#special shout out to trader joe’s too

[hauntedhowlett]

hell is real and can be found in any grocery store parking lot on a saturday afternoon

[hopesbarnes]

Black Swan (3)

Summary: Y/N used to be a Russian spy under the code name Black Swan. But that was a lifetime ago, now she’s a part-time avenger, dance teacher, surrogate sister to Natasha Romanoff, and trainer to new Shield Agents. She’s come a long way from the days of killing targets and being tortured. But when someone from her past comes around will she be able to ignore her history anymore? Or will she end up falling in love with the only man her sister ever loved?

A/N: Reblog / Like If you liked the chapter!! (I really love this chapter it’s one of my favorites)

Things shifted slightly after you sat down with Bucky. It wasn’t a dramatic shift, but a noticeable one. The two of you shared life events few could understand and you felt for him. So, you started to hang around him. You’d eat breakfast with him, never talking but always closeby. And you two ran together. You could keep up with his pace, and that felt comforting to him. He wasn’t as alone as he thought. The more time you spent with him the more you realized. He wasn’t the soldier, that was an entirely different person. Not necessarily better or worse, just different. He was just Bucky.

Two weeks had passed with this new schedule. A part of you felt like you were betraying the only person to ever matter to you. Would Natalia see this as disloyalty too? You didn’t like him the way she did, but you did start to form a kinship. She had texted you to meet in her room and short walk there your stomach was in knots.   

“Yгадать что? (Guess what?)” Nat asks when you get to her room. 

“Что? (What?)” you ask back. She looks giddy. Something you haven’t seen in a long time. She’s happy and it’s nice to see your little sister so happy. 

“I’m going on a date,” she declares in a sing-song voice. You’re taken aback by this. Since when does The Black Widow date? 

She never mentioned guys other than to talk hookups. The two of you shared a similarly grim outlook on dating. When you’re held together by glue, love doesn’t come easy. Hookups and one night stands provided what you needed without getting complicated. They didn’t threaten to tear the fragile state you remained in. And besides, it wasn’t like pregnancy or diseases were something to worry about. The Widow Program took that away.

You l lean your head forward and give her a look, encouraging her to tell you more. She moves to her wardrobe and starts talking. 

“Need something easy to move in, but hot.” Is all she says. She’s thumbing through her wardrobe and frowns then makes her way towards the door with you in tow. 

“Where are we go- wait, no. Tasha, you can’t just steal my clothes without asking!” You say upon realizing she’s headed for your closet. 

“Just your leather jacket! Please!” she pleads. 

You nod, “Only if you tell me where and who this date is with.” She smiles and pulls the jacket down and puts it on over her outfit. She was right, it did look good with the outfit. 

“We’re going to get coffee and then a shooting range!” She says and you immediately know who she’s going out with. There is only one person in the world who loves coffee and shooting things as much as Nat does. 

“When did Clint ask you out?” You ask and she looks perplexed. 

“I didn’t say who?” You laugh at this. 

“Oh, honey only one person besides you considers that a date.” She joins you in laughing. “You really think he asked me out? I did. He didn’t have the balls!” You laugh even harder at this. Of course, she did. Nat was never one for subtlety. 

Natalia and Clint leave both in leather jackets, which shouldn’t surprise you, you can’t help but think they are perfect for each other. Clint had a tragic backstory too and was there for Natalia when you weren’t. He wouldn’t pull her apart, he would hold her together. You smile to yourself at the idea of her happy again, and head to the joint kitchen to steal some ice cream. You make yourself a bowl and sit at the countertop and eat while scrolling through your phone looking for dance costumes for the girls. Then you hear a loud “Hey!”

“That’s my ice cream!” you turn to see who’s shouting to find Bucky. Quiet, shy Bucky. The guy who barely talked, and sure as hell never yelled.

“Swry,” you say through a mouth of ice cream. He looks taken aback by your half-hearted apology. As if you just insulted his entire being.

“They only sell it at Trader Joe’s! I make a special trip there specifically for the ice cream!” you pause to digest both the ice cream and this information. 

“You know what Trader Joe’s is?” you ask completely seriously. 

“Yes! I may have missed a few decades but I don’t live under a rock anymore. And you’re eating my ice cream. Boo you whore”

“Chill man, if it’s that big a deal we can go get some more. Wait did you just quote mean girls?” He smirks, hiding his blushing cheeks. But nods and then turns to grab his coat off the hook. “I didn’t really mean now, but sure guess we can go to Trader Joe’s now,” you say mostly to yourself.

You weren’t sure what you expected taking a super soldier to a supermarket. The trip went a lot like the book “If you give a mouse a cookie”. After getting the ice cream he decides he needs more cones, and that leads him to milk to wash it down and within thirty minutes you’ve grabbed a cart and filled it up with various protein items, and strange foods only a child would eat.

“I love the future,” Bucky beams to you while wheeling the groceries to the car. You laugh at his statement. 

“Hun, this is the present now, not the future.” This has him taken aback for a moment and all he can do is stare. Great, one trip to the grocery store and you break the guy.

“I know I've been alive for most of this time, but it feels like I’m in this freaky movie where I step foot into the future and if I change something it will all fall apart.” You can’t help but laugh harder.

 In between laughs, you manage to say “You just described the plot to Back to the Future!” After taking a few deep breaths you face him seriously. “I’m sorry, I know this is a lot. But nothing you do will mess this up. This is your life now, so enjoy all the ice cream you want, and don’t worry about messing up.” 

He smiles at you, “I will if you don’t eat my ice cream.”

“Oh god, a girl makes one mistake!” 

[ladyhistorypod]

Episode 5: Is a Woman’s Place Really in the Kitchen?

Sources:

Amelia Simmons

The Atlantic

Connecticut History

Michigan State University Libraries

Smithsonian Magazine

Further Viewing: Amelia Simmons’ Thanksgiving Dinner – YouTube

Buwei Yang Chao

“Chinese linguist, phonologist, composer and author: oral history transcript / and related material, 1974-1977”

Chowhound

Brown University

Brown University (YouTube)

Open Recipes Openly Arrived At: Mrs Chao’s How to Cook and Eat in Chinese (1945) and the Translation of Chinese Food

Chow Chop Suey: Food and Chinese American Journey (book by Anne Mendleson)

New York Times

Mary Mallon

Annals of Gastroenterology

History Channel

National Geographic

Smithsonian Magazine

Discover Magazine

Attributions:

Drum Roll

Stove Clicks

Food Vectors

Click below for a full text transcript of the episode!

Alana: I hit my step count for the first time in quarantine today because I was walking all up and down northwest Washington DC looking for brisket five days before Rosh Hashanah. By the time this comes out we’ll be well past Rosh Hashanah, we’ll be like into Yom Kippur kind of area.

Lexi: Yeah. We will.

Alana: But oh my god. I'm so tired. I'm not used to doing that much walking… but… all over… But I found one! I found one.

Lexi: Where’d you find it?

Alana: Trader Joe’s.

Lexi: Of course!

Alana: Trader Joe's, man. I looked at the farmer’s market but they were sold out and that was really sad because obviously…

Lexi: People probably preordered to the farmer’s market.

Alana: That's the thing I only thought about it like Thursday, and the preorders needed to be in by Wednesday.

Lexi: Ooooh.

Alana: So… walking all around northwest Washington. I checked the farmer’s market stand to be like oh maybe they brought extra and I went early like I get there at 10:30 now and they were sold out.

Haley: It’s kind of like Thanksgiving for it, like where you have to preorder your turkey or ham. And I'm kind of terrified for that moment because I'm hosting Thanksgiving. But I need like an eight to ten pound turkey, nothing like– I’ve seen thirty pound turkeys when I was researching this. Like how big is a brisket?

Alana: It depends. The brisket that I got was three pounds. Three point one pounds.

Haley: And that's it for you or for like others?

Alana: It's for me and for my extended quarantine household. Shout out to Maureen and Paul, I don't know if they're listening to this episode but they said they were gonna listen to the first two, so… 

Lexi: But you can make a lot of brisket if you want to.

Alana: Oh yeah, I'm gonna make all of it. It reheats really well.

[INTRO MUSIC]

Alana: Hello and welcome to Lady History; the good the bad and the ugly ladies you missed in history class. I'm in the virtual studio with my spice wife Lexi. Lexi, do you want to explain how we got spice married?

Lexi: Well for one we're both really spicy people, um, so that's got to be the first reason. When you put two spicy people together equals a spicy marriage. But no what happened was I was moving out of DC and I had a collection of spices because I love spices and I needed someone to take my spices so Alana took them. And then the other day Alana was cooking and talking about all the spices she uses and it happened to be a combination of the spices from both spice cabinets so it was a spice marriage.

Alana: We shared our spice assets.

Lexi: And hopefully someday we will live together, and our spices can stay together forever.

Alana: Someday.

Lexi: Or they'll expire. But spices last a long time. 

Alana: Spices last a while. Also here, “here” in air quotes is Haley. Haley, do you have a favorite dish to cook?

Haley: I love making anything with mashed potatoes. I really like find it just calming to peel potatoes and then chop them up and then watch them boil. I like those like specific steps I can go through.

Alana: I’m inviting you to help me make latkes because that's the worst part. This has been a very Alana is Jewish episode already but I'm inviting you to make latkes with me so that you can peel all the potatoes because I hate doing that.

Haley: I've never had a latke before so I don't know how much help I’ll be.

Alana: Didn’t you live in New York?

Haley: Latkes have eggs. I've never had a latke sans eggs, so.

Alana: I’ll find a way. For you I will find a way to make latkes sans eggs. And I'm Alana and my friends call me a Trader Ho because I grocery shop almost exclusively at Trader Joe's.

(Haley laughing)

Lexi: Which friends are that?

Alana: My internet friends. My sunshines.

Haley: I was like… we don't call you that. You have other friends?

Lexi: You have friends that aren’t us?

Lexi: Okay so the theme today is cooking and because of this theme I would like to dedicate this episode to my great grandmother Eleanor Delucia, who we called Nana most of us call Nana. But the reason I would like to dedicate it to her is because she spent a hundred years of life cooking and living through history and so I think it's very fitting that this episode would be dedicated to her. And because of that I want to ask you guys if there's any family recipes that are weird or unique to your family.

Alana: Yes I do have a very special recipe, actually I have a couple, from my Grandma Louise. I recently started– oh my god Alana’s going to be Jewish on main again– I started making challah every week from scratch and I'm using my grandmother's recipe that is so incredibly complicated. And like you– you have to boil water, but you can't boil water too much, like it has to be exactly 110 degrees when you use it. And then you have to rise the bread– like rise the dough at exactly 90 degrees, and it's so complicated and so I've started using that recipe and I'm crushing it. I’m crushing it. It was my first time making challah by myself and I used this recipe that was super complicated and I nailed it. I nailed it. And then the other one is, I started making a potato zucchini soup and– like when I was a teenager. And I made it for my grandparents at their house once and my grandmother was like “you know what would give this a really beautiful green color is if you left–” like you peel the zucchini but if you leave the peel in the bowl– not in the bowl, in the pot while all of the vegetables are cooking together, the soup will be more green. And it'll be like– the color will be more pronounced and– oh my god, she was so right. And so now that's like how I make it. So those are my fun family stories.

Lexi: That's so beautiful.

Haley: I don't think we have like a distinct recipe or sets of recipes. We will cook Cuban or Persian food. And I've noticed with my mom and myself since we're both like lazy, lazy beans, we’ll take the complicated recipe, like Alana was saying, with all the ingredients, all the different measurements, what you have it, and just make it into a Crockpot friendly, or like one pot friendly recipe, versus making it a three hour long process. Because so many times I’m like I really want Persian food and it wasn't until a few months ago where a Persian restaurant opened down the street from me. And every time I open like one of my marked Pinterest tabs it would be like eight to ten different ingredients that I could not get at my local supermarket. And then thirty plus steps, culminating into three to four hours of cooking, which I just do not have, especially writing a thesis at the moment.

Lexi: I think for my family it's a dessert heavy situation, like on both sides. My mom's family has these German rollout cookies that we make for Christmas, sometimes other holidays– we made little George Washingtons for my graduation party, which was cute, but they're just flat cookies. And then on my Italian family’s side, the thing that we do at weddings as we have a table where all the aunties bring cookies and then it's like a place of privilege or pride to be the best auntie with the best cookies for the wedding, which is really cute. So I think cookies are a big deal in my family.

Alana: Cookies are– are a big deal in my family too, and I find it– like, my grandmother died three years ago… just over three years ago– and I find like, making cookies so spiritual. That I'm like this is something that we used to do together. It's one of my favorite pictures of like little baby Alana and Grandma Louise and she's teaching me how to use a cookie cutter and it’s so cute.

Haley: Okay I have to amend mine because we've brought up desserts. Like I just said probably five minutes ago I'm real allergic to eggs so my Christmas like cookies all egg free, or like before we could do the– the substitutes were oreos like dipped in chocolate. But my birthday cake was a homemade Rice Krispies treat like cake. My mom would just make like a ginormous one and like decorate it. So all my– just because like what were you gonna do with a child that couldn’t eat her own birthday cake? That's just sad and depressing. So my mom basically was like we're gonna have a Rice Krispy treat or we're going to have ice cream cake. So that– I guess that is heavily unique for my family.

Lexi: So cookbooks emerged as a status symbol, and in 15th and 16th century Europe, cookbooks were filled with recipes from palaces and courts and they were favored by kings and queens. And the wealthy loyal followers acquired these cookbooks as a sign of their devotion, eating like royalty… it brought them closer to being royalty. Gradually, as access to print books became more common and literacy rates rose, cookbooks became a staple in households all around Europe. But one cookbook in particular changed the way a nation ate. And that’s the cookbook we're gonna talk about today. In the year 1796, Amelia Simmons wrote the United States of America's first ever cookbook. In doing so, she forever changed cookbooks, shaping a future in which cookbooks were used by people from all walks of life. Amelia’s book was called “American Cookery, or, The Art of Dressing Viands, Fish, Poultry, and Vegetables.”

Alana: Can you spell that?

Lexi: V-I-A-N-D-S. 

Alana: I hate French.

Lexi: It was published by Hudson and Goodwin in Hartford, Connecticut. While it was not the first cookbook printed in America, it was the first one written by an American. It was a unique cookbook. It was distinguished from its British counterparts for its attention to more practical methods of cooking and it provided recipes that can make large quantities of food for families on tight budgets. When I say large quantities, I mean the ingredients were prepared in huge, huge quantities. One of her cake recipes called for two pounds of butter. Amelia also believed in saving time, and one of her recipes called for the person making the recipe to milk a cow directly into the mixture. Amelia's cookbook resonated so successfully with America's home cooks that it was reprinted for thirty five years after its initial publication. Amelia's recipes may not be as commonplace in American households as they were during her lifetime, but they are a great resource for analyzing and understanding how food and language are related in history. Some of them you use terms became commonplace in American language such as calling pancakes slapjacks, referring to lard and butter as shortening, coining the Americanization of the Dutch word “Koekje”– I might have said that wrong– which would eventually become the word “cookie.” She actually spelled it like C-O-O-K-Y not I-E like we spell it today. Her legacy continues in her home state of Connecticut, where her recipe for “Election Cake”– a floury bread cake baked in large quantities– became a common after-voting snack for Connecticut's residents and remains relevant today. Plus, Amelia’s recipes let historical chefs recreate and taste recipes, experiencing the history of America through the flavor of food people the past preferred. And, so I guess in summary, Amelia kind of started the whole trend of American cookbook culture. She established the means by which American women make their food– and American people in general I guess not just women– but at the time she definitely was writing as a woman for other women because the recipes were so practical and focused on how a mother might cook for their kids or wife might cook for their husband or how you might cook for a family so definitely she was a woman writing for women but I really think it’s an interesting and fascinating story that she created the first cookbook, and it was a woman who did it, and that's really really cool.

Alana: I like how you said like cookbooks were status symbols and I'm thinking about cleaning out my grandmother's kitchen and there were just like cabinets full of cookbooks and I'm like oh, hello, yes, I am the aristocracy.

Haley: I actually have a question about the cookbooks, Lex, cuz I couldn’t find this in my research. But could you find like what constitutes as a long time for being an in-print cookbook.

Lexi: So, nothing I read said like thirty five– because because thirty five years was how long hers was printed for.

Haley: Right.

Lexi: Nothing said that that was the longest or that that was normal. It was notable but it wasn't a record. So…

Haley: Right.

Lexi: You know. I don't know exactly how long recipes last, but when you think about how trends change so much and how we don’t really eat things today that my grandma used to cook at dinner parties in the seventies. I'm sure cookbooks don't last that long and when we think about Amelia's methods and then we think about what people ate even in the mid-1800s it was totally different already, so even fifty sixty years later so. Yeah.

Haley: That’s the exact train of thought I was using because I've noticed when I was just researching different women to see who I wanted to dive into, a lot of the cookbooks if they weren’t out for those like thirty year chunks, it was revisions. Every few years here's a revised copy. And that's like a thing in our academic world as well where new trends happen, new events happen. And recipes and also just work needs to be updated. So I like that like the thirty years but also that she's just still relevant.

Lexi: Yeah. So we don't know that much about her. Like, all we know is that she was an orphan and that's literally it. We don't know about her personal life, we just know that she wrote this book. There's no other records of her in any way. Yeah, and there's actually a Youtuber I'd like to shout out named I believe it's Townsend's I think that's how you say it– it's like the word “town” and the word “end”– who does these recipes that Amelia put in the book. And he does other historical recipes too, and other historical videos but if you want to see an entire playlist of Amelia's Thanksgiving dinner recipes check out that channel.

Haley: Well that's a great segue into my gal because we're gonna keep going on the cookbook train and also kind of I want to say revolutionizing the American kitchen, in a sense, but we're going to do with Chinese food now. Not necessarily like the American food, which I got from Amelia, sensing it’s more of a not necessarily British take but American classics.

Lexi: Establishing American classics.

Haley: There we go. Yep, that's awesome. So I'm going to preface this, I calling–

Lexi: Something I forgot to say on that, she used like corn and stuff which was not available in Britain so… 

Haley: Oh, I love that. That's. So good for what I'm gonna be talking about. So she is Dr. Buwei Yang Chao. And I'm gonna do a little side note: I’m not going to be pronouncing these Chinese words, phrases, whatchahaveits, correctly because I do not speak Chinese. And yes, you heard it, Doctor. But don't worry we'll get into that. Born in 1889 in Nanjing, China Buwei was a Chinese-American physician and writer but most recognizable as a person who brought us, as Americans, potstickers, stir fry, and essentially the first cookbook of Chinese-American food. Before we begin, I just want to go over what potstickers are because I didn't know what potstickers were and I'll get into that more but potstickers are type of Chinese dumpling usually with a crescent shape, pan fried on one side, simmered in some sort of broth. And full disclosure part of the reason why I didn't know what potstickers were because I've only had them from Trader Joe's. I.E. that whole egg thing coming back in. So back to Dr. Buwei. As a female doctor in China, she did have a Japanese training as a surgeon and gynecologist and she actually pioneered the use of birth control for women in China which blew my mind. I was reading like a New York Times article and got into a whole wormhole of this doctor’s just life and bam, coming out with pioneering in birth control and medicine of that nature. And she definitely had a mix of Chinese medicine and then also like Western school medicine because a lot of the Western schools were in Asia so she got the mix of both. And she was credited with that sense of bringing Western medicine to China as one of like the first females to do it. And a lot of the time, her medical like knowledge was noted as quote “new style” and also as a side note I believe that in her entry exam essay it was about women's education, which I thought was really cool. Like how educating women was a good and powerful thing. And I only found that only one article so it might not be true, but I'm praying that it is true because I was just so baller to go into med school with your entry essay being about women's education and like the right that women have to be educated at such a professional level. So why did I bring this all up, because come on Haley we're here to talk about food. Well, while she was in Japan and studying at Tokyo Women's Medical College, she started cooking her own meals because she didn't enjoy the Japanese cuisine. It just didn't sit right with her. Totally different, she wanted the comfort of home and since Japan didn't have–

Alana: Raw fish? I’m with her. I’m with her. I don’t do the raw fish.

Haley: Exactly. Like if we went to Italy and for me, the eggs in all those pastas, I would be going out, buying my own pasta, making my own carbonara, sans eggs. Totally natural. But Japan, kind of like what Lexi was getting to, Japan didn’t have all the traditional ingredients, so she would modify her traditional Chinese recipes to fit in with what she could get from the Japanese markets. And when she returned to China in 1919, she opened the Sen Ren Hospital, and after a few more years, marriage, blossoming career, she was offered to teach at Harvard University in Cambridge, Massachusetts. Thus we get into her time in the U.S. And her and her husband like there are a couple of years where they go back and forth teaching, practicing medicine, living their life. So when she was writing or just before she was writing her first cookbook which is “How to Cook and Eat in Chinese” and that came out in 1945. She would try and test out her food. This was also often in the U. S. so with ingredients that her readers would have, and she added these elements to her everyday cooking. So this wasn't like “I'm going to write this cookbook for people to buy it and make money off of it but not use it myself.” She fully invested, saying “look, if I'm gonna produce something for people to read, I have to use it in my everyday cooking. I have to live by this.” which I really respect. So in a history perspective, 1945 was the tail end of World War II, and for writing cookbooks– writing cookbooks takes years to do. If you saw the movie “Julie and Julia” you kind of get a glimpse of that, where you first write about the outline, what you want to cook. You want to have appetizers, mains, and desserts. And then you get it to the publisher, they say “cool, do these work?” You test and test and test, just years and years and honestly I could be totally getting this timeline wrong. This is just my preliminary knowledge. So 1940s, we’re in World War II, it was also a difficult time for cooking and food in general in the United States because not just having the native Chinese cultural food that she was used to, and now she had to supplement in the U. S., they’re are also going through food shortages and kind of restrictions from food stamps and just what was available during World War II. So she really used some innovative and creative thinking when writing this masterpiece of hers. And a lot of it also came from, just the New York World's Fair happened in 1939, and I don't think this had a direct impact on her writing the cookbook but I think it had an impact on her selling a cookbook and becoming like this wide sensation because that World's Fair was about showcasing food from around the world and pushing having new cuisine in US culture. And then a few years later, we have this cookbook about Chinese food. And on overall note, Buwei’s cookbook was not the first Chinese cookbook in the U. S. in terms of being published in English, but it was more the first that was universally understood in the sense of getting the food, understanding the writing and measurements, it was very comprehensive and accessible to a wide audience. This OG cookbook in 1945 “How to Cook and Eat in Chinese” also had expanded editions in 1949, 1956, and 1968. So what I was asking Lexi before, she kind of kept up with the words, terms, recipes, and just… I tried to find some of the cookbooks but all of them are out of print at this point. Regardless, it brought new terms and techniques to US kitchens and over two hundred different recipes which included terms, ingredients, techniques, tools, but also like etiquette. So how to use chopsticks, what are the polite ways you should be eating dumplings vs fried rice; which I thought was really cool, and I tried to look through like the two cookbooks I had in my apartment and I couldn't find anything where it was like “here's the etiquette you should use.” Granted, they were more US based cookbooks, it wasn't one targeted for a certain cuisine. And she also acknowledged the help from her husband and daughter, Rulan. She would cook and her daughter would write down in English, usually translated from Chinese to English. So if I may dazzle you with a quote from– I believe this is from The New York Times– and also just culmination of an audio source that I found. It was like an interview and I saw– there's just so many, so many things of her using like this quote and a mo– mashup of this quote: “I am ashamed to have written this book. First, because I am a doctor and ought to be practicing instead of cooking. Secondly, because I didn’t write this book. The way I didn’t was like this. I speak little English and write less. So I cooked my dishes in Chinese, my daughter Rulan put my Chinese into English.” And this quote has so many variations, but it's basically saying that she can't take full credit because she was still a doctor, she couldn't necessarily write in English the way that US publications wanted her to, and she needed a lot of help, which is so fair for any cookbook or any writing source. And I just thought that was amazing. Like I kept finding clips and even when people were kind of telling her story years later, we're saying like she was ashamed to like have written this cookbook and taken away from her medical studies. But also values how great of an impact this cookbook had on the U.S. Now you know how I said that she coined the term stir fry and potstickers. Well it's because “cha’ao” and “guotie”– again, we don't speak Chinese, please don't come after me– really didn't have English translations. Like the term Chinese food is really just like a US word. It's not something that's used in China. You can't– you won't go to China and just be like “I want the Chinese food. I'm going to Chinese food restaurant it's because the way Chinese food is broken up in China is regionally so they they don't group it up as one whole country as we do and how someone of this cookbook does it's very specific to where you are in China and it's not a representation of the country as a whole like unit but for this cookbook and us as Americans we just say Chinese food and that's again coming back to what is available in each region so for the US and for this cookbook this is what's available in the U. S. not what's in available in northern versus southern China and there are a ton of other words that were in this book that didn't even stick in our English macular so like that's what is really interesting trying to find a copy but alas I couldn't find one online because I feel like if we re read this we wouldn't understand as shafts not just like with the vernacular but just the way it was written and the way some of the food kind of was presented she also just to wrap everything up she wrote two more books afterwards of how to order in each Chinese and then another autobiography called an autobiography of Chinese women put into English by her husband your friend child so she still just fantastic amazing woman like this blew my mind especially being in San Francisco that's my story of Dr. Buwei.

Alana: So I am going to be talking about Mary Mallon, and there has been a lot of talk about her recently and we'll get to why she's been in the news. So she was born on September 23rd, which is my mom's birthday and also yesterday on the day this comes out, in 1869 in a poor area of Ireland called the Cookstown in County Tyrone. And I am like a little bit familiar with Irish geography, like I know the names of some counties in the Republic of Ireland. Like we've talked about County Mayo, we talked about County Cork, County Kildare, if you know it then you know it. And I was like I've never heard of County Tyrone and I know there are like twenty-eight counties in the Republic of Ireland but– so I was curious, I was like where is that. It's actually in Northern Ireland so it's technically in the U.K. So Mary Mallon immigrated to New York City as a teenager in 1883 or 1884, about then. And she starts working as a cook, around the turn of the twentieth century and she is famous for her peach ice cream. In 1906, she was hired as a chef for the family of Charles Warren, who was a banker in 1906 so they have cash cash. And they go on vacation in Oyster Bay and Mary comes with them to be their chef. Several members of the Warren family contract typhoid over those couple weeks. And typhoid is considered at the time a poor people's disease, because you contract it mostly from contaminated water. Imagine thinking that like, only rich people deserve clean water. Like call me a socialist, but I really think that everyone should have access to clean water. And Warren’s landlord is concerned about being able to rent the property the next summer because there was this outbreak. And so he has hired a sanitation engineer named George Soper, and he's been an expert in tracing the outbreaks, and he tests all the pipes, and he tests everything. There's nothing. So he focuses on Mary. Turns out, several other families that Mary had worked for have also had typhoid outbreaks. And this is where, listeners if you haven't guessed, Mary Mallon becomes… Lexi put in a drum roll here please…

(Drum roll)

Speaker 1: Typhoid Mary. I can see Haley like laughing in her Zoom but they’re on mute so that's fun. So George Soper goes after her. Asks for samples of everything and she chases him out of her kitchen with a fork. Like a– like a barbecue, two pronged fork. Not like a… like a dinner fork.

Lexi: I have a tiny fork are you scared of me?

Alana: Like a FORK. So he returns with cops to have her arrested. And Mary hides under a floor board, but some of her dress is caught. And so they find her, and they arrest her and they force her into quarantine for three years on North Brother Island, which is a quarantine facility– a little dot of an island in the East River near the Bronx. She is tested up and down for typhoid and they all come back positive for salmonella typhi, which is the bacteria that causes typhoid. But she has no symptoms. She's the picture of health. She is released in 1910 on the condition to never cook again. In 1915, there is a typhoid outbreak at Sloan Maternity Hospital in Manhattan. And the health department is called, and the hospital is just like how– like, we’re a hospital, everything is so sanitary, how did this happen? And the health department says who… who's doing your cooking? And the nurse– the nurses are just like “oh, this lovely Irish immigrant. Her name is Mary Brown.” She had changed her name to keep working as a cook. And that sounds kind of like irresponsible, but what else could she do? She had no other skills, she's not married, she originally immigrated with her aunt and uncle but they've died, and she's an Irish immigrant during a time of very high anti-Irish sentiments. She really didn't have another choice. But they catch her, and they forced her back into quarantine for the rest of her life. They’re… say that she could have had a gallbladder removal surgery and they would have let her go, but she didn't want it. And I was like why wouldn’t she want it? But also, the doctors imprisoned her, essentially. And she even referred to herself in a letter to her lawyer as “the kidnapped woman”. So I do kind of understand why she'd say no. And then she died in 1938 of a stroke. And only nine people attended her funeral, which– this is another like Alana’s Jewish kind of thing but I'm like “that's not even a Minyan how are you going to do anything??” Lexi is rolling her eyes at me. But in pop culture she is demonized, she's the butt of jokes and cartoons. But there are other asymptomatic carriers at this point, all over the country and even in New York. So I think she is demonized particularly because she's a woman, particularly because she is unmarried, and particularly because she's an Irish immigrant at a time of anti-Irish-ism. I don't know if that's a word. But she's been in the news recently. A lot of my sources are from like June. People talking about Typhoid Mary because… talking about asymptomatic carriers and being super spreaders. 

Lexi: I think that's so fascinating how people are tying her story into our current situation.

Lexi: You can find this podcast on Twitter and Instagram at leading history pond our show notes and a transcript of this episode will be on lady history pot dot tumblr dot com if you like the show leave us a review or tell your friends and if you don't like the show keep yourself our logo is by Alexia Ibarra you can find her on Instagram and Twitter at LexiBDraws. Our theme music is by me garage band and Amelia Earhart; Lexi is doing the editing. You will not see us, and we will not see you, but you will hear us, next time, on Lady History.

Haley: Next week on Lady History, we're talking about our suffragists. Women's right to vote and remember everyone, register to vote please and thank you.

[OUTRO MUSIC]

Haley: I really don't understand eggs on a fundamental level.

[shreyamistry]

13 and 22 for Graiden? ~Raven

Aiden x Grace (MC)

Title: Whipped Noses

Prompt: You have whip cream on your nose + cocoa and candy canes

Summary: Aiden and Grace are having a date at the local diner. However, Aiden seems to have something on his nose and something to say about those damn freshman who joined the band. And Grace just wants to have fun!

Word Count: 1300+

Tagging: @mlmichaelharrison @zig-a-zow @ravenclawpokegirl25

A/N: I didn’t really add candy canes… kinda forgot. Sorry about that friends. Anyway!! Check out the link in my bio for my masterlist + check out the Christmas/Holiday inspired fics! MC (Grace) belongs to zig-a-zow! 

Grace brushes her curls out of her face, stifling a laugh looking at Aiden, clueless to the whipped cream on his nose. His voice deep and intense as he talks about the latest band practice drama over with Grace, who simply nods at the right cues already knowing Aiden would be throwing a fit over one of the ideas. She cared, she’s just heard this conversation 5 times since they left band practice.

Once with Myra, once with Michael and Maria, once when she stopped to get a drink, once on the car ride to the cafe, and once on the phone with his parents. She loved how passionate he was about band, she admired that the most about him, how could she not? The way his eyes lit up when he talked and his smile that’s so rare except when it comes to her and music, she felt transcended to heaven even if she teased him about.

Her eyes settle back on his nose slick with whip cream as he comes to a stop taking a heavy breath. “It’s gonna be okay, Aiden.” She replies, looking down at her own drink swirling the contents around. Melted chocolate and peppermint settling back at the bottom of her glass, a new special for the diner’s Holiday season. She didn’t particularly love the drink, but she didn’t hate it either.

“Am I boring you? It’s just those-”

“Damn freshmen who think they own the band.” Grace cuts him off, followed by a laugh at the twitch of his eye at her comment. “I love you and all sweetie, but please shut up about marching band and have a nice date with me.”

Aiden huffs in response, sticking his straw into his drink sipping it through that now still oblivious to the whipped cream smeared across his nose. He flicks her tongue over his lip, leaning back in his chair with an obnoxious huff. “I can’t stop thinking about it.”

“Have you tried-”

“Don’t you dare suggest I react violently or homicidally. This is not the time or place for your millennial jokes.” Aiden replies sternly, crossing his arms over his chest pouting to himself. Grace can’t help herself, but to laugh the outburst even funnier with the fact he still has whip cream on his nose.

“Jesus, I can’t take you seriously anymore.” She shakes her head, her eyes filling with tears from laughing too hard. “You’ve had whip cream on your nose basically since we got here.” She smacks her hand against the table gaining a few glances from the people around her. She shakes her head turning back to Aiden with a smile, who remains unimpressed.

“And you didn’t tell me or do a cliche romance novel plot to whip it off?!” Aiden reigns a huff, moving to swipe a napkin off the table knocking all to the floor with a clatter drawing the attention of patrons nearby who snicker when they see his face. “Grace!”

“This isn’t a best seller book, I’m not wiping it off your nose for you.” Grace chuckles, as Aiden submerges from the floor holding a fistful of half dusty napkins. Bringing them to his nose using them to wipe the cream from his face. “I shoulda took a picture first, Michael would’ve loved this.”

“Ugh.” Aiden huffs, an annoyance glossing over his eyes at the mere mention of the heartthrob’s name. He places his used napkin on the table turning his attention back to Grace’s face illuminated with laughter still. “You’re as bad as those damn freshman.”

“Take that back!” Grace shouts with a laugh, “How could you say that to me?” She swats at his hand with her own playfully smacking against it before he has an opportunity to pull his hand away, nursing his hand to his chest. “Oh my god. Myra is right, you’re a whole ass drama queen.” She rolls her eyes at him.

“I wasn’t going to mention it, but seeing as though you find this amusing” Aiden started, wiping his hands over the table looking at his mainly empty glace. “You have had a piece of lettuce stuck in your teeth since lunch.” Grace covers her mouth to hide her teeth and stifles a laugh.

“So, you gonna romance novel it off?” Grace asks, quirking an eyebrow at him. He shakes his head resting his hand to his forehead muttering a few words to himself before he feels Grace’s foot brushing against his shin under the table. “I asked you a question.” She smirks biting back a laugh after he looks at her.

“This novel never made it onto paper.” Aiden shakes his head standing from the table. “Now that I’ve been embarrassed thoroughly I’ll take my leave, sweetheart,” Aiden replies using his pet name for her causing her to beam at him.

“WIthout a kiss?” Grace quips, mocking offense. “Why what happened to the gentleman who was sitting her moments ago.” Aiden rolls his eyes at her antics again, before leaning down to press a kiss to her cheek. He moves to start walking away when Grace’s voice interrupts him again. “If you see Maria, tell her I’m at the diner awaiting a real kiss.”

“I’ll tell Bryan instead.” He calls over his shoulder, watching as Grace dissolves into giggles in the booth she and Aiden were in. A few minutes pass as Grace nurses the last of her drink when she’s about to get up to see Aiden walk back into the diner.

Looking annoyed and distressed, he approaches their both pushing his lips against each other. His cheeks heavy with a deep scarlet blush as he stands besides her face her, Grace glancing at him begging him practically to explain himself. Aiden silently refuses, pulling the noir gloves off of his hands tucking them back into the pocket of his jacket, his foot tapping against the floor. After a few moments, Grace takes it upon herself to tease him again.

“Where art thou, Romeo Bryan?” Grace sighs dramatically her voice carrying a Shakespearean accent, falling slightly into Aiden who remains straight-faced at her antics. “He is my prince charming according to my uncharming boyfriend who left me at the diner even though he rode in my car to get here.” She looks distraughtly out into the diner, using her hand to fake blocking out the sun looking out into the distance for Aiden.

“Very funny.” Aiden shakes his head looking down at Grace who leans her head back to meet his gaze. He leans down pressing a kiss to her forehead after brushing back loose curls that fell onto her face. “I would enjoy a ride a home.”

Grace nods looking in thought for a few seconds. “Sorry, no can do sir. I have a devilishly un-handsome Romeo waiting for me in the Trader Joe’s parking lot.” Aiden rolls his eyes at her again, brushing his thumb against her cheek. He leans down pressing a kiss onto her lips, sweet and short, pulling away much too soon for Grace’s liking. “Oh no, my Romeo was a frog all along.”

“Less talking, more walking, sleeping beauty.” Aiden moves to the side helping Grace out of the booth. She laughs pushing him forward as they walk towards the exit, with a few quick motions and protest from Aiden she jumps onto his back yelling sounds typical of Santa.

“On Aiden! On Blitzen!” She cheers, Aiden huffing out of breath, holding tightly onto her knees to keep them from falling although keeping them from running into other people wasn’t exactly his best skill. “Faster Aiden! We have presents to deliver!”

“IT’S NOT EVEN CHRISTMAS YET GRACE!”

[thesiteofstyle]

JOACHIM KOKA

On his extensive hair routine, the importance of cruelty free products, and branding yourself through fashion choices.

“My name is Joachim, AKA Wakie, Wakie Fleeky Flames, Wakie Balboa, @offwhitewakie, Waksquiat etc. pronounced Wah-Key. I’m 24, currently work in Higher Ed and I’m from Hunter, NY. Hunter is a ski mountain in the Catskills where there’s less than 3,000 people and they’re all white, so it always throws people off “because of the way I dress.” Fortunately, I wasn’t too far behind the curve when it came to learning how to dress, thank you internet. Skin care however, different story.

It really wasn’t until after I graduated college and started getting a Birchbox that I learned more about skin care and realized Cetaphil wasn’t cutting it anymore. I’d call my skin care routine trial-and- error. Products typically plateau for me after a while and I have to switch it up, which is difficult because I have combination-oily skin and it’s pretty sensitive. Right now I’m using Lush’s Coalface and Dark Angels for my face to clean, and rosewater/coconut water spray from Alaffia after. I get pretty oily, so sometimes lotion is too much. Face oil has been pretty good to me though. The particular blend I was using was discontinued so I’ve been looking for a new one (PLANT Industries has forsaken me). If you don’t use tea tree oil for spot treatment, I don’t trust you. That stuff is great. I don’t think I’m being dramatic. Body oils work better for me over lotions, too. Right now I’m using Vitamin E Oil from Trader Joe’s but if I feel like I need something with some extra umph I use (organic) coconut oil. The nice thing about the oil is that, because it’s unscented, it helps prevent breakouts, but I recently started applying witch hazel to my back as well to help. I don’t wear cologne often because I feel like there’s just too many fragrances going on with all the different products I’m wearing, but if I do wear cologne I really like Alfred Lane’s solid cologne in Bravado. I think there’s just something particularly suave about it and solid colognes typically last longer. The deodorants I use have a strong smell too. I usually use Everyman Jack’s Cedar scent but Alaffia has some great activated charcoal deodorant that I’m currently using. Both brands are natural and aluminum free, of course. In the shower, if I’m not singing, I like to use Rad soap, which is a locally made soap company. Due to the fact I’m lazy and like to save time, I like to use bar soap with oatmeal/coffee in it so I can exfoliate doing that.

Now here’s where things get interesting: hair routine. Anyone who knows me knows I’m kind of obsessive when it comes to my hair. It’s very much so part of my brand so it’s important I take care of it. I’m Wakie with the good hair. I legitimately had a nightmare I got a bad haircut. It was haunting. I haven’t gotten such a bad haircut since my sophomore year in college and I lived in a hat for a month. I wash and condition every other day. I use Andalou Full volume shampoo and Everyone balance conditioner and I’ve been very happy with the results since I’ve made this my routine. That said, I think I’ve used enough pomades to consider myself an aficionado. A staple for me has been Suavecito. It’s affordable, smells amazing, and gives me the strong and slick hold I need for my hair right now. Real James Bond. For a matte finish though, Blind Barber 90 proof and O’Douds pomade are great. I came a long way from hair dryers and Axe products. My hair thanks me for it, and I thank you for the compliments on it in advance. I’m somebody that is adamant that you support the causes you believe in through what you buy so all of my products are cruelty free. No exceptions. No compromises. Don’t call me stubborn because I already know that.

I’ve always been obsessed with branding myself, even before I had any idea what that was. My sophomore year in high school I wore Famous non-stop (yes, that god awful “F” shirt) and Obey shirts my senior year. I’ve always wanted my clothes to make a statement. I saw this quote on a friend of mine’s Instagram page that said, “fashion is what you buy, style is what you do with it.” It resonated with me because I think style is the most visceral form of expression. I’ve never known exactly how to categorize my style, but my instagram is @theexecution because my personal style is reflective of this. My outfits are usually simple, but well executed. I try not to wear more than 3 colors as a typical rule of thumb. I tell everyone the best piece of style advice I ever heard was have a uniform. It gives you strong branding and a fail safe outfit you’re comfortable and confident in and let’s face it, what looks better than that? I would say mine is a well fitting pair of jeans, black or blue, and a basic colored tee, and shoes. Yes shoes, not sneakers. It’s my fail safe, I would wear it on a date, I would wear it in a box, I would wear it with a fox. A few years ago I started tucking my t-shirt in and it has gotten to the point where I feel weird not tucking in my shirt. It shows off the dad bod and I think it gives an otherwise “basic” outfit a thoughtful touch. Speaking of smart, I can’t imagine an outfit of mine being a complete Wakie outfit without glasses. My favorite pair is the Little Time from EyeBuyDirect. I really like what a good pair of frames do for my face and they allow me to add another subtle detail of coordination or contrast to a minimal outfit...and no they’re not prescription. Someone told me once that I’m appropriating blind culture and I still don’t know how to feel about that. 

I’m particularly in love with patina. When clothes tell a story there’s nothing better. This is probably why I have a soft spot for raw denim and anything that fades. Right now I’m wearing in a black pair from Uniqlo and they’ve been good to me. I had an indigo pair from the Gap but they passed away in a terrible crotch rip accident. I’m about to pick up a Carhartt jacket that I’m going to abuse so it gets some nice fades in it too. One item that stands out in particular is my denim jacket. It’s a Levi’s jacket but the thing that makes it mine with my story are the patches and pins. A few years ago I started getting a patch or pin every time I go somewhere new. The goal is to cover the jacket and hopefully have special memories and stories for each detail. For my footwear, I can’t imagine a world without Clarks and I really wish someone would ask me where I get them. Clarks mi prefer. It started with desert boots, but my favorite pair is easily my Clark’s x Norton boots. They’re black biker boots and they’re indestructible. I call them my American History X shoes. Shout outs to Edward Norton. What a coincidence. My other go to are my double monks. These are so utilitarian and I feel like I could wear them anywhere. Lastly, I have an olive wool coat from Topman and it’s really been integrated into my favorite looks. There’s something about olive green that’s undeniable and I think, as a jacket, it’s great to just wrap every outfit in that mossy color. I don’t think that color will ever go out of style and I’m happy I don’t have that camel color that everyone else has. Yes I went there. Not that I think I’m the only person who wears this color or has a jacket like that but I think of my overall aura, between the smells I’m attracted to and the tones I dress in are very earthy and organic in every sense of the word. I think that’s what makes my looks personal to me. I’m basically Captain Planet. Drink more water and recycle, please.”

Joachim Koka interviewed by The Site of Style

[powerfulexistance]

Training log update Training Horizon is very different than training Echo. Echo learned to mimic and predict me, and had low tolerance for being "wrong". So with her I did a /lot/ of socializing her to the same/similar places that I expected to work her the most in, and solidly trained things at home before asking her to preform them anywhere else. Horizon doesn't seem interested in training at home at all, but is 90% focused on me when off the property so we're doing a lot of "remember this?" type of training everywhere we go (which is taking a while but we're generalizing commands at the same time so it's all good). I think he doesn't care to train at home because he's off leash all the time? And he definitely connects leash = working so perhaps I'll get him to work on something at home soon that doesn't require a long line (like fetch with the balls or frisbee training we have done so far). Beyond that he is definitely in a fear period atm. Everywhere we turn there seems to be an 18 wheeler squeaking about so we'll probably have to do some desensitization to them eventually as they seem to be the only thing considerably and reliably spooking him. He also avoided some people carrying big boxes today but I think that was because he could see a truck at the same time (as soon as he could no longer see it he seemed perfectly happy). After work we ran to a pet store for some zignature samples as I'm thinking of feeding him the kangaroo formula. As soon as we entered I clicked for not sniffing products and maintaining a heel, when a large, unattended black lab screamed at the top of her lungs and tried to attack us 🙃 Go figure she was a staff member's dog who proceeded to scream at us and tell me that I can't use the a clicker in the store because her dog is terrified of it (to the point that she was trying to eat us). What the f that dog is doing in a pet friendly store I have no clue, but Horizon was a perfect boy and never broke eye contact during the whole transaction, even though I was freaking out. We kept shopping on the other side of the store (using marker words instead of clicks) but I had to pick him up after a few minutes because that store never uses AC and he was having trouble with the terrible heat. After I picked out a can of wet food (for a special frozen treat to have in his kong later) of course the owner of the black lab starts moving around all this heavy machinery right next to us, yet still out of sight, right after I explained that he is at the height of a fear period revolving around machinery/ metal sounds. AND the dog was there so I couldn't click, just run away. I let Horizon recover before we left (and did like two minutes of 'stay' practice) but I'm very dissatisfied with how everything was handled. And it's so sad because this is the same lady that loved Echo and always was very sweet and understanding with her? I'd also make a complaint but I think she's the owner so idk. Anyways. After that, since he was doing so well if machinery wasn't out, we ran into Trader Joes. He was phenomenal there too! We slowly walked to the door, stopping every five feet for about a minute so he could slowly desensitize to the metal shopping carts and understand that he wasn't allowed to be pet (there were tons of children!). Once inside he tried to sniff the seasonal flower decorations by the door so I regained his attention before picking him up and going to the back of the store where he was returned to the floor again. After that everything went perfect! He listened to my directional cues flawlessly and I managed to find openings big enough to fit us well (I'm very spatially challenged). I had to switch which hand held the leash once because I couldn't use the clicker/hold my purchase items/see him when I used just one hand, which confused him slightly (which side to heel on), but we worked it out in a few seconds which really made me happy as we haven't worked on generalizing that before. We also had good luck with children minding their parents because at that point if someone had touched him he wouldn't have retained any of the work I had just put in (turn left/right, keep straight, heel, don't sniff, don't mind the refrigerators/coolers, etc.), he would have only remembered that he was 'allowed' to be pet there. But shout out to Trader Joe's staff for seeing the "In Training" patch and not bothering us with any questions! It was a big relief to see each employee only start a sentence and cut themselves off as soon as they saw the patch. It was nice to see that they look out for that sort of thing.

[lookgoodformula]

Benefit GALifornia Blush Will Put You in a Sunny State of Mind

Benefit GALifornia blush ($29), coming April 2017

Shout-out to my fellow Californians!

You know, it’s weird. I always see California portrayed in movies and videos like it’s a perpetually sunny place with palm trees and beaches and everyone’s got a tan and walks around all the time in a bikini top and sunglasses like it’s Bay Watch.

For the record, it’s not always like that. Right now, golden rays of sunshine are not falling upon my cheeks, skin and hair. I’m actually looking out my window, and it’s gloomy, overcast and cold. But haaay! — that’s alright, because when I wear Benefit’s new GALifornia blush, I feel like I’m in the fantasy California. ⛱️

It’s nuanced

GALifornia, a new $29 boxed Benefit blush coming this April, is a wonderfully warm golden pink, and when I opened the 0.17-oz. pan for the first time and saw the sunny design, which is, sadly, an overspray, I thought of a bronzer from Guerlain a few years back that had a similar design.

GALifornia is gloriously nuanced in a way I don’t expect to see from Benefit. It reminds me of something from Guerlain or Hourglass.

Swatch of Benefit GALifornia Blush

Different for Benefit

It’s infused with subtle golden pearl particles that so much more subdued than the shimmer in Coralista, Sugarbomb and Bella Bamba, all of which I like, but over the past few years, I haven’t been wearing them as much as I used to. My skin’s changed, and my pores are a little bigger than they were in my 30s.

The shimmer that Benefit usually sprinkles on their blush highlighters is…maybe a bit more sparkly than I’d like. I’d say that GALifornia’s fine pearl is closest to the pearl in Sugarbomb, but warmer and finer.

GALifornia’s pearl is more my speed now. At first, you may not even think there’s any there, but it is. And I love it!

Wearing two layers of GALifornia on my cheeks

I don’t usually send my girlfriends who are 30 and up to Benefit for blush, but I can happily recommend GALifornia if you’re…let’s just say, not 18 anymore. LOL!

It’s like the Energizer bunny (keeps going, and going, and going, and going…)

The wear time is great too. I popped it on my cheeks at the crack of dawn today, and eight hours later it still looks fresh and beautiful.

I did two layers using a regular old blush brush, so you don’t need any finagling or special tools. The blush does come with one of those silly square shaped brushes that Benefit always includes with their boxed blushes, but I’d probably only use it in a dire blush emergency, LOL!

GALifornia girl!

Give it a sniff

Oh, and FYI for the gals out there who are sensitive to scents, GALifornia — *takes a deep breath* — smells like Caress body soap to me (I like it!). I don’t smell it when I’m applying or when it’s on my face, but I pick it up if I hold the box up to my nose.

The final verdict

So much yes! GALifornia is a great blush (but isn’t too “blushy”) no matter your age. If Connor were a teenager, girl, we would totally share this blush.

Latest TJ’s addiction

Found a new favorite salad at Trader Joe’s! It’s the Mexicali Salad With Chili Lime Chicken, and it’s SO good. It’s also only 380 calories, and that’s with the entire tub of tasty jalapeño Caesar dressing.

Most of the time I only use about a quarter or maybe half of the dressing because it’s so rich, and I like to add half a sliced avocado.

Ooh! One of these days I’m gonna add some lime or lemon shrimp.

Secret shopper tip: don’t just grab the salad sitting right at the front of the display, because the ones in front are usually good for only a couple days and have been in the store a while (no shame!).

Seriously, I tear those displays up! I don’t even care! I want the freshest one.

Your friendly neighborhood beauty addict,

Karen

The post, "Benefit GALifornia Blush Will Put You in a Sunny State of Mind," first appeared on Makeup and Beauty Blog | Makeup Reviews, Swatches and How-To Makeup. from Makeup and Beauty Blog | Makeup Reviews, Swatches and How-To Makeup http://ift.tt/2kYhhex via IFTTT

[jonasmaurer]

Friday Faves

Hi friends! Happy Friday! I hope you’re having a wonderful week so far. This morning, I’m catching a Peