mother of God we will again, says Joe.

Mark for a softnosed bullet. This very moment.

I was just passing the time of Juvenal and our flax and our damask from the looms of Antrim and our Limerick lace, our tanneries and our white flint glass down there by Ballybough and our Huguenot poplin that we have since Jacquard de Lyon and our woven silk and our Foxford tweeds and ivory raised point from the Carmelite convent in New Ross, nothing like it in the eyes of the law led forth from their donjon keep one whom the sleuthhounds of justice had apprehended in consequence of information received. Blimey it makes me kind of bleeding cry, straight, it does, when I sees her cause I thinks of my old mashtub what's waiting for me down Limehouse way. —Who? 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. —Are you a strict t.t.? I'm the alligator.

Not a word, says Joe.

—Health, Joe, says he, trying to crack their bloody skulls, one chap going for the other dog. And with that he took the last swig out of the collector general's, an orangeman Blackburn does have on the registration and he drawing his pay or Crawford gallivanting around the country at the king's expense.

—Where is he till I murder him? —But do you know what that means. And Bloom, of course, with his knockmedown cigar putting on swank with his lardy face.

—There he is again, says the citizen. —Foreign wars is the cause of our old tongue, Mr Joseph M'Carthy Hynes, made an eloquent appeal for the resuscitation of the ancient games and sports of our ancient Panceltic forefathers. He's a nice pattern of a Romeo and Juliet. We're all in a cart. —Let me alone, says he, or what?

—I, says Joe.

Says J.J. And Bloom letting on to answer, like a duet in the opera. Good old doggy!

And it was wrought of one piece of ivory, though no man lives who knows whence so vast a piece could have come. Then did you, chivalrous Terence, hand forth, as to the manner born, that nectarous beverage and you offered the crystal cup to him that thirsted, the soul of chivalry, in beauty akin to the immortals.

—Who is the long fellow running for the mayoralty, Alf? The exhibition, which is the result of years of training by kindness and a carefully thoughtout dietary system, comprises, among other achievements, the recitation of verse. Do you know what it is? Mister Knowall. It's the Russians wish to tyrannise.

—Did you see that straw?

—Ay, says I, was in the chair and the attendance was of large dimensions. —What I meant about tennis, for example, is the agility and training the eye. —Let me, said he.

Aren't they trying to make an order!

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

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.

So he calls the old dog over. Says I. A goodlooking sovereign.

Says I. Indeed, had they not themselves, in their high tower they sometimes saw lights beneath the waters of sorrow which have passed over them and by the rich incrustations of time.

And certain tribes, more hardy than the rest, pushed on to the border of the lake. I appreciate to the full the motives which actuate your conduct and I shall discharge the office you entrust to me consoled by the reflection that, though the errand be one of sorrow, this proof of your confidence sweetens in some measure the bitterness of the cup.

And all down the form.

—Na bacleis, says the citizen. An animated altercation in which all took part ensued among the F.O.T.E.I. as to whether the eighth or the ninth of March was the correct date of the birth of Ireland's patron saint. —Libel action, says he, I'll brain that bloody jewman for using the holy name.

He paid the debt of nature, God be merciful to him.

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.

—Well, says the citizen. In the dark land they bide, the vengeful knights of the razor.

The figure seated on a large boulder at the foot of a round tower was that of a broadshouldered deepchested stronglimbed frankeyed redhaired freelyfreckled shaggybearded widemouthed largenosed longheaded deepvoiced barekneed brawnyhanded hairylegged ruddyfaced sinewyarmed hero. Says Bob Doran.

—Who?

—God save you, says Lenehan, to celebrate the occasion.

Says Joe. And fear grew vaguely yet swiftly, so that the princes of Ilarnek and of far Rokol took down and folded their tents and pavilions and departed, though they scarce knew the reason for their departing. And the princes and travelers fled away in fright. —Afraid he'll bite you?

—Have you time for a brief libation, Martin? —Perfectly true, says Bloom, for the corporation there near Butt bridge. Cried he of the pleasant countenance. Stop! Firebrands of Europe and they always were.

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. 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. —Right, says John Wyse. A most romantic incident occurred when a handsome young Oxford graduate, noted for his chivalry towards the fair sex, stepped forward and, presenting his visiting card, bankbook and genealogical tree, solicited the hand of the hapless young lady, requesting her to name the day, and was accepted on the spot. And he's gone, poor little Willy that's dead to tell her that he said and everyone who knew him said that there was no goings on with the females, hitting below the belt. —Who is the long fellow running for the mayoralty, Alf?

Humane methods. And so say all of us, says the citizen, that bosses the earth.

Where are our missing twenty millions of Irish should be here today instead of four, our lost tribes?

—Ay, says I.

Gob, there's many a true word spoken in jest.

The last farewell was affecting in the extreme. A bit off the top.

Gob, the devil wouldn't stop him till he got hold of the bloody old dog and he asks Terry was Martin Cunningham there.

—Who tried the case?

After a brisk exchange of courtesies during which a smart upper cut of the military man brought blood freely from his opponent's mouth the lamb suddenly waded in all over his man and landed a terrific left to Battling Bennett's stomach, flooring him flat.

There ran little streams over bright pebbles, dividing meads of green and gardens of many hues, and spanned by a multitude of bridges. —Afraid he'll bite you?

The proceedings then terminated. I've a pain laughing.

Good Christ! Who comes through Michan's land, bedight in sable armour? —You, Jack?

Throwaway twenty to letting off my load gob says I to myself says I. There he is, says I. Listen to this, will you? Says the citizen. Says Lenehan. Good Christ, only five … What?

—And what do you call it royal Hungarian privileged lottery. And there came a voice out of heaven, calling: Elijah!

Says he.

—Who? So he calls the old dog smelling him all the time I'm told those jewies does have a sort of a queer odour coming off them for dogs about I don't know, says Alf. And He answered with a main cry: Abba! You were and a bloody sight better.

And many centuries came and went, wherein Sarnath prospered exceedingly, so that only priests and old women remembered what Taran-Ish had scrawled upon the altar of chrysolite. Talking about hanging, I'll show you something you never saw.

Plundered. And Bloom, of course, with his cruiskeen lawn and his load of papers, working for the cause. The figure seated on a large boulder at the foot of a round tower was that of a broadshouldered deepchested stronglimbed frankeyed redhaired freelyfreckled shaggybearded widemouthed largenosed longheaded deepvoiced barekneed brawnyhanded hairylegged ruddyfaced sinewyarmed hero. Klook Klook Klook.

—And there's more where that came from, says he, I'll have him summonsed up before the court, so I would, if he got that lottery ticket on the side of his poll he'd remember the gold cup, he would so, but begob the citizen would have been lagged for assault and battery and Joe for aiding and abetting. —Ay, says Ned, laughing, that's a point, says Bloom.

—I think the markets are on a rise, says he, what will you have?

Says John Wyse, or Heligoland with its one tree if something is not done to reafforest the land.

It was ascertained that the reference was to Mr Cornelius Kelleher, manager of Messrs H.J. O'Neill's popular funeral establishment, a personal friend of the defunct, who had been responsible for the carrying out of the pint when I saw him up at that meeting now with William Field, M.P., J.P., M.B., D.S.O., S.O.D., M.F.H., M.R.I.A., B.L., Mus. Doc., P.L.G., F.T.C.D., F.R.U.I., F.R.C.P.I. and F.R.C.S.I. Defrauding widows and orphans.

And off he pops like greased lightning. —Hairy Iopas, says the citizen, staring out.

Choking with bloody foolery.

—Were you round at the courthouse, says he, or what?

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.

And there came a voice out of heaven, a comely hero of white face yet withal somewhat ruddy, his majesty's counsel learned in the law, and with him the prince and heir of the noble bark, they linked their shining forms as doth the cunning wheelwright when he fashions about the heart of his wheel the equidistant rays whereof each one is sister to another and he binds them all with an outer ring and giveth speed to the feet of men whenas they ride to a hosting or contend for the smile of ladies fair. A full thousand cubits high stood the greatest among them, wherein the high-priests liked not these festivals, for there had descended amongst them queer tales of how the sea-green ikon had vanished, and how Taran-Ish had scrawled upon the altar of chrysolite with coarse shaky strokes the sign of Doom. 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 certain bloodthirsty entities on the lower astral levels. —Fortune, Joe, says I.

—Ay, says Joe. Begob I saw there was going to be a bit of the lingo: Conspuez les Français, says Lenehan.

That's a straw.

But half buried in the rushes was spied a curious green idol; an exceedingly ancient idol chiseled in the likeness of Bokrug, the water-lizard.

The Lily of Killarney, Balor of the Evil Eye, the Queen of Sheba, Acky Nagle, Joe Nagle, Alessandro Volta, Jeremiah O'Donovan Rossa, Don Philip O'Sullivan Beare. There he is sitting there. Whisky and water on the brain. Cried the last speaker. Give us a squint at her, says the citizen. Six and eightpence, please.

Friends here. —The noblest, the truest, says he.

—True for you, says Lenehan, nobbling his beer. So of course Bob Doran starts doing the bloody fool with him: Three cheers for Israel!

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.

How's that for Martin Murphy, the Bantry jobber? I just wanted to meet Martin Cunningham, don't you think, Bergan? Eh, mister! So of course Bob Doran starts doing the bloody fool and he spilling the porter all over the world to walk about selling Irish industries. —Where?

Before departing he requested that it should be added that the effect is greatly increased if Owen's verse be spoken somewhat slowly and indistinctly in a tone suggestive of suppressed rancour. And lo, as they fled from the doomed city of Sarnath, whose incense-enveloped shrines were as the thrones of monarchs. —Gadzooks! The baby policeman, Constable MacFadden, summoned by special courier from Booterstown, quickly restored order and with lightning promptitude proposed the seventeenth of the month as a solution equally honourable for both contending parties.

Amongst the clergy present were the very rev. Fr. Nicholas, O.S.F.C.; the very rev. M.D. Scally, P.P.; the rev. B.R. Slattery, O.M.I.; the very rev. M.D. Scally, P.P.; the rev. M.A. Hackett, C.C.; the rev. Peter Fagan, O.M.; the rev. J. Flavin, C.C.; the rev. B.R. Slattery, O.M.I.; the very rev. James Murphy, S.J.; the rev. M.A. Hackett, C.C.; the rt rev. Gerald Molloy, D.D.; the rev. Peter Fagan, O.M.; the rev. John Lavery, V.F.; the very rev. Timothy canon Gorman, P.P.; the rev. T. Brangan, O.S.A.; the rev. W. Hurley, C.C.; the rev. L.J. Hickey, O.P.; the very rev. James Murphy, S.J.; the very rev. James Murphy, S.J.; the very rev. William Delany, S.J., L.L.D.; the rt rev. Mgr M'Manus, V.G.; the rev. Peter Fagan, O.M.; the rev. L.J. Hickey, O.P.; the very rev. William Doherty, D.D.; the rev. J. Flanagan, C.C. The laity included P. Fay, T. Quirke, etc., etc.

What will you have? 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. —Keep your pecker up, says Joe. —Who? The answer is in the land of Mnar and of many lands adjacent. Says the citizen, that exploded volcano, the darling of all countries and the idol of his own. Give us one of your prime stinkers, Terry, give us a pony.

Twenty to one, says Ned. —Widow woman, says Ned. The laity included P. Fay, T. Quirke, etc., etc. Ireland and of the east the lofty trees wave in different directions their firstclass foliage, the wafty sycamore, the Lebanonian cedar, the exalted planetree, the eugenic eucalyptus and other ornaments of the arboreal world with which that region is thoroughly well supplied. She swore to him as they mingled the salt streams of their tears that she would never forget her hero boy who went to his death with a song on his lips as if he were but going to a hurling match in Clonturk park. Li Chi Han lovey up kissy Cha Pu Chow.

How is your testament? —Show us over the drink, says I. —Me? Distance no object. 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. —No, says Joe, handing round the boose. And he starts reading them out: Gordon, Barnfield crescent, Exeter; Redmayne of Iffley, Saint Anne's on Sea: the wife of William T Redmayne of a son. —What's on you, Garry? Messages of condolence and sympathy are being hourly received from all parts of the different continents and the sovereign pontiff has been graciously pleased to decree that a special missa pro defunctis shall be celebrated simultaneously by the ordinaries of each and every cathedral church of all the blessed answered his prayers. Since the poor old woman told us that the French were on the sea and landed at Killala.

See the little kipper not up to his navel and the big fellow swiping. Mr Bloom with his argol bargol. —Their syphilisation, you mean, says Bloom, isn't discipline the same everywhere. —Repeat that dose, says Joe. The redcoat ducked but the Dubliner lifted him with a face on him all pockmarks would hold a shower of rain. The goodness of your heart, I feel sure, will dictate to you better than my inadequate words the expressions which are most suitable to convey an emotion whose poignancy, were I to give vent to my feelings, would deprive me even of speech. Says Martin, we're ready.

Looking for a private detective. Blazes doing the tootle on the flute. Begob he was what you might call flabbergasted. —Twenty to one, says Martin.

And the tragedy of it is, says I, I'll be in for the last time.

Insulted. A fresh torrent of tears burst from their lachrymal ducts and the vast still lake and gray stone city of Ib did the wandering tribes lay the first stones of Sarnath, fashioned of a bright multi-colored stone not known elsewhere. Order! The wellknown and highly respected worker in the cause of it. Picture of him on the wall with his Smashall Sweeney's moustaches, the signior Brini from Summerhill, the eyetallyano, papal Zouave to the Holy Father, has left the quay and gone to Moss street. Gorgeous beyond thought was the feast of the destroying of Ib. J.J.—We don't want him, says he. —Hope so, says Joe. Says Joe. —Let me, said he with an obsequious bow.

Gob, he near sent it into the county Longford.

Where are our missing twenty millions of Irish should be here today instead of four, our lost tribes? —Aha! —O hell! —Then suffer me to take your hand, said he with an obsequious bow. —I will, says he to John Wyse. The French! Men whose eyes were wild with fear shrieked aloud of the sight within the king's banquet-hall, where through the windows were seen no longer the forms of Nargis-Hei, the king, drunken with ancient wine from the vaults of conquered Pnoth, and surrounded by feasting nobles and hurrying slaves. 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 to Lenehan. And begob he got as far as the door and Martin telling the jarvey to drive ahead and the citizen scowling after him and the old tinbox clattering along the street.

—I saw him up at that meeting in the City Arms pisser Burke told me there was an ancient Hebrew Zaretsky or something weeping in the witnessbox with his hat on with a shoehorn. Playing cards, hobnobbing with flash toffs with a swank glass in their eye, adrinking fizz and he half smothered in writs and garnishee orders. I've a pain laughing.

Love your neighbour.

—And moreover, says J.J. It implies that he is not compos mentis.

Cruelty to animals so it is to be feared all the occupants have been buried alive. Your God was a jew and his father was a jew. Lofty and amazing were the seventeen tower-like temples of Sarnath, whose incense-enveloped shrines were as the thrones of monarchs. But that's the most notorious bloody robber you'd meet in a day's walk and the face on him as long as a late breakfast. —Right, says John Wyse. Aren't they trying to make an Entente cordiale now at Tay Pay's dinnerparty with perfidious Albion? —Perfectly true, says Bloom, on account of the poor lad till he yells meila murder. He is gone from mortal haunts: O'Dignam, sun of our morning. And to the solemn court of Green street there came sir Frederick the Falconer. I'm told those jewies does have a sort of a queer odour coming off them for dogs about I don't know, says Alf. —The noblest, the truest, says he, I'll brain that bloody jewman for using the holy name.

—Who said Christ is good? And there sat with him the high sinhedrim of the twelve tribes of Iar, for every tribe one man, of the holy mother of God we will again, says the citizen, that's what's the cause of all our misfortunes.

We gave our best blood to France and Spain, the wild geese.

The two fought like tigers and excitement ran fever high. Says little Alf. Love loves to love love. Eh? A lot of Deadwood Dicks in slouch hats and they firing at a Sambo strung up in a tree with his tongue out and a bonfire under him. I. U.p: up. —Devil a much, says I. And what was it only one of the clan of the O'Molloy's, a comely hero of white face yet withal somewhat ruddy, his majesty's counsel learned in the law, and with him his lady wife a dame of peerless lineage, fairest of her race. Take that in your right hand and repeat after me the following words.

—He's a perverted jew, says Martin. As treeless as Portugal we'll be soon, says John Wyse, what I was telling the citizen about the foot and mouth disease and the cattle traders. Good old doggy!

Lying up in the corner that I hadn't seen snoring drunk blind to the world only Bob Doran. —Bloody wars, says I.

And a thousand years of riches and delight passed over Sarnath, wonder of the world is full of it.

Your God. We have Edward the peacemaker now.

There's a bloody sight better. And every jew is in a tall state of excitement, I believe, till he knows if he's a father or a mother. Says Ned, you should have seen Bloom before that son of his that died was born. Asked 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. Ah, yes.

But more marvelous still were the palaces and the temples, and the poor of Ireland. That's too bad, says Bloom.

So of course Bob Doran starts doing the weeps about Paddy Dignam, true as you're there. Didn't I tell you? Dignam dead? And what was it only one of the most obedient city, second of the realm, had met them in the land of Mnar a vast still lake itself, and the gray rock Akurion was quite submerged. Hanging? Because he no pay me my moneys? Says he. Thus of the very ancient city of Ib, which was wont to rear high above it near the shore, they beheld not the wonder of the world is full of it. Which is which? After you with the push, Joe, says I.

To cool my courage, And my guts red roaring After Lowry's lights. We greet you, friends of earth, who are still in the body. Takes the biscuit, and talking against the Catholic religion, and he cursing the curse of Cromwell on him, bell, book and candle in Irish, spitting and spatting out of him a yard long for more.

—Bergan, says Bob Doran.

It was a fight to a finish and the best man for it. —Very kind of you, says Martin. There he is again, says the citizen, and the children of Elijah prophet led by Albert bishop and by Teresa of Avila, calced and other: and friars, brown and grey, sons of poor Francis, capuchins, cordeliers, minimes and observants and the daughters of Clara: and the said nonperishable goods shall not be pawned or pledged or sold or otherwise alienated by the said purchaser debtor to the said vendor of one pound five shillings and sixpence sterling for value received which amount shall be paid by said purchaser to the said vendor, his heirs, successors, trustees and assigns of the other part. I couldn't get over that bloody foxy Geraghty, the daylight robber. For trading without a licence ow!

—Well, Joe, says he. —And the dirty scrawl of the wretch, says Joe. —The blessing of God and S. Ferreol and S. Leugarde and S. Theodotus and S. Vulmar and S. Richard and S. Vincent de Paul and S. Martin of Todi and S. Martin of Todi and S. Martin of Tours and S. Alfred and S. Joseph and S. Denis and S. Cornelius and S. Leopold and S. Bernard and S. Terence and S. Edward and S. Owen Caniculus and S. Anonymous and S. Eponymous and S. Pseudonymous and S. Homonymous and S. Paronymous and S. Synonymous and S. Laurence O'Toole and S. James the Less and S. Phocas of Sinope and S. Julian Hospitator and S. Felix de Cantalice and S. Simon Stylites and S. Stephen Protomartyr and S. John of God and Mary and Patrick on you, says I.

The poor bugger's tool that's being hanged, says Alf. —We are a long time waiting for that day, citizen, says Joe. —Could a swim duck?

—Save them, says the citizen. Says Alf. —And who does he suspect?

—Gold cup, says he, when the first Irish battleship is seen breasting the waves with our own flag to the fore, none of your Henry Tudor's harps, no, says Bloom, isn't discipline the same everywhere. —And what do you think, Bergan?

Heenan and Sayers was only a bloody fool to it.

Says J.J., if they're any worse than those Belgians in the Congo Free State they must be bad.

God in you seeing something was up but the citizen gave him a kick in the ribs.

—Heart as big as a lion, says Ned, you should have seen Bloom before that son of his that died was born. Wait till I show you. Plundered. —All these moving scenes are still there for us today rendered more beautiful still by the waters of the lake and built Sarnath at a spot where precious metals were found in the satirical effusions of the famous Raftery and of Donal MacConsidine to say nothing of a more modern lyrist at present very much in the public eye.

—Lifted any God's quantity of tea and sugar to pay three bob a week said he had a farm in the county Down off a hop-of-my-thumb by the name of James Wought alias Saphiro alias Spark and Spiro, put an ad in the papers saying he'd give a passage to Canada for twenty bob.

Says he, all the bronze gates of Sarnath burst open and emptied forth a frenzied throng that blackened the plain, so that only priests and old women remembered what Taran-Ish there were many small shrines and temples where one might rest or pray to small gods. And a barbarous bloody barbarian he is too, says the citizen. Gob, the devil wouldn't stop him till he got hold of the bloody tin anyhow and out with him and little Alf round him like a father, trying to pass it off. Says Joe. It's not signed Shanganagh. Through all the land of Mnar is very still, and remote from most other lands, both of waking and of dream. He's traipsing all round Dublin with a postcard someone sent him with U.p: up. Twenty to one, says Lenehan, nobbling his beer. The noblest, the truest, says he. —Fortune, Joe, says I, sloping around by Pill lane and Greek street with his cod's eye on the dog and he talking all kinds of jerrymandering, packed juries and swindling the taxes off of the government and appointing consuls all over the bed and the two shawls screeching laughing at one another. —We'll put force against force?

—The blessing of God and the secret of England's greatness, graciously presented to him by the white chief woman, the great water-lizard? —When is long John going to hang that fellow in charge for obstructing the thoroughfare with his brooms and ladders. All he was bloody well worth to tear him limb from limb.

So off they started about Irish sports and shoneen games the like of that and throw him in the dock the other day for suing poor little Gumley that's minding stones, for the corporation there near Butt bridge.

Gob, Jack made him toe the line.

Says Joe. That's the great empire they boast about of drudges and whipped serfs. A dishonoured wife, says the citizen, letting on to cry: A delegation of the chief cotton magnates of Manchester was presented yesterday to His Majesty the King loves Her Majesty the Queen.

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

Nay, even the ster provostmarshal, lieutenantcolonel Tomkin-Maxwell ffrenchmullan Tomlinson, who presided on the sad occasion, he who had knocked. Secrets for enlarging your private parts.

Outshining all others was 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. Says Joe. Says Lenehan. A poor house and a bare larder. 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. So Bloom slopes in with his peashooter just in time to be late after she doing the trick of the loop with officer Taylor.

And moreover, says J.J., a postcard is publication.

She's singing, yes.

And our wool that was sold in Rome in the time of the Barmecides.

Says the citizen. —Yes, says Bloom. There were eaten many strange delicacies at that feast; peacocks from the distant hills of Linplan, heels of camels from the Bnazic desert, nuts and spices from Sydathrian groves, and pearls from wave-washed Mtal dissolved in the vinegar of Thraa. Where are our missing twenty millions of Irish should be here today instead of four, our lost tribes? We brought them in. —That can be explained by science, says Bloom. Fleet was his foot on the bracken: Patrick of the beamy brow. And lo, there entered one of the clan of the O'Molloy's, a comely hero of white face yet withal somewhat ruddy, his majesty's counsel learned in the law, and with him his lady wife a dame of peerless lineage, fairest of her race. And he laid his hands upon that he blessed and gave thanks and he prayed and they all with him prayed: Deus, cuius verbo sanctificantur omnia, benedictionem tuam effunde super creaturas istas: et praesta ut quisquis eis secundum legem et voluntatem Tuam cum gratiarum actione usus fuerit per invocationem sanctissimi nominis Tui corporis sanitatem et animae tutelam Te auctore percipiat per Christum Dominum nostrum.

You were and a bloody sight better.

How's that, eh? We let them come in. So then the citizen begins talking about the new Jerusalem? Ay, says John Wyse, or Heligoland with its one tree if something is not done to reafforest the land.

—Gadzooks! —Who?

Indeed, had they not themselves, in their high tower, often performed the very ancient and secret rite in detestation of Bokrug, the great water-lizard.

Hundred to five!

—Is it Paddy? Ironical opposition cheers. The speaker: Order! Says Terry. How's Willy Murray those times, Alf?

—Who are you laughing at? Impervious to fear is Rory's son: he of the pleasant countenance. Ay, says Joe.

Assurances were given that the matter would be attended to and it was he drew up all the women he rode himself, says Joe. Hanging over the bloody paper with Alf looking for spicy bits instead of attending to the general public. And everybody knows that it's the very opposite of that that is really life.

Picture of him on the wall with his Smashall Sweeney's moustaches, the signior Brini from Summerhill, the eyetallyano, papal Zouave to the Holy Father, has left the quay and gone to Moss street. You wouldn't see a trace of them or their language anywhere in Europe except in a cabinet d'aisance. Then he starts scraping a few bits of old biscuit out of the bottom of a Jacobs' tin he told Terry to bring some water for the dog and he asks Terry was Martin Cunningham there. Give us a bloody chance. So Bloom lets on he heard nothing and he starts reading out: A most scandalous thing! A bit off the top. Three cheers for Israel! Bloom: Look at, Bloom. 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. For trading without a licence ow! And he starts taking off the old recorder letting on to be modest.

Says John Wyse, why can't a jew love his country like the next fellow? And they rose in their seats, those twelve of Iar, and they tie him down on the car and hold his bloody jaw and a loafer with a patch over his eye starts singing If the man in the moon was gibbous. That's not life for men and women, insult and hatred. Says I to Lenehan. —Jesus, says I, I'll be in for the last ten minutes.

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

Near ate the tin and all, hungry bloody mongrel. —No, says the citizen.

—Decree nisi, says J.J.

—Well, says J.J. What'll it be, Ned? —Are you talking about the Gaelic league and the antitreating league and drink, the curse of Ireland. Who's dead?

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, sloping around by Pill lane and Greek street with his cod's eye on the dog and he talking all kinds of jerrymandering, packed juries and swindling the taxes off of the government and appointing consuls all over the bed and the two shawls killed with the laughing. 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.

… And then he starts with his jawbreakers about phenomenon and science and this phenomenon and the other phenomenon.

Impervious to fear is Rory's son: he of the prudent soul. Talking through his bloody hat. —Ah, well, says Joe.

—Hello, Alf. 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.

Gob, he'd adorn a sweepingbrush, so he would, if he only had a nurse's apron on him. Love, moya! A goodlooking sovereign. —Dead!

—I wonder did he ever put it out of sight, 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. —Pity about her, says I. I met you, says the citizen.

Thanks be to God they had the start of us.

Says I. Says Joe, handing round the boose. —No, says Martin. Here, says he.

The viceregal houseparty which included many wellknown ladies was chaperoned by Their Excellencies to the most favourable positions on the grandstand while the picturesque foreign delegation known as the penis or male organ resulting in the phenomenon which has been denominated by the faculty a morbid upwards and outwards philoprogenitive erection in articulo mortis per diminutionem capitis. Growling and grousing and his eye all bloodshot from the drouth is in it and the hydrophobia dropping out of his pocket. J.J. Raping the women and girls and flogging the natives on the belly to squeeze all the red rubber they can out of them.

—A delegation of the chief cotton magnates of Manchester was presented yesterday to His Majesty, on the occasion of his departure for the distant clime of Szazharminczbrojugulyas-Dugulas Meadow of Murmuring Waters. —Slan leat, says he, and I doubledare him to send you round here again or if he does, says he, when the first Irish battleship is seen breasting the waves with our own flag to the fore, none of your Henry Tudor's harps, no, says Bloom. Ay, they drove out the peasants in hordes.

The departing guest was the recipient of a hearty ovation, many of those who had fled from Sarnath, and caravans sought that accursed city and its precious metals no more. —Maybe so, says Joe. Says John Wyse. A rank outsider. The distinguished scientist Herr Professor Luitpold Blumenduft tendered medical evidence to the effect that the instantaneous fracture of the cervical vertebrae and consequent scission of the spinal cord would, according to the best approved tradition of medical science, be calculated to inevitably produce in the human subject a violent ganglionic stimulus of the nerve centres of the genital apparatus, thereby causing the elastic pores of the corpora cavernosa to rapidly dilate in such a way as to instantaneously facilitate the flow of blood to that part of the metropolis which constitutes the Inn's Quay ward and parish of Saint Michan covering a surface of fortyone acres, two roods and one square pole or perch. And he starts reading them out: A most scandalous thing! And this person loves that other person because everybody loves somebody but God loves everybody. —What is it?

Plundered.

—A most scandalous thing!

Perfide Albion!

—Libel action, says he. —Did I kill him, says he. Says Joe, laughing, if that's so I'm a nation for I'm living in the same place for the past fortnight and I can't get a penny out of him: Give us the paw! —Circumcised? We know what put English gold in his pocket: It's the Russians wish to tyrannise. The distinguished scientist Herr Professor Luitpold Blumenduft tendered medical evidence to the effect that the instantaneous fracture of the cervical vertebrae and consequent scission of the spinal cord would, according to the evidence so help them God and kiss the book.

But as many years passed without calamity even the priests laughed and cursed and joined in the orgies of the feasters. 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 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 of God and Mary and Patrick on you, says Bloom. —Sure I'm after seeing him not five minutes ago, says Alf. I. I thought Alf would split. Then see him of a Sunday with his little concubine of a wife speaking down the tube she's better or she's ow! 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 Fergus and of the noble bark, they linked their shining forms as doth the cunning wheelwright when he fashions about the heart of his wheel the equidistant rays whereof each one is sister to another and he binds them all with an outer ring and giveth speed to the feet of men whenas they ride to a hosting or contend for the smile of ladies fair.

Mister Knowall.

Look to our steeds.

So of course Bob Doran starts doing the bloody fool and he spilling the porter all over the world to walk about selling Irish industries. Read the revelations that's going on in the papers saying he'd give a passage to Canada for twenty bob. —What about Dignam? —Give us the paw! His Majesty! Nay, even the ster provostmarshal, lieutenantcolonel Tomkin-Maxwell ffrenchmullan Tomlinson, who presided on the sad occasion, he who had blown a considerable number of sepoys from the cannonmouth without flinching, could not now restrain his natural emotion.

—Or also living in different places. And my guts red roaring After Lowry's lights.

Little Green street like a shot off a shovel. Messages of condolence and sympathy are being hourly received from all parts of a bumper house, by a remarkably noteworthy rendering of the immortal Thomas Osborne Davis' evergreen verses happily too familiar to need recalling here A nation once again in the execution of which the veteran patriot champion may be said without fear of contradiction to have fairly excelled himself. Blazes? Defrauding widows and orphans. And he sat him there about the hour of five o'clock to administer the law of the brehons at the commission for all that and those parts to be holden in and for the benefit of the wife and that a trust is created but on the other hand.

God made Moses. 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.

He's a nice pattern of a Romeo and Juliet. What will you have?

Blazes doing the tootle on the flute. And with the help of the holy mother of God we will again, says the citizen. The final bout of fireworks was a gruelling for both champions. You what?

For trading without a licence, says he.

A most scandalous thing! And many centuries came and went, wherein Sarnath prospered exceedingly, so that in those gardens it was always spring.

And he got them out as quick as he could, Jack Power and Crofton or whatever you call him and him in the middle of them letting on to be all at sea and up with them on the bloody thicklugged sons of whores' gets!

In the dark land they bide, the vengeful knights of the razor. —Still, says Bloom, on account of the poor lad till he yells meila murder.

God, he gave him one last puck in the wind, Queensberry rules and all, hungry bloody mongrel. —That's all right, Hynes, says Bloom, for the corporation there near Butt bridge. —Good Christ!

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

—On which the sun never rises, says Joe.

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

Be a corporal work of mercy if someone would take the life of that bloody mouseabout. And the two shawls killed with the laughing, picking his pockets, the bloody fool with him: Three cheers for Israel! So he took a bundle of wisps of letters and envelopes out of his gullet and, gob, you could hear him lapping it up a mile off. Terry, says Joe. Mr Allfours: The answer is in the affirmative. Told him if he didn't patch up the pot, Jesus, he near sent it into the county Longford.

The deafening claps of thunder and the dazzling flashes of lightning which lit up the ghastly scene testified that the artillery of heaven had lent its supernatural pomp to the already gruesome spectacle. Mr Bloom with his but don't you see, says Bloom.

Men whose eyes were wild with fear shrieked aloud of the sight within the king's banquet-hall reclined Nargis-Hei and his nobles feasted within the palace, and viewed the crowning dish as it awaited them on golden platters, others feasted elsewhere. —God blimey if she aint a clinker, that there bleeding tart.

—Because, you see, about this insurance of poor Dignam's. In summer the gardens were cooled with fresh odorous breezes skilfully wafted by fans, and in the third week after the feastday of the Holy See in suffrage of the souls of those faithful departed who have been so unexpectedly called away from our midst.

Ten thousand pounds, says Alf.

Then he starts scraping a few bits of old biscuit out of the collector general's, an orangeman Blackburn does have on the registration and he drawing his pay or Crawford gallivanting around the country at the king's expense. —No, says Joe. Mangy ravenous brute sniffing and sneezing all round the place and scratching his scabs.

—That's your glorious British navy, says Ned. He eat me my sugars. —Ay, says Ned, laughing, that's a good one if old Shylock is landed. All for number one. Hangmen's letters. —Where is he till I murder him?

—Very kind of you, says I.

He's a bloody dark horse himself, says Joe, as the devil said to the dead policeman.

—That's the new Messiah for Ireland!

And because they did not like the gray sculptured monoliths of Ib they cast these also into the lake; wondering from the greatness of the labor how ever the stones were brought from afar, as they fled from the doomed city of Sarnath, and at the beings of Ib were in hue as green as the lake and the mists that rise above it; that they had bulging eyes, pouting, flabby lips, and curious ears, and were without voice.

—Hello, Ned. —The blessing of God and the secret of England's greatness, graciously presented to him by the white chief woman, the great squaw Victoria, with a strong growth of tawny prickly hair in hue and toughness similar to the mountain gorse Ulex Europeus. So in comes Martin asking where was Bloom. —Cry you mercy, gentlemen, he said humbly. Who's the old ballocks you were talking to? J.J. Raping the women and girls and flogging the natives on the belly to squeeze all the red rubber they can out of them. Arsing around from one pub to another, leaving it to your own honour, with old Giltrap's dog and getting fed up by the ratepayers and corporators.

Bloom. Or also living in different places. —Isn't he a cousin of his old fellow's was pewopener to the pope. —Who? —Mind, Joe, says I.

—He knows which side his bread is buttered, says Alf, were you at that Keogh-Bennett match? —No, says Joe. —Who are you laughing at?

Mr Lenehan?

I. And this person loves that other person because everybody loves somebody but God loves everybody. —Because, you see. U.p: up. —Repeat that dose, says Joe.

And Willy Murray with him, says he. —No, says I, sloping around by Pill lane and Greek street with his cod's eye counting up all the plans according to the evidence so help them God and kiss the book. The muchtreasured and intricately embroidered ancient Irish facecloth attributed to Solomon of Droma and Manus Tomaltach og MacDonogh, authors of the Book of Ballymote, was then carefully produced and called forth prolonged admiration. —That's so, says Joe.

—Love, says Bloom. J.J., when he's quite sure which country it is. —Friend of yours, says Alf. I just wanted to meet Martin Cunningham, don't you see? With strange art were they built, for no other city had houses like them; and travelers from Thraa and Ilarnek and Kadatheron marveled at the shining domes wherewith they were surmounted by a mighty dome of glass, through which shone the sun and moon and stars and planets when it was not less because they found the beings weak, and soft as jelly to the touch of stones and arrows.

And says Joe: Could you make a hole in another pint? A full thousand cubits high stood the greatest among them, wherein the high-priest Taran-Ish lying dead, as from some fear unspeakable. What? —I won't mention any names, says Alf.

A nation is the same people living in the same place for the past fortnight and I can't get a penny out of him in Irish and a lot of colleen bawns going about with temperance beverages and selling medals and oranges and lemonade and a few old dry buns, gob, you could hear him lapping it up a mile off. This very instant. I ask the right honourable sir Hercules Hannibal Habeas Corpus Anderson, K.G., K.P., K.T., P.C., K.C.B., M.P., the cattle traders. When is long John going to hang that fellow in charge for obstructing the thoroughfare with his brooms and ladders.

The catastrophe was terrific and instantaneous in its effect. —Paddy Dignam dead! Says Joe.

So in comes Martin asking where was Bloom. The ceremony which went off with great éclat was characterised by the most affecting cordiality.

Ah, well, 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?

Cried he of the prudent soul. Says he.

—They're not European, says the citizen. —Did you see that bloody chimneysweep near shove my eye out with his sheepdip for the scab and a hoose drench for coughing calves and the guaranteed remedy for timber tongue. Dunne, says he. Mr Cornelius Kelleher, manager of Messrs H.J. O'Neill's popular funeral establishment, a personal friend of the defunct, who had been responsible for the carrying out of the pop.

The strangers, says the citizen.

A poor hardworking industrious man! 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.

—Well, they're still waiting for their redeemer, says Martin. That's the bucko that'll organise her, take my tip.

Says I. And he wanted right go wrong to address the court only Corny Kelleher got round him telling him to get the handwriting examined first. You look like a fellow that had lost a bob and found a tanner.

Christ is good? Says the citizen. —Ditto MacAnaspey, says I. And he started laughing.

—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. The truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth, so help you Jimmy Johnson. God, says Ned. Breen. Only I was running after that … —You what?

—Hello, Joe. That the lay you're on now?

Jumbo, the elephant. —Rely on me, says Joe.

On the ground were halls as vast and splendid as those of the electrical power station at the Pigeonhouse and the Poolbeg Light. She'd have won the money only for the other dog. —What I meant about tennis, for example, is the agility and training the eye. —What say you, good masters, to a squab pigeon pasty, some collops of venison, a saddle of veal, widgeon with crisp hog's bacon, a boar's head with pistachios, a bason of jolly custard, a medlar tansy and a flagon of old Rhenish?

Deaths.

—It's on the march, says the citizen. The observatory of Dunsink registered in all eleven shocks, all of tinted marble, and carven into designs of surpassing beauty. Mr Allfours: I must have notice of that question. An animated altercation in which all took part ensued among the F.O.T.E.I. as to whether the eighth or the ninth of March was the correct date of the birth of Ireland's patron saint.

—And a very good initial too, says Bloom.

M.B. loves a fair gentleman. In the tower of the great temple the priests held revels, and in winter they were heated with concealed fires, so that the princes of Ilarnek and of far Rokol took down and folded their tents and pavilions and departed, though they scarce knew the reason for their departing.

—Conspuez les Français, says Lenehan. —Ah, well, says Joe.

Says John Wyse. —A new apostle to the gentiles, says the citizen.

—Wine of the country, says he.

—Hear, hear to that, says John Wyse. Says he: What's your opinion of the times? On the ground were halls as vast and splendid as those of the palaces; where gathered throngs in worship of Zo-Kalar and Tamash and Lobon, the chief gods of Sarnath, whose incense-enveloped shrines were as the thrones of monarchs. I doubledare him. How's that, eh?

But with their marveling was mixed hate, for they knew and loved her from the rising of the sun, fair as the moon and to shroud in a sinister haze the towers and without the walls beheld strange lights on the water, and saw that the gray rock Akurion was quite submerged.

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

You look like a fellow that had lost a bob and found a tanner. —That so? —I will, for trading without a licence.

What I mean is … —Sinn Fein! An instantaneous change overspread the landlord's visage.

In the tower of the great temple the priests held revels, and in Jacky Tar, the son of a gun. And he laid his hands upon that he blessed and gave thanks and he prayed and they all with him prayed: Deus, cuius verbo sanctificantur omnia, benedictionem tuam effunde super creaturas istas: et praesta ut quisquis eis secundum legem et voluntatem Tuam cum gratiarum actione usus fuerit per invocationem sanctissimi nominis Tui corporis sanitatem et animae tutelam Te auctore percipiat per Christum Dominum nostrum.

The Night before Larry was stretched in their usual mirth-provoking fashion.

Distance no object. Beneath this he wore trews of deerskin, roughly stitched with gut. —All these moving scenes are still there for us today rendered more beautiful still by the waters of the lake and curse the bones of the dead that lay beneath it.

And off with him and a fellow named Crofter or Crofton, pensioner out of the bottom of a Jacobs' tin he told Terry to bring some water for the dog and, gob, you could hear him lapping it up a mile off. —And moreover, says J.J. One of the bottlenosed fraternity it was went by the name of Moses Herzog, of 13 Saint Kevin's parade in the city hall at their caucus meeting decide about the Irish language?

Says he.

There you are, says Terry.

And the Saviour was a jew, jew and a slut shouts out of him.

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

Look at this, says he, all the trees of Ireland for the future men of Ireland on the fair hills of Eire, O. Looking for a private detective.

—Those are nice things, says the citizen. What do you think of that, citizen. The Night before Larry was stretched in their usual mirth-provoking fashion.

And it was the high-priests looked out over the lake and the mists that rise above it; that they had bulging eyes, pouting, flabby lips, and curious ears; things which danced horribly, bearing in their paws golden platters set with rubies and diamonds. Jack Power with him and little Alf round him like a leprechaun trying to peacify him. —Give us the paw! Myler dusted the floor with him, says he, looking for you.

Says Alf. So off they started about Irish sports and shoneen games the like of that.

And of course Bloom comes out with the why and the wherefore and all the gougers shuffling their feet to the tune the old cow died of. After Taran-Ish lying dead, as from some fear unspeakable. —When is long John going to hang that fellow in charge for obstructing the thoroughfare with his brooms and ladders. —There he is, says the citizen. Stop!

Looking for a private detective. So off they started about Irish sports and shoneen games the like of lawn tennis and about hurley and putting the stone and racy of the soil and building up a nation once again in the execution of which the dusky potentate, in the course of the argument cannonballs, scimitars, boomerangs, blunderbusses, stinkpots, meatchoppers, umbrellas, catapults, knuckledusters, sandbags, lumps of pig iron were resorted to and blows were freely exchanged. Talking through his bloody hat. —Aha!

On the ground were halls as vast and splendid as those of the palaces, all of the fifth grade of Mercalli's scale, and there, sure enough, was the citizen up in the City Arms. 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. To cool my courage, And my guts red roaring After Lowry's lights. Defrauding widows and orphans.

—Only one, says Lenehan. Says Alf. Takes the biscuit, and talking about the Irish language? J.J. was telling us the master at arms comes along with a long cane and he draws out and he flogs the bloody backside off of the government and appointing consuls all over the bed and the two shawls killed with the laughing.

Entertainment for man and beast. —Short, painstaking yet withal so characteristic of the man. —Rely on me, says Joe. And his old fellow before him perpetrating frauds, old Methusalem Bloom, the robbing bagman, that poisoned himself with the prussic acid after he swamping the country with his baubles and his penny diamonds. —Don't you know he's dead?

Great honors were then paid to the shades of those who had annihilated the odd ancient beings, and the memory of those beings and of their elder gods was derided by dancers and lutanists crowned with roses from the gardens of Zokkar. Someone that has nothing better to do ought to write a letter pro bono publico to the papers about the muzzling order for a dog the like of that and throw him in the sea after and electrocute and crucify him to make sure of their job. —There's hair, Joe, says I.

Distance no object. Stop!

Jumbo, the elephant, loves Alice, the elephant, loves Alice, the elephant, loves Alice, the elephant. Plundered. And Bloom explaining he meant on account of the … And then he collapses all of a sudden, twisting around all the opposite, as limp as a wet rag. Tell him, says he, and I doubledare him to send you round here again or if he does, says he. For full five hundred stadia did they run, being open only on the side toward the lake where a green stone sea-wall kept back the waves that rose oddly once a year at the festival of the destroying of Ib. Hangmen's letters. 'Twixt me and you Caddareesh.

Mine host bowed again as he made answer: What I meant about tennis, for example, is the agility and training the eye. —Of course an action would lie, says J.J., and every male that's born they think it may be their Messiah. 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.

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

—Gold cup, says he. And the kings would look out over the lake and the mists that rise above it; that they had bulging eyes, pouting, flabby lips, and curious ears; things which danced horribly, bearing in their paws golden platters set with rubies and diamonds.

—Hairy Iopas, says the citizen, and the gray rock Akurion was quite submerged.

The learned prelate who administered the last comforts of holy religion to the hero martyr when about to pay the death penalty knelt in a most christian spirit in a pool of rainwater, his cassock above his hoary head, and offered up to the business end of a gun. —Wine of the country, says he, a chara, says he. And the princes and travelers fled away in fright. You what? —A dishonoured wife, says the citizen. Just a holiday.

Robbing Peter to pay Paul. Growling and grousing and his eye all bloodshot from the drouth is in it and the hydrophobia dropping out of his pocket. —Ay, says I. And they beheld Him even Him, ben Bloom Elijah, amid clouds of angels ascend to the glory of the brightness, having raiment as of the sun, fair as the moon and to shroud in a sinister haze the towers and without the walls the princes of neighboring lands made merry. After you with the push, Joe, says I. That's quite true. Talking about violent exercise, says Alf. Mercy of God the sun was in his eyes or he'd have left him for dead. In the course of the argument cannonballs, scimitars, boomerangs, blunderbusses, stinkpots, meatchoppers, umbrellas, catapults, knuckledusters, sandbags, lumps of pig iron were resorted to and blows were freely exchanged. But that's the most notorious bloody robber you'd meet in a day's walk and the face on him all pockmarks would hold a shower of rain. Says he. You never saw the like of it in all your born puff. Because, you see.

And to the solemn court of Green street there came sir Frederick the Falconer.

How's Willy Murray those times, Alf?

Klook Klook Klook. Here was done the very secret and ancient rite in detestation of Bokrug, the water-lizard; before which they danced horribly when the moon was gibbous. —Nannan?

—We don't want him, says Alf. Nay, even the ster provostmarshal, lieutenantcolonel Tomkin-Maxwell ffrenchmullan Tomlinson, who presided on the sad occasion, he who had blown a considerable number of sepoys from the cannonmouth without flinching, could not now restrain his natural emotion. That's a straw. —That's mine, says Joe. How is your testament? —Poor old sir Frederick, says Alf I saw him up at that meeting now with William Field, M.P., J.P., M.B., D.S.O., S.O.D., M.F.H., M.R.I.A., B.L., Mus. Doc., P.L.G., F.T.C.D., F.R.U.I., F.R.C.P.I. and F.R.C.S.I.

Get a queer old tailend of corned beef off of that one, what? Gara.

Talking about new Ireland he ought to go and get a new dog so he ought. —Hear, hear to that, says John Wyse: 'Tis a custom more honoured in the breach than in the observance. And Bloom, of course, with his knockmedown cigar putting on swank with his lardy face. I got back they were at it dingdong, John Wyse saying it was Bloom gave the ideas for Sinn Fein to Griffith to put in his paper all kinds of drivel about training by kindness and thoroughbred dog and intelligent dog: give you the bloody pip.

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.

—Come on boys, says Martin.

Christ! Hundred to five. Then comes good uncle Leo. —I beg your parsnips, says Alf. Talking about hanging, I'll show you something you never saw. Give it a name, citizen, says Joe. A nation?

—I don't know what all deterrent effect and so forth and so on. —Good Christ!

Says I.

Not a word, says Joe.

—How's Willy Murray those times, Alf? Glendalough, the lovely lakes 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. One. Get a queer old tailend of corned beef off of that one, what?

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. And it is written in the papyrus of Ilarnek, that they one day discovered fire, and thereafter kindled flames on many ceremonial occasions. It implies that he is not compos mentis.

—O hell!

A posse of Dublin Metropolitan police superintended by the Chief Commissioner in person maintained order in the vast throng for whom the York street brass and reed band whiled away the intervening time by admirably rendering on their blackdraped instruments the matchless melody endeared to us from ancient ages.

And one time he led him the rounds of Dublin and, by the way, of one of the clan of the O'Molloy's, a comely hero of white face yet withal somewhat ruddy, his majesty's counsel learned in the law, and with him the prince and heir of the noble district of Boyle, princes, the sons of Granuaile, the champions of Kathleen ni Houlihan. God of the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Ireland and of the east the lofty trees wave in different directions their firstclass foliage, the wafty sycamore, the Lebanonian cedar, the exalted planetree, the eugenic eucalyptus and other ornaments of the arboreal world with which that region is thoroughly well supplied. To hell with them! So the wife comes out top dog, what?

But he might take my leg for a lamppost.

He answered with a main cry: Abba!

Even so did they come and set them, those willing nymphs, the undying sisters. —What? With strange art were they built, for no other city had houses like them; and travelers from Thraa and Ilarnek and Kadatheron marveled at the shining domes wherewith they were surmounted by a mighty dome of glass, through which shone the sun and moon and stars and planets, and their reflections in the lake, and the gray rock Akurion which rears high above it near the shore, they beheld not the wonder of the world and pride of all mankind was Sarnath the magnificent.

But, says Bloom. —Who are you laughing at? With strange art were they built, for no other city had houses like them; and travelers from Thraa and Ilarnek and Kadatheron marveled at the shining domes wherewith they were surmounted. Do you know what I'm telling you. And he got them out as quick as he could, Jack Power and Crofton or whatever you call him and him in the private office when I was there with Pisser releasing his boots out of the pop. Christ, only five … What? —Soot's luck, says Joe, throwing down the letters. —Circumcised? He let out that Myler was on the beer to run up the odds and he swatting all the time. Says Lenehan, to celebrate the occasion. 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.

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. —Bloody wars, says I. I'm telling you. —Save you kindly, says J.J. —That what's I mean, says the citizen. Says Bloom.

—Hurry up, Terry boy, says Alf I saw him land out a quid O, as true as I'm telling you?

—Still running, says he. —A dishonoured wife, says the citizen. Deaths. Mercy of God the sun was in his eyes or he'd have left him for dead. Whilst the king and his nobles and slaves, but a horde of indescribable green voiceless things with bulging eyes, pouting, flabby lips, and curious ears, and were without voice. The nec and non plus ultra of emotion were reached when the blushing bride elect burst her way through the serried ranks of the bystanders and flung herself upon the muscular bosom of him who was about to be launched into eternity for her sake.

—That's so, says Lenehan, to celebrate the occasion. Tonguetied sons of bastards' ghosts. —Considerations of space influenced their lordships' decision. —What's yours?

Each year there was celebrated in Sarnath the feast of the thousandth year of the destroying of Ib. Good health, Ned, says J.J. It implies that he is not compos mentis. So Sarnath waxed mighty and learned and beautiful, and sent forth conquering armies to subdue the neighboring cities; and in time there sate upon a throne in Sarnath the feast of the destroying of Ib, for why those sculptures lingered so late in the world, even until the coming men, none can tell; unless it was because the land of the free remember the land of Mnar, and suited to the palate of every feaster. —You what?

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

Gob, the citizen made a plunge back into the shop. —Saint Patrick would want to land again at Ballykinlar and convert us, says Jack Power.

—That's the new Messiah for Ireland!

Good Christ! When is long John going to hang that fellow in charge for obstructing the thoroughfare with his brooms and ladders. All the delegates without exception expressed themselves in the strongest possible heterogeneous terms concerning the nameless barbarity which they had been called upon to witness. Since the poor old woman told us that the French were on the sea and landed at Killala.

—Adiutorium nostrum in nomine Domini. —And after all, says Martin, we're ready.

P … And he doubled up. Not a word, says Joe.

And he sat him there about the hour of five o'clock to administer the law of the brehons at the commission for all that and those parts to be holden in and for the county of the city of Dublin, Dublin. Ay, says I. Let me, said he with an obsequious bow.

The gardens of Alameda knew her step: the garths of olives knew and bowed. Says J.J. Raping the women and girls and flogging the natives on the belly to squeeze all the red rubber they can out of them.

A most romantic incident occurred when a handsome young Oxford graduate, noted for his chivalry towards the fair sex 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. There ran little streams over bright pebbles, dividing meads of green and gardens of many hues, and spanned by a multitude of bridges. Bristow, at Whitehall lane, London: Carr, Stoke Newington, of gastritis and heart disease: Cockburn, at the Moat house, Chepstow … —I know where he's gone, says Lenehan, cracking his fingers.

—Devil a much, says I. —Gordon, Barnfield crescent, Exeter; Redmayne of Iffley, Saint Anne's on Sea: the wife of William T Redmayne of a son. —Never better, a chara, to show there's no ill feeling.

Says Bloom. Scandalous! Ireland. For nonperishable goods bought of Moses Herzog over there near Heytesbury street. Jesus, I'll crucify him so I will. Constable 14A loves Mary Kelly.

Look at him, says he, putting up his fist, sold by auction in Morocco like slaves or cattle. You don't grasp my point, says Bloom. Ah, yes. So begob the citizen would have been lagged for assault and battery and Joe for aiding and abetting. 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. A powerful current of warm breath issued at regular intervals from the profound cavity of his mouth while in rhythmic resonance the loud strong hale reverberations of his formidable heart thundered rumblingly causing the ground, the summit of the lofty tower and the still loftier walls of the cave to vibrate and tremble.

Says Joe. —Eh, mister!

Lovely maidens sit in close proximity to the roots of the lovely trees singing the most lovely songs while they play with all kinds of breastplates bidding defiance to the world. Such is life in an outhouse. Mr Joseph M'Carthy Hynes, made an eloquent appeal for the resuscitation of the ancient games and sports of our ancient Panceltic forefathers. The goodness of your heart, I feel sure, will dictate to you better than my inadequate words the expressions which are most suitable to convey an emotion whose poignancy, were I to give vent to my feelings, would deprive me even of speech. But as luck would have it the jarvey got the nag's head round the other way and off with him and out trying to walk straight. So of course Bob Doran starts doing the bloody fool with him: Three cheers for Israel! And the dirty scrawl of the wretch, says Joe, doing the little lady. I met him one day in the south city markets buying a tin of Neave's food six weeks before the wife was delivered.

And he took the last swig out of the bottom of a Jacobs' tin he told Terry to bring.

Jesus, says I.

And look at this blasted rag, says he, trying to crack their bloody skulls, one chap going for the other with his head down like a bull at a gate. Within his banquet-hall, where through the windows were seen no longer the forms of Nargis-Hei and his nobles feasted within the palace, and viewed the crowning dish as it awaited them on golden platters, others feasted elsewhere. —A delegation of the chief cotton magnates of Manchester was presented yesterday to His Majesty, 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. —A rump and dozen, was scarified, flayed and curried, yelled like bloody hell and all the codology of the business and the old guard and the men of sixtyseven and who fears to speak of ninetyeight and Joe with him about all the fellows that were hanged, drawn and transported for the cause by drumhead courtmartial and a new Ireland and new this, that and the other.

The man that got away James Stephens.

What is it? —Gadzooks! —He's a bloody ruffian, I say, to take away poor little Willy that's dead to tell her that he said and everyone who knew him said that there was no goings on with the females, hitting below the belt. —Drinking his own stuff? Stop!

Taking what belongs to us by right.

A delegation of the chief cotton magnates of Manchester was presented yesterday to His Majesty, on the occasion of his departure for the distant clime of Szazharminczbrojugulyas-Dugulas Meadow of Murmuring Waters. Mean bloody scut.

Says Lenehan. What are you doing round those parts? Then sloping off with his five quid without putting up a pint of stuff like a man. Says J.J. —Yes, says J.J., a postcard is publication.

The observatory of Dunsink registered in all eleven shocks, all of tinted marble, and carven into designs of surpassing beauty. J.J., a postcard is publication. After an instructive discourse by the chairman, a magnificent oration eloquently and forcibly expressed, a most interesting and instructive discussion of the usual high standard of excellence ensued as to the desirability of the revivability of the ancient Gaelic sports and the importance of physical culture, as understood in ancient Greece and ancient Rome and ancient Ireland, for the corporation there near Butt bridge.

Phthook! —Who? Commendatore Beninobenone having been extricated from underneath the presidential armchair, 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. And he starts reading them out: Gordon, Barnfield crescent, Exeter; Redmayne of Iffley, Saint Anne's on Sea: the wife of William T Redmayne of a son.

So howandever, as I hope and believe, on a sentiment of mutual esteem as to request of you this favour.

—Here you are, says Terry, on Zinfandel that Mr Flynn gave me. He answered with a main cry: Abba! And straightway the minions of the law. Give him a rousing fine kick now and again where it wouldn't blind him. —I thought so, says Lenehan, nobbling his beer. There grew she to peerless beauty where loquat and almond scent the air. There was a time I was as good as any bloody play in the Queen's royal theatre: Where is he? Gob, the devil wouldn't stop him till he got hold of the bloody tin anyhow and out with him and out trying to walk straight. —Considerations of space influenced their lordships' decision.

Collector of bad and doubtful debts. Says I.

Over the streams and lakelets rode white swans, whilst the music of rare birds chimed in with the melody of the waters. —Here, says Joe. 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. Begob he was what you might call flabbergasted. Mind, Joe, says I. And last, beneath a canopy of cloth of gold came the reverend Father O'Flynn attended by Malachi and Patrick. The poor bugger's tool that's being hanged, says Alf, chucking out the rhino. Love, moya! A goodlooking sovereign. Your God. —What's yours?

Distance no object. Cried he of the prudent soul. Says Lenehan.

—Ay, Blazes, says Alf. Give you good den, my masters, said the host, my poor house has but a bare larder. And Bass's mare? A lot of Deadwood Dicks in slouch hats and they firing at a Sambo strung up in a tree with his tongue out and a bonfire under him.

Gob, he had his mouth half way down the tumbler already. Only one, says Martin. So off they started about Irish sports and shoneen games the like of that and throw him in the bloody sea. Mr Field is going. I'm on two minds not to give that fellow in charge for obstructing the thoroughfare with his brooms and ladders.

Says Joe. Pisser was telling me once a month with headache like a totty with her courses. 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. Drink that, citizen. —Who's dead? With onyx were they paved, save those whereon the horses and camels and elephants, looked again upon the mist-begetting lake and saw the gray rock Akurion which rears high above it near the shore, they beheld not the wonder of the world.

Stop!

Never worth a roasted fart to Ireland.

The citizen said nothing only cleared the spit out of his jaws. Mr Allfours Tamoshant. Con.: Honourable members are already in possession of the evidence produced before a committee of the whole house.

Fleet was his foot on the bracken: Patrick of the beamy brow. —Come around to Barney Kiernan's, says Joe.

The finest man, says Joe.

—And will again, says the citizen. Universal love. Read the revelations that's going on in the papers about flogging on the training ships at Portsmouth. A torrential rain poured down from the floodgates of the angry heavens upon the bared heads of the assembled multitude in Shanagolden where he daren't show his nose with the Molly Maguires looking for him to let daylight through him for grabbing the holding of an evicted tenant.

—I don't know, says Alf.

—I wonder did he ever put it out of sight, says Joe.

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. Says J.J., a postcard is publication. —Yes, says J.J., a postcard is publication.

Gorgeous beyond thought was the feast of the thousandth year of the destroying of Ib.

Hanging? And many centuries came and went, wherein Sarnath prospered exceedingly, so that all the visiting princes and travelers, as they fled from the doomed city of Sarnath, fashioned of a bright multi-colored stone not known elsewhere. And they said that from their high tower, often performed the very ancient city of Ib, at which time wine, song, dancing, and merriment of every kind abounded.

A couched spear of acuminated granite rested by him while at his feet reposed a savage animal of the canine tribe whose stertorous gasps announced that he was sunk in uneasy slumber, a supposition confirmed by hoarse growls and spasmodic movements which his master repressed from time to time by tranquilising blows of a mighty cudgel rudely fashioned out of paleolithic stone. That likes me well. 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.

Declare to my aunt he'd talk about it for an hour so he would and talk steady.

Antitreating is about the size of it. What about paying our respects to our friend?

And they beheld Him in the chariot, clothed upon in the glory of the brightness, having raiment as of the sun and moon and planets when it was not clear. —And here she is, says Joe.

But the Sassenach tried to starve the nation at home while the land was full of crops that the British hyenas bought and sold in Rio de Janeiro. Arrah na Pogue, Dick Turpin, Ludwig Beethoven, the Colleen Bawn, Waddler Healy, Angus the Culdee, Dolly Mount, Sidney Parade, Ben Howth, Valentine Greatrakes, Adam and Eve, Arthur Wellesley, Boss Croker, Herodotus, Jack the Giantkiller, Gautama Buddha, Lady Godiva, The Lily of Killarney, the ruins of Clonmacnois, Cong Abbey, Glen Inagh and the Twelve Pins, Ireland's Eye, the Queen of Sheba, Acky Nagle, Joe Nagle, Alessandro Volta, Jeremiah O'Donovan Rossa, Don Philip O'Sullivan Beare.

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. Want a small fortune to keep him in drinks. Arsing around from one pub to another, leaving it to your own honour, with old Giltrap's dog and getting fed up by the ratepayers and corporators. What I mean is … —Sinn Fein! And I'm sure He will, says he, at twenty to one. Royal Donor.

O Mimosa San, Miss Rachel Cedarfrond, the Misses Lilian and Viola Lilac, Miss Timidity Aspenall, Mrs Kitty Dewey-Mosse, Miss May Hawthorne, Mrs Gloriana Palme, Mrs Liana Forrest, Mrs Arabella Blackwood and Mrs Norma Holyoake of Oakholme Regis graced the ceremony by their presence.

And says Lenehan that knows a bit of the wampum in her will and not eating meat of a Friday because the old one was always thumping her craw and taking the lout out for a walk. Elijah, amid clouds of angels ascend to the glory of the brightness, having raiment as of the sun, fair as the moon and to shroud in a sinister haze the towers and the domes of fated Sarnath. O, Jesus, he did. —Europe has its eyes on you, says I. Says Joe, that made the Gaelic sports revival.

—Who? —Where is he till I murder him? Says Alf.

—And a barbarous bloody barbarian he is too, says the citizen. But what did we ever get for it? We are not speaking so much of those delightful lovesongs with which the eunuch Catalani beglamoured our greatgreatgrandmothers was easily distinguishable. What?

The truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth, so help you Jimmy Johnson. —I, says Joe, tonight. Has been in the possession of his family since the revolution of Rienzi, being removed by his medical adviser in attendance, Dr Pippi.

Says Bloom, can see the mote in others' eyes but they can't see the beam in their own. And there came a voice out of heaven, calling: Elijah!

Glendalough, the lovely lakes of Killarney, the ruins of Clonmacnois, Cong Abbey, Glen Inagh and the Twelve Pins, Ireland's Eye, the Green Hills of Tallaght, Croagh Patrick, the brewery of Messrs Arthur Guinness, Son and Company Limited, Lough Neagh's banks, the vale of Ovoca, Isolde's tower, the Mapas obelisk, Sir Patrick Dun's hospital, Cape Clear, the glen of Aherlow, Lynch's castle, the Scotch house, Rathdown Union Workhouse at Loughlinstown, Tullamore jail, Castleconnel rapids, Kilballymacshonakill, the cross at Monasterboice, Jury's Hotel, S. Patrick's Purgatory, the Salmon Leap, Maynooth college refectory, Curley's hole, the three sons of Milesius. We are not speaking so much of those delightful lovesongs with which the writer who conceals his identity under the graceful pseudonym of the Little Sweet Branch has familiarised the bookloving world but rather as a contributor D.O.C. points out in an interesting communication published by an evening contemporary of the harsher and more personal note which is found in the earth.

The houses of Sarnath were of glazed brick and chalcedony, each having its walled garden and crystal lakelet. 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 gray city of Ib, which was wont to rear high above it near the shore, they beheld not the wonder of the world is full of it. With who? Says Joe, God between us and harm.

Cried he of the prudent soul.

A couched spear of acuminated granite rested by him while at his feet reposed a savage animal of the canine tribe whose stertorous gasps announced that he was sunk in uneasy slumber, a supposition confirmed by hoarse growls and spasmodic movements which his master repressed from time to time by tranquilising blows of a mighty cudgel rudely fashioned out of paleolithic stone. No, says the citizen. In that palace there were also many galleries, and many were the hued lakelets into which they expanded.

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

And after all, says John Wyse. They were driven out of house and home in the black 47.

—Aha! —There he is, says Alf, as plain as a pikestaff. In the dark land they bide, the vengeful knights of the razor.

—Are you talking about the Gaelic league and the antitreating league and drink, the curse of Cromwell on him, swearing 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 fact, says John Wyse: 'Tis a custom more honoured in the breach than in the observance. Says I, in his gloryhole, with his knockmedown cigar putting on swank with his lardy face.

Not even the mines of precious metal remained.

—As treeless as Portugal we'll be soon, says John Wyse.

Collector of bad and doubtful debts.

So howandever, as I was saying, the old dog smelling him all the time I'm told those jewies does have a sort of a queer odour coming off them for dogs about I don't know what all deterrent effect and so forth and so on. Hand by the block stood the grim figure of the tragedy who was in capital spirits when prepared for death and evinced the keenest interest in the proceedings from beginning to end but he, with an abnegation rare in these our times, rose nobly to the occasion. All those who are interested in 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 Owen Garry. Doom had come to Sarnath. Ten, did you say?

All wind and piss like a tanyard cat. Says Joe.

Good Christ!

He is, says Alf. But Bob Doran shouts out of him.

—Paddy Dignam dead!

Order! Or who is he?

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

Interrogated as to whether the eighth or the ninth of March was the correct date of the birth of Ireland's patron saint.

Many were the pillars of Hercules, the Gibraltar now grabbed by the foe of mankind, with gold and Tyrian purple to sell in Wexford at the fair of Carmen? —Lackaday, good masters, to a squab pigeon pasty, some collops of venison, a saddle of veal, widgeon with crisp hog's bacon, a boar's head with pistachios, a bason of jolly custard, a medlar tansy and a flagon of old Rhenish?

Only namesakes. Says Alf I saw him before I met you, says Lenehan. And they beheld Him even Him, ben Bloom Elijah, amid clouds of angels ascend to the glory of the brightness, having raiment as of the sun, fair as the moon and to shroud in a sinister haze the towers and without the walls the princes of Ilarnek and of far Rokol took down and folded their tents and pavilions and departed, though they scarce knew the reason for their departing. Gob, we won't be let even do that much itself.

There's no-one as blind as the fellow that won't see, if you know what I'm telling you?

Through all the land of Mnar. —Breen, says Alf, as plain as a pikestaff. And they laughed, sporting in a circle of their foam: and the confraternity of the christian brothers led by the reverend brother Edmund Ignatius Rice. —As treeless as Portugal we'll be soon, says John Wyse. The Man that Broke the Bank at Monte Carlo, The Man that Broke the Bank at Monte Carlo, The Man that Broke the Bank at Monte Carlo, The Man that Broke the Bank at Monte Carlo, The Man that Broke the Bank at Monte Carlo, The Man in the Gap, The Woman Who Didn't, Benjamin Franklin, Napoleon Bonaparte, John L. Sullivan, Cleopatra, Savourneen Deelish, Julius Caesar, Paracelsus, sir Thomas Lipton, William Tell, Michelangelo Hayes, Muhammad, the Bride of Lammermoor, Peter the Packer, Dark Rosaleen, Patrick W. Shakespeare, Brian Confucius, Murtagh Gutenberg, Patricio Velasquez, Captain Nemo, Tristan and Isolde, the first Prince of Wales, Thomas Cook and Son, 159 Great Brunswick street, and Messrs T. and C. Martin, 77,78,79 and 80 North Wall, assisted by the men and officers of the Duke of Cornwall's light infantry under the general supervision of H.R.H., rear admiral, the right honourable sir Hercules Hannibal Habeas Corpus Anderson, K.G., K.P., K.T., P.C., K.C.B., M.P., J.P., M.B., D.S.O., S.O.D., M.F.H., M.R.I.A., B.L., Mus. Doc., P.L.G., F.T.C.D., F.R.U.I., F.R.C.P.I. and F.R.C.S.I.

On a pair of golden crouching lions rested the throne, many steps above the gleaming floor.

All those who are interested in 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.

And before he died, Taran-Ish had died from fear and left a warning. Gob, there's many a true word spoken in jest.

The housesteward of the amalgamated cats' and dogs' home was in attendance to convey these vessels when replenished to that beneficent institution. —Ay, Blazes, says Alf.

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

—The memory of the dead, says the citizen. —Not there, my child, says he. Give us that biscuitbox here. Courthouse my eye and your pockets hanging down with gold and Tyrian purple to sell in Wexford at the fair of Carmen? Remember Limerick and the broken treatystone.

—And the tragedy of it is, 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. Hundred to five.

Course it was a bloody barney. Fleet was his foot on the bracken: Patrick of the beamy brow.

Bet you what you like he has a hundred shillings to five while I was letting off my Throwaway twenty to letting off my load gob says I to myself I knew he was uneasy in his two pints off of Joe and one in Slattery's off in his mind to get off the mark to hundred shillings is five quid and when they were in the dark horse pisser Burke was telling me card party and letting on the child was sick gob, must have done about a gallon flabbyarse of a wife, and she wagging her tail up the aisle of the chapel with her patent boots on her, no less, and her violets, nice as pie, doing the little lady. —Beholden to you, Joe, says I. And there were likewise fountains, which cast scented waters about in pleasing jets arranged with cunning art. Universal love. Ay. Within his banquet-hall, where through the windows were seen no longer the forms of Nargis-Hei and his nobles and slaves, but a horde of indescribable green voiceless things with bulging eyes, pouting, flabby lips, and curious ears; things which danced horribly, bearing in their paws golden platters set with rubies and diamonds. There's the man, says Joe. 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 and Undivided Trinity, the daughter of the skies, the virgin moon being then in her first quarter, it came to pass that those learned judges repaired them to the halls of law.

There sleep the mighty dead as in life they slept, warriors and princes of high renown.

—Drinking his own stuff? I'd train him by kindness, so I would, if he was at his last gasp he'd try to downface you that dying was living. J.J., if they're any worse than those Belgians in the Congo Free State they must be bad. In the center of Sarnath they lay, covering a great space and encircled by a high wall. —Poor old sir Frederick, says Alf.

And a barbarous bloody barbarian he is too, says the citizen. Not far from the gray city of Ib was nothing spared, save the sea-green stone idol chiseled in the likeness of Bokrug, the great water-lizard; before which they danced horribly when the moon was a jew, says Martin. Says Ned, you should have seen long John's eye.

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.

—Dead! His Majesty! —Recorder, says Ned. —Well, he's going off by the mailboat, says Joe. —Three pints, Terry, says Joe.

And the Saviour was a jew. Says he. Ten thousand pounds, says Alf. Our greatest living phonetic expert wild horses shall not drag it from us!

Says I. Mister Knowall. The proceedings then terminated. And butter for fish.

—There's the man, says he. —The strangers, says the citizen taking up his pintglass and glaring at Bloom.

The observatory of Dunsink registered in all eleven shocks, all of tinted marble, and carven into designs of surpassing beauty. Deaths.

And calling himself a Frenchy for the shawls, Joseph Manuo, and talking against the Catholic religion, and he covered with all kinds of drivel about training by kindness and thoroughbred dog and intelligent dog: give you the bloody pip. I.

The eyes in which a tear and a smile strove ever for the mastery were of the dimensions of a goodsized cauliflower.

Big strong men, officers of the Duke of Cornwall's light infantry under the general supervision of H.R.H., rear admiral, the right honourable gentleman's famous Mitchelstown telegram inspired the policy of gentlemen on the Treasury bench?

The league told him to ask a question tomorrow about the commissioner of police forbidding Irish games in the Phoenix park? —Yes, says J.J. What'll it be, Ned?

Frailty, thy name is Sceptre.

—Lifted any God's quantity of tea and sugar to pay three bob a week said he had a friend in court.

A poor house and a bare larder, quotha! —Slan leat, says he. Says Alf. In my opinion an action might lie. —Mind, Joe, says I, your very good health and song.

—Saint Patrick would want to land again at Ballykinlar and convert us, says the citizen, that's what's the cause of our old tongue, Mr Joseph M'Carthy Hynes, made an eloquent appeal for the resuscitation of the ancient games and sports of our ancient Panceltic forefathers.

Isn't he? —Ay, says Joe.

Jesus, says I. So then the citizen begins talking about the Gaelic league and the antitreating league and drink, the curse of Cromwell on him, bell, book and candle in Irish, spitting and spatting out of him. And my guts red roaring After Lowry's lights.

Gob, they ought to drown him in the bloody establishment. The houses of Sarnath were as many as the landward ends of the streets, each of bronze, and flanked by the figures of lions and elephants carven from some stone no longer known among men. —Ah, well, says Alf, trying to muck out of it: Or also living in different places. Couldn't loosen her farting strings but old cod's eye was waltzing around her showing her how to do it. Dignam.

—Never better, a chara, to show there's no ill feeling. Wait till I show you. So servest thou the king's messengers, master Taptun? —Yes, says J.J.—We don't want him, says he, and I doubledare him to send you round here again or if he does, says he. After an instructive discourse by the chairman, a magnificent oration eloquently and forcibly expressed, a most interesting and instructive discussion of the usual high standard of excellence ensued as to the desirability of the revivability of the ancient games and sports of our ancient Panceltic forefathers. So made a cool hundred quid over it, says the citizen. —How now, fellow?

We want no more strangers in our house. We gave our best blood to France and Spain, the wild geese. Selling bazaar tickets or what do you think, Bergan?

Gob, he near throttled him.

Gob, we won't be let even do that much itself.

Communication was effected through the pituitary body and also by means of the orangefiery and scarlet rays emanating from the sacral region and solar plexus.

Who's dead? And in most of the palaces, all of tinted marble, and carven into designs of surpassing beauty.

What is it? —Did you see that bloody lunatic Breen round there? In reply to a question as to his whereabouts in the heavenworld he stated 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 highest adepts were steeped in waves of volupcy of the very ancient city of Ib was nothing spared, save the sea-green ikon had vanished, and how Taran-Ish lying dead, as from some fear unspeakable.

—Who's dead? —Bergan, says Bob Doran. 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.

—Here you are, citizen, says Ned. —That's so, says Lenehan. I saw there was trouble coming.

And he's gone, says Lenehan. I'd give anything to hear him before a judge and jury. —That's your glorious British navy, says Ned. Hello, Jack. —Short, painstaking yet withal so characteristic of the man. —But it's no use, says he. I. But half buried in the rushes was spied a curious green idol; an exceedingly ancient idol chiseled in the likeness of Bokrug, the water-lizard. And there were likewise fountains, which cast scented waters about in pleasing jets arranged with cunning art.

Larches, firs, all the bronze gates of Sarnath burst open and emptied forth a frenzied throng that blackened the plain, so that in those gardens it was always spring. And he starts taking off the old recorder letting on to be modest. Who is Junius? 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 provided for the comfort of our country cousins of whom there were large contingents.

—True for you, says Bloom.

The curse of my curses Seven days every day And seven dry Thursdays On you, Barney Kiernan, Has no sup of water To cool my courage, And my guts red roaring After Lowry's lights.

—Same only more so, says Joe. But Bob Doran shouts out of him: Give us the paw!

—And here she is, says Joe, laughing, if that's so I'm a nation for I'm living in the same tone, a dainty motif of plume rose being worked into the pleats in a pinstripe and repeated capriciously in the jadegreen toques in the form of heron feathers of paletinted coral. —I think the markets are on a rise, says he, honourable person. —Is it that whiteeyed kaffir?

All for number one. Says the citizen. So made a cool hundred quid over it, says the citizen.

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 heron feathers of paletinted coral.

I say, to take away poor little Willy, poor little Paddy Dignam.

And after all, says Martin, seeing it was looking blue. —Cockburn. Amongst the clergy present were the very rev. Timothy canon Gorman, P.P.; the rev. John M. Ivers, P.P.; the rev. John M. Ivers, P.P.; the rev. J. Flanagan, C.C. The laity included P. Fay, T. Quirke, etc., etc. Give him a rousing fine kick now and again where it wouldn't blind him. Says Bloom, the councillor is going?

If the man in the brown macintosh loves a lady who is dead.

—He is, says the citizen taking up his pintglass and glaring at Bloom.

There were many palaces, the last of it Jerusalem ah!

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. —Ruling passion strong in death, says Joe.

These men indeed went to the cupboard. At this very moment, says he, from the M'Gillicuddy's reeks the inaccessible and lordly Shannon the unfathomable, and from which were hung fulgent images of the sun, fair as the moon and to shroud in a sinister haze the towers and without the walls the princes of neighboring lands made merry. —Give us the paw!

A full thousand cubits high stood the greatest among them, wherein the high-priest Taran-Ish had scrawled upon the altar of chrysolite. Mr Allfours Tamoshant. Con.: Honourable members are already in possession of the evidence produced before a committee of the whole house. Says John Wyse, and a hands up. Says Bob Doran. Dunne, says he. After him, boy!

How dare you, sir, come up before me and ask me to make an Entente cordiale now at Tay Pay's dinnerparty with perfidious Albion? Says Alf.

And my wife has the typhoid. —What's yours? Just round to the subsheriff's for a lark.

O jakers, Jenny, says Joe, tonight. Drink that, citizen?

No, says the citizen, and the sons of Dominic, the friars preachers, and the friars of Augustine, Brigittines, Premonstratensians, Servi, Trinitarians, and the gardens made by Zokkar the olden king. —How's Willy Murray those times, Alf? So I just went round the back of his poll he'd remember the gold cup, he would so, but begob the citizen claps his paw on his knee and he says: Foreign wars is the cause of our old tongue, Mr Joseph M'Carthy Hynes, made an eloquent appeal for the resuscitation of the ancient Gaelic sports and the importance of physical culture, as understood in ancient Greece and ancient Rome and ancient Ireland, for the wife's admirers. —Off with you, says Martin, rapping for his glass.

Mr Verschoyle with the ear trumpet loves old Mrs Verschoyle with the ear trumpet loves old Mrs Verschoyle with the ear trumpet loves old Mrs Verschoyle with the turnedin eye. Says Bloom, the councillor is going? —What's that? Terry. Even so did they come and set them, those willing nymphs, the undying sisters. Other eyewitnesses depose that they observed an incandescent object of enormous proportions hurtling through the atmosphere at a terrifying velocity in a trajectory directed southwest by west. Says Terry. He knows which side his bread is buttered, says Alf. Ironical opposition cheers. The speaker: Order! —An imperial yeomanry, says Lenehan. They ought to have stuck up all the plans according to the evidence so help them God and kiss the book. Ten thousand years ago there stood by its shore the mighty city of Sarnath, whose incense-enveloped shrines were as the thrones of monarchs.

—Beg your pardon, says he, preaching and picking your pocket. The wife's advisers, I mean, says Bloom, can see the mote in others' eyes but they can't see the beam in their own. You love a certain person. Ireland filling the country with his baubles and his penny diamonds. The tear is bloody near your eye. So begob the citizen would have been lagged for assault and battery and Joe for aiding and abetting.

Jesus, I had to laugh at the little jewy getting his shirt out. The unfortunate yahoos believe it. Heenan and Sayers was only a bloody fool to it.

Says Joe. —Bloom, says he. Says I. Give us your blessing. He is gone from mortal haunts: O'Dignam, sun of our morning.

And off with him.

Says Joe. Or who is he? The poor bugger's tool that's being hanged, says Alf.

The speaker: Order! Come out here, Geraghty, you notorious bloody hill and dale robber! U.p: up.

So Bloom lets on he heard nothing and he starts talking with Joe, telling him he needn't trouble about that little matter till the first but if he would just say a word to Mr Crawford. Three Rock Mountain, Sugarloaf, Bray Head, the mountains of Mourne, the Galtees, the Ox and Donegal and Sperrin peaks, the Nagles and the Bograghs, the Connemara hills, the mastodontic pleasureship slowly moved away saluted by a final floral tribute from the representatives of the fair sex, stepped forward and, presenting his visiting card, bankbook and genealogical tree, solicited the hand of the hapless young lady, requesting her to name the day, and was accepted on the spot.

Even the Grand Turk sent us his piastres.

Nurse loves the new chemist.

That's an almanac picture for you. He's over all his troubles. —Those are nice things, says the citizen, they believe it.

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 in Irish and the old tinbox clattering along the street. Of course an action would lie, says J.J., and every male that's born they think it may be their Messiah. —Robbed, says he, taking out his handkerchief to swab himself dry. So off they started about Irish sports and shoneen games the like of that. In the tower of the great temple the priests held revels, and in winter they were heated with concealed fires, so that in those gardens it was always spring. Says Alf.

Thus of the very purest nature.

And this person loves that other person because everybody loves somebody but God loves everybody. Read Tacitus and Ptolemy, even Giraldus Cambrensis. —Give it a name, citizen, says Joe. Hoho begob says I to myself I knew he was uneasy in his two pints off of Joe and one in Slattery's off in his mind to get off the mark to hundred shillings is five quid and when they were in the dark horse pisser Burke was telling me once a month with headache like a totty with her courses. Mr Cornelius Kelleher, manager of Messrs H.J. O'Neill's popular funeral establishment, a personal friend of the defunct, who had been responsible for the carrying out of the 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 wonder did he ever put it out of sight, says Joe. —Europe has its eyes on you, Garry? And a barbarous bloody barbarian he is too, says Bloom. I. … —You what? —The blessing of God and S. Ferreol and S. Leugarde and S. Theodotus and S. Vulmar and S. Richard and S. Vincent de Paul and S. Martin of Todi and S. Martin of Tours and S. Alfred and S. Joseph and S. Denis and S. Cornelius and S. Leopold and S. Bernard and S. Terence and S. Edward and S. Owen Caniculus and S. Anonymous and S. Eponymous and S. Pseudonymous and S. Homonymous and S. Paronymous and S. Synonymous and S. Laurence O'Toole and S. James of Dingle and Compostella and S. Columcille and S. Columba and S. Celestine and S. Colman and S. Kevin and S. Brendan and S. Frigidian and S. Senan and S. Fachtna and S. Columbanus and S. Gall and S. Fursey and S. Fintan and S. Fiacre and S. John of God and the secret of England's greatness, graciously presented to him by the white chief woman, the great squaw Victoria, with a personal dedication from the august hand of the Royal Donor. —I'm talking about injustice, says Bloom.

—Bloom, says he.

Says John Wyse: Full many a flower is born to blush unseen.

You don't grasp my point, says Bloom. He told me when they cut him down after the drop it was standing up in their faces like a poker. Because, you see, because on account of it being cruel for the wife having to go round after the old stuttering fool. —Who made those allegations? And Sarsfield and O'Donnell, duke of Tetuan in Spain, and Ulysses Browne of Camus that was fieldmarshal to Maria Teresa. There's a jew for you! Says Bloom. And lo, as they must have been, since there is naught like them in the land of Mnar, another city stood beside the lake; the gray stone city of Ib, at which time wine, song, dancing, and merriment of every kind abounded.

Talking about hanging, I'll show you something you never saw. Terry.

Says Bloom, on account of the poor lad till he yells meila murder.

I'd give anything to hear him before a judge and jury. Just round to the subsheriff's for a lark.

—Is it that whiteeyed kaffir? Moya. And Sarsfield and O'Donnell, duke of Tetuan in Spain, and Ulysses Browne of Camus that was fieldmarshal to Maria Teresa. What say you, good masters, said he, so far presume upon our acquaintance which, however slight it may appear if judged by the standard of mere time, is founded, as I hope and believe, on a sentiment of mutual esteem as to request of you this favour.

That's quite true. —Hurrah, there, says Joe. The venerable president of the noble district of Boyle, princes, the sons of Dominic, the friars preachers, and the children of Peter Nolasco: and therewith from Carmel mount the children of Elijah prophet led by Albert bishop and by Teresa of Avila, calced and other: and friars, brown and grey, sons of poor Francis, capuchins, cordeliers, minimes and observants and the daughters of Clara: and the said nonperishable goods shall not be pawned or pledged or sold or otherwise alienated by the said purchaser debtor to the said vendor in the manner herein set forth as this day hereby agreed between the said vendor in the manner herein set forth as this day hereby agreed between 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 debtor to the said vendor of one pound five shillings and sixpence sterling for value received which amount shall be paid by said purchaser to said vendor in weekly instalments every seven calendar days of three shillings and no pence per pound avoirdupois and three stone avoirdupois of sugar, crushed crystal, at threepence per pound avoirdupois, the said purchaser, his heirs, successors, trustees and assigns of the other part.

U.p: up. Assurances were given that the matter would be attended to and it was not less because they found the beings weak, and soft as jelly to the touch of stones and arrows.

—Some people, says Bloom.

Says Alf, chucking out the rhino. 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. 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.

—Whose God?

Jack, says Ned. And begob he got as far as the door and hid behind Barney's snug, squeezed up with the laughing, picking his pockets, the bloody fool and he spilling the porter all over the world to walk about selling Irish industries.

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

—And after all, says Martin. —Breen, says Alf. Our own fault. Cursed by God. So Bloom slopes in with his cod's eye counting up all the women he rode himself, says little Alf.

His Majesty! In reply to a question as to his whereabouts in the heavenworld he stated that he was now on the path of pr l ya or return but was still submitted to trial at the hands of certain bloodthirsty entities on the lower astral levels. —And the tragedy of it is, says Joe, laughing, that's a point, says Bloom, isn't discipline the same everywhere.

Here was done the very secret and ancient rite in detestation of Bokrug, the water-lizard. The gardens of Alameda knew her step: the garths of olives knew and bowed. —Short, painstaking yet withal so characteristic of the man. From the reports of eyewitnesses it transpires that the seismic waves were accompanied by a violent atmospheric perturbation of cyclonic character. —Nannan's going too, says the citizen. Has familiarised the bookloving world but rather as a contributor D.O.C. points out in an interesting communication published by an evening contemporary of the harsher and more personal note which is found in the earth.

What was your best throw, citizen? 'Twixt me and you Caddareesh.

—Not taking anything between drinks, says I. —What say you, good masters, to a squab pigeon pasty, some collops of venison, a saddle of veal, widgeon with crisp hog's bacon, a boar's head with pistachios, a bason of jolly custard, a medlar tansy and a flagon of old Rhenish? To cool my courage, And my guts red roaring After Lowry's lights. —Mendelssohn was a jew and Karl Marx and Mercadante and Spinoza.

—Off with you, says I, sloping around by Pill lane and Greek street with his cod's eye on the dog and, gob, you could hear him lapping it up a mile off. Cheers.—There's the man, says Joe. And the tragedy of it is, says Alf. And moreover, says J.J. Says I.

—Lackaday, good masters, said he, so far presume upon our acquaintance which, however slight it may appear if judged by the standard of mere time, is founded, as I hope and believe, on a sentiment of mutual esteem as to request of you this favour. Sometimes the amphitheaters were flooded with water conveyed from the lake, each of bronze, and flanked by the figures of lions and elephants carven from some stone no longer known among men. And up unending steps of zircon was the tower-chamber, wherefrom the high-priests dwelt with a magnificence scarce less than that of the kings. 'Tis a merry rogue. Your fly is open, mister! Ah, well, says Alf. Li Chi Han lovey up kissy Cha Pu Chow. And he took the last swig out of the question of my honourable friend, the member for Shillelagh, may I ask the right honourable sir Hercules Hannibal Habeas Corpus Anderson, K.G., K.P., K.T., P.C., K.C.B., M.P., the cattle traders. And what do you think of that, citizen? Each year there was celebrated in Sarnath the kings of all the horses his jockeys rode. —Give us one of your prime stinkers, Terry, says Joe. What was that, Joe? —How now, fellow? Thus of the very ancient living things. The mimber? —There he is sitting there. Doing the rapparee and Rory of the hill. Walking about with his book and pencil here's my head and my heels are coming till Joe Cuffe gave him the order of the boot for giving lip to a grazier.

—You, Jack?

P … And he doubled up. No, says I.

Cows in Connacht have long horns. Or who is he? —Look at him, says he.

Isn't that a fact, says John Wyse. And the rest nowhere.

Klook. —Ay, Blazes, says Alf. And the old prostitute of a mother procuring rooms to street couples. Betwixt Sarnath and the city of Dublin, no less, and her fancyman feeling for her tickles and Norman W. Tupper, wealthy Chicago contractor, finds pretty but faithless wife in lap of officer Taylor. Arrah na Pogue, Dick Turpin, Ludwig Beethoven, the Colleen Bawn, Waddler Healy, Angus the Culdee, Dolly Mount, Sidney Parade, Ben Howth, Valentine Greatrakes, Adam and Eve, Arthur Wellesley, Boss Croker, Herodotus, Jack the Giantkiller, Gautama Buddha, Lady Godiva, The Lily of Killarney, the ruins of Clonmacnois, Cong Abbey, Glen Inagh and the Twelve Pins, Ireland's Eye, the 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.

All the lordly residences in the vicinity of the palace of the kings. Terry to bring some water for the dog and, gob, flahoolagh entertainment, don't be talking.

Do you see any green in the white of my eye? 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.

—When is long John going to hang that fellow in Mountjoy? —And a very good initial too, says the citizen. Assurances were given that the matter would be attended to and it was he drew up all the women he rode himself, says Joe. —With Dignam, says Alf, laughing.

However this may be, it is certain that they worshipped a sea-green stone idol found.

And the Saviour was a jew, says Martin, seeing it was looking blue. Takes the biscuit, and talking about the new Jerusalem? Want a small fortune to keep him from tumbling off the bloody stool atop of the bloody tin anyhow and out with him and out trying to walk straight.

Gob, it'd turn the porter sour in your guts, so it would. Fleet was his foot on the bracken: Patrick of the beamy brow. So they started talking about capital punishment and of course Bloom comes out with the why and the wherefore and all the gougers shuffling their feet to the tune the old cow died of. The unfortunate yahoos believe it. Have you got an old testament? —Are you codding?

He's an excellent man to organise.

Don't cast your nasturtiums on my character.

We're all in a cart.

You whatwhat? And sure, more be token, the lout I'm told was in Power's after, the blender's, round in Cope street going home footless in a cab five times in the week after drinking his way through all the samples in the bloody sea. O'Nolan, clad in shining armour, low bending made obeisance to the puissant and high and mighty chief of all Erin and did him to wit of that which had befallen, how that the grave elders of the most obedient city, second of the realm, had met them in the tholsel, and there, after due prayers to the gods who dwell in ether supernal, had taken solemn counsel whereby they might, if so be it might be, bring once more into honour among mortal men the winged speech of the seadivided Gael. … What? —Save you kindly, says J.J., when he's quite sure which country it is.

With who?

—Why not?

U.p: up.

Says John Wyse: 'Tis a custom more honoured in the breach than in the observance. Look at his head. The men came to handigrips.

I was there with Pisser releasing his boots out of the door.

Trade follows the flag. Told him if he didn't patch up the pot, Jesus, he did. —Aha! And thereafter in that fruitful land the broadleaved mango flourished exceedingly. I was in Europe with Kevin Egan of Paris. —That's where he's gone, says Lenehan.

—Isn't that a fact, says John Wyse, what I was telling the citizen about Bloom and the Sinn Fein?

You time for a brief libation, Martin? Looking for a private detective. The noblest, the truest, says he, all the trees of Ireland for the future men of Ireland on the fair hills of Eire, O. Cheers.—There's the man, says J.J. Raping the women and girls and flogging the natives on the belly to squeeze all the red rubber they can out of them. —And will again, says the citizen, that's what's the cause of all our misfortunes.

Ga Ga Gara. Says Joe. Says Bloom.

The catastrophe was terrific and instantaneous in its effect.

Declare to my aunt he'd talk about it for an hour so he would and talk steady. God, then, says Joe. And before he died, Taran-Ish there were many small shrines and temples where one might rest or pray to small gods. —Persecution, says he. —Aha! Handed him the father and mother of a beating. Devil a sweet fear!

Misconduct of society belle. They ought to have stuck up all the women he rode himself, says Joe. See the little kipper not up to his navel and the big fellow swiping. —We know him, says he. The bloody nag took fright and the old towser growling, letting on to be modest. The champion of all Ireland at putting the sixteen pound shot.

So he calls the old dog over. Thanks be to God they had the start of us.

We have Edward the peacemaker now. —Repeat that dose, 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? 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.

—What is it? Says he, all the history of the world is full of it.

He's on point duty up and down there for the last time.

Defrauding widows and orphans.

The houses of Sarnath were of glazed brick and chalcedony, each having its walled garden and crystal lakelet. Says I. I hadn't seen snoring drunk blind to the world up in a tree with his tongue out and a bonfire under him.

Save you kindly, says J.J. We have Edward the peacemaker now. What is it? I mean, says Bloom.

Communication was effected through the pituitary body and also by means of the orangefiery and scarlet rays emanating from the sacral region and solar plexus.

Courthouse my eye and your pockets hanging down with gold and Tyrian purple to sell in Wexford at the fair of Carmen? I see dodging along Stony Batter only Joe Hynes. All for number one. Says Joe. Ahasuerus I call him.

—Here, says Joe, about the foot and mouth disease and the cattle traders. The wife's advisers, I mean, says the citizen, staring out.

And he sat him there about the hour of five o'clock to administer the law of the brehons at the commission for all that and those parts to be holden in and for the benefit of the wife and that a trust is created but on the other hand that 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 that time as a rogue and I'm another.

And lo, as they fled from the doomed city of Sarnath, whose incense-enveloped shrines were as the thrones of monarchs. Assurances were given that the matter would be attended to and it was he drew up all the guts of the fish. 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? —Well, says the citizen, that's what's the cause of all our misfortunes. You don't grasp my point, says Bloom, for the corporation there near Butt bridge.

Get a queer old tailend of corned beef off of that one, what? And begob what was it only that bloody old pantaloon Denis Breen in his bathslippers with two bloody big books tucked under his oxter and the wife beside him and Corny Kelleher with his wall eye looking in as they went past, talking to him like a leprechaun trying to peacify him. Stand and deliver, says he. Throwaway, says he. Jesus, he near sent it into the county Longford.

And straightway the minions of the law led forth from their donjon keep one whom the sleuthhounds of justice had apprehended in consequence of information received. Nurse loves the new chemist. —And a barbarous bloody barbarian he is too, says Joe. A nation once again in the execution of which the dusky potentate, in the course of a happy speech, freely translated by the British chaplain, the reverend Ananias Praisegod Barebones, tendered his best thanks to Massa Walkup and emphasised the cordial relations existing between Abeakuta and the British empire, stating that he treasured as one of his paraphernalia papers and he starts gassing out of him: Three cheers for Israel!

Nor good red herring, says Joe, reading one of the smutty yankee pictures Terry borrows off of Corny Kelleher. It's on the march, says the citizen. Says Joe.

The arrival of the worldrenowned headsman was greeted by a roar of acclamation from the huge concourse, the viceregal ladies waving their handkerchiefs in their excitement while the even more excitable foreign delegates cheered vociferously in a medley of cries, hoch, banzai, eljen, zivio, chinchin, polla kronia, hiphip, vive, Allah, amid which the ringing evviva of the delegate of the land of Mnar is very still, and remote from most other lands, both of waking and of dream.

Says Terry. He paid the debt of nature, God be merciful to him. The Man that Broke the Bank at Monte Carlo, The Man in the Gap, The Woman Who Didn't, Benjamin Franklin, Napoleon Bonaparte, John L. Sullivan, Cleopatra, Savourneen Deelish, Julius Caesar, Paracelsus, sir Thomas Lipton, William Tell, Michelangelo Hayes, Muhammad, the Bride of Lammermoor, Peter the Packer, Dark Rosaleen, Patrick W. Shakespeare, Brian Confucius, Murtagh Gutenberg, Patricio Velasquez, Captain Nemo, Tristan and Isolde, the first Prince of Wales, Thomas Cook and Son, 159 Great Brunswick street, and Messrs T. and C. Martin, 77,78,79 and 80 North Wall, assisted by the men and officers of the Duke of Cornwall's light infantry under the general supervision of H.R.H., rear admiral, the right honourable sir Hercules Hannibal Habeas Corpus Anderson, K.G., K.P., K.T., P.C., K.C.B., M.P., J.P., M.B., D.S.O., S.O.D., M.F.H., M.R.I.A., B.L., Mus. Doc., P.L.G., F.T.C.D., F.R.U.I., F.R.C.P.I. and F.R.C.S.I. Talking about violent exercise, says Alf. And his old fellow before him perpetrating frauds, old Methusalem Bloom, the robbing bagman, that poisoned himself with the prussic acid after he swamping the country with his baubles and his penny diamonds. —We'll put force against force, says the citizen,—Beg your pardon, says he.

And so say all of us, says the citizen.

Says Bob Doran, with the hat on the back of his poll he'd remember the gold cup, he would so, but begob the citizen claps his paw on his knee and he says: Foreign wars is the cause of it. Talking about violent exercise, says Alf, you can cod him up to the two eyes. Gob, there's many a true word spoken in jest. The last farewell was affecting in the extreme. The earl of Dublin, Wood quay ward, merchant, hereinafter called the purchaser, videlicet, five pounds avoirdupois of first choice tea at three shillings and no pence per pound avoirdupois, the said purchaser, his heirs, successors, trustees and assigns of the one part and the said nonperishable goods shall not be pawned or pledged or sold or otherwise alienated by the said purchaser debtor to the said vendor of one pound five shillings and sixpence sterling for value received which amount shall be paid by said purchaser to said vendor in weekly instalments every seven calendar days of three shillings and no pence sterling: and the said nonperishable goods shall not be pawned or pledged or sold or otherwise alienated by the said purchaser debtor to the said vendor in the manner herein set forth as this day hereby agreed between the said vendor, his heirs, successors, trustees and assigns of the one part and the said nonperishable goods shall not be pawned or pledged or sold or otherwise alienated by the said purchaser but shall be and remain and be held to be sufficient evidence of malice in the testcase Sadgrove v. Love, says Bloom. The gardens of Alameda knew her step: the garths of olives knew and bowed. Cried he who had knocked.

Says he. Fitter for him go home to the little sleepwalking bitch he married, Mooney, the bumbailiff's daughter, mother kept a kip in Hardwicke street, that used to be stravaging about the landings Bantam Lyons told me that was stopping there at two in the morning the people found the idol gone and the high-priests looked out over the lake, at night.

And as for the Prooshians and the Hanoverians, says Joe. Bloom, isn't discipline the same everywhere. I dismiss the case. Why? It is written on the brick cylinders of Kadatheron that the beings of Ib their hate grew, and it was not less because they found the vast still lake that is fed by no stream, and out of which no stream flows. Order! So I saw there was going to be a bit of a dust Bob's a queer chap when the porter's up in him so says I just to make talk: How's Willy Murray those times, Alf?

Aren't they trying to make an order! At this very moment, says he.

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. Ay, says Alf, that was giggling over the Police Gazette with Terry on the counter, in all her warpaint. The final bout of fireworks was a gruelling for both champions. What?

I was blue mouldy for the want of that pint. And says John Wyse. And says Bob Doran. —The finest man, says Joe. It's only a natural phenomenon, don't you see?

Says Joe, haven't we had enough of those sausageeating bastards on the throne from George the elector down to the German lad and the flatulent old bitch that's dead? Says I to Lenehan.

Has left no stone unturned in his efforts to delucidate and compare the verse recited and has found it bears a striking resemblance the italics are ours to the ranns of ancient Celtic ornament, a work which reflects every credit on the makers, Messrs Jacob agus Jacob. —Twenty to one, says Martin. Says Joe, from bitter experience. It's not signed Shanganagh. Throwaway, says he.

—I don't know, says Alf.

—Aha! Pistachios! —Well, says John Wyse.

So then the citizen begins talking about the Irish language and the corporation meeting and all to that and the other phenomenon.

Asked 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.

—Adiutorium nostrum in nomine Domini. 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. —Cockburn.

I hope I'm not … —No, rejoined the other, I appreciate to the full the motives which actuate your conduct and I shall discharge the office you entrust to me consoled by the reflection that, though the errand be one of sorrow, this proof of your confidence sweetens in some measure the bitterness of the cup.

And off with him. —And here she is, says I. Lord Howard de Walden's. A fellow that's neither fish nor flesh. A fresh torrent of tears burst from their lachrymal ducts and the vast still lake and gray stone city Ib.

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. And there sat with him the high sinhedrim of the twelve tribes of Iar, for every tribe one man, of the tribe of Fergus and of the lands adjacent. Your God was a jew and Karl Marx and Mercadante and Spinoza. They were driven out of house and home in the black 47. Not like the ikons of other gods were those of Zo-Kalar and Tamash and Lobon, the chief gods of Sarnath, fashioned of a bright multi-colored stone not known elsewhere.

—Never better, a chara, to show there's no ill feeling.

And then an old fellow starts blowing into his bagpipes and all the cities of Mnar and of many lands adjacent. Come out here, Geraghty, you notorious bloody hill and dale robber!

Jesus, he'd kick the shite out of him in Irish and a lot of colleen bawns going about with temperance beverages and selling medals and oranges and lemonade and a few old dry buns, gob, flahoolagh entertainment, don't be talking.

And there rises a shining palace whose crystal glittering roof is seen by mariners who traverse the extensive sea in barks built expressly for that purpose, and thither come all herds and fatlings and firstfruits of that land for O'Connell Fitzsimon takes toll of them, a chieftain descended from chieftains. —�� Billington executed the awful murderer Toad Smith … The citizen made a plunge back into the shop. The speaker: Order! A rump and dozen, was scarified, flayed and curried, yelled like bloody hell, the third day he arose again from the bed, steered into haven, sitteth on his beamend till further orders whence he shall come to drudge for a living and be paid. —Where? —Well, it's a fact, says John Wyse. So we turned into Barney Kiernan's and there, sure enough, was the citizen up in the corner that I hadn't seen snoring drunk blind to the world only Bob Doran.

A nobody, two pair back and passages, at seven shillings a week, and he serving mass in Adam and Eve's when he was young with his eyes shut, who wrote the new testament, and hugging and smugging.

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.

Ireland on the fair hills of Eire, O. —Myler dusted the floor with him, says he. —Anyhow, says Joe.

—Three cheers for Israel!

—Keep your pecker up, says Joe, about the foot and mouth disease.

So anyhow when I got back they were at it dingdong, John Wyse saying it was Bloom gave the ideas for Sinn Fein to Griffith to put in his paper all kinds of jerrymandering, packed juries and swindling the taxes off of the government and appointing consuls all over the bed and the two shawls killed with the laughing. However this may be, it is certain that they worshipped a sea-green stone idol chiseled in the likeness of Bokrug, the water-lizard. So in comes Martin asking where was Bloom. 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. Edward Guelph-Wettin! That can be explained by science, says Bloom. Mercy of God the sun was in his eyes or he'd have left him for dead.

And our wool that was sold in Rome in the time of day with old Troy of the D.M.P. 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 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. —Hurrah, there, says Joe. —Gordon, Barnfield crescent, Exeter; Redmayne of Iffley, Saint Anne's on Sea: the wife of William T Redmayne of a son.

This poor hardworking man!

So J.J. ordered the drinks. Are you asleep?

We have our greater Ireland beyond the sea, queen, defender of the faith, Empress of India, even she, who bore rule, a victress over many peoples, the wellbeloved, for they thought it not meet that beings of such aspect should walk about the world of men at dusk. Takes the biscuit, and talking about bunions. Says he.

Do you know what that is. There is in the land of Mnar a vast still lake itself, and the memory of those beings and of their elder gods was derided by dancers and lutanists crowned with roses from the gardens of Zokkar.

So Bob Doran comes lurching around asking Bloom to tell Mrs Dignam he was sorry for her trouble and he was very sorry about the funeral and to tell her that he said and everyone who knew him said that there was never a truer, a finer than poor little Willy Dignam.

In summer the gardens were cooled with fresh odorous breezes skilfully wafted by fans, and in pavilions without the walls beheld strange lights on the water, and saw that the gray rock Akurion was quite submerged.

—Remanded, says J.J., and every male that's born they think it may be their Messiah. But those that came to the land of bondage.

—Charity to the neighbour, says Martin to the jarvey.

Gob, the citizen made a grab at the letter.

Says Lenehan, to celebrate the occasion.

Says Bloom. And they shackled him hand and foot and would take of him ne bail ne mainprise but preferred a charge against him for he was a malefactor.

Why not?

There he is, says Joe.

Lord Howard de Walden's. Declare to my aunt he'd talk about it for an hour so he would and talk steady. The Night before Larry was stretched in their usual mirth-provoking fashion. I. How is your testament? I thinks of my old mashtub what's waiting for me down Limehouse way.

—Good Christ! Cried he, who by his mien seemed the leader of the party, a man of pleasant countenance, So servest thou the king's messengers God shield His Majesty! —Na bacleis, says the citizen. —Arrah, give over your bloody codding, Joe, says I to myself I knew he was uneasy in his two pints off of Joe and one in Slattery's off in his mind to get off the mark to hundred shillings is five quid and when they were in the dark horse pisser Burke was telling me 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!

It is told that in the castle. —Not at all, says Martin, seeing it was looking blue. 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. Klook Klook. Look at him, says Crofter the Orangeman or presbyterian.

So he starts telling us about corporal punishment and about the crew of tars and officers and rearadmirals drawn up in cocked hats and the parson with his protestant bible to witness punishment and a young lad brought out, howling for his ma, and they tie him down on the car and hold his bloody jaw and a loafer with a patch over his eye starts singing If the man in the brown macintosh loves a lady who is dead. Listen to the births and deaths in the Irish all for Ireland Independent, and I'll thank you and the marriages. —Expecting every moment will be his next, says Lenehan. So we went around by the Linenhall barracks and the back of the yard to pumpship and begob hundred shillings to five while I was letting off my Throwaway twenty to letting off my Throwaway twenty to letting off my load gob says I to myself says I. And so say all of us, says Jack. Or any other woman marries a half and half? Gob, that puts the bloody kybosh on it if old sloppy eyes is mucking up the show. In Inisfail the fair there lies a land, the land of Mnar and the lands beyond. —Is that really a fact? —Pity about her, says the citizen.

Says Joe, God between us and harm. And they shackled him hand and foot and would take of him ne bail ne mainprise but preferred a charge against him for he was a malefactor.

—Let me alone, says he, I dare him, says Alf. —… Billington executed the awful murderer Toad Smith … The citizen made a grab at the letter. Says he. Says Bloom. Considerable amusement was caused by the favourite Dublin streetsingers L-n-h-n and M-ll-g-n who sang The Night before Larry was stretched in their usual mirth-provoking fashion.

Ten, did you say? And round he goes to Bob Doran that was standing Alf a half one sucking up for what he could get. The bloody nag took fright and the old tinbox clattering along the street. Mine host came forth at the summons, girding him with his tabard. —The strangers, says the citizen. —An imperial yeomanry, says Lenehan. The signal for prayer was then promptly given by megaphone and in an instant all heads were bared, the commendatore's patriarchal sombrero, which has been in the possession of his family since the revolution of Rienzi, being removed by his medical adviser in attendance, Dr Pippi.

So Bloom lets on he heard nothing and he starts talking with Joe, telling him he needn't trouble about that little matter till the first but if he would just say a word to Mr Crawford. —Gadzooks! Mangy ravenous brute sniffing and sneezing all round the place and scratching his scabs. No security.

It's only initialled: P. He is gone from mortal haunts: O'Dignam, sun of our morning.

—Considerations of space influenced their lordships' decision. I show you. —What I meant about tennis, for example, is the agility and training the eye.

They believe in rod, the scourger almighty, creator of hell upon earth, and in Jacky Tar, the son of Rory: it is he.

—Here, says Joe.

—Good Christ! I, was in the chair and the attendance was of large dimensions.

Jesus, says I. Whilst the king and his nobles and slaves, but a horde of indescribable green voiceless things with bulging eyes, pouting, flabby lips, and curious ears; things which danced horribly, bearing in their paws golden platters set with rubies and diamonds. We let them come in. Faith, he was. He is gone from mortal haunts: O'Dignam, sun of our morning.

Says Alf. Ga Gara. —Let me alone, says he, looking for you.

Because he was up one time in a knacker's yard. And mournful and with a vengeance, no cravens, the sons of deathless Leda.

—Three pints, Terry, says Joe, how short your shirt is!

#Ulysses (novel)#James Joyce #1922 #automatically generated text #Patrick Mooney #Cyclops #H.P. Lovecraft #weird fiction #horror #American authors #20th century #modernist authors #The Doom that Came to Sarnath #1919

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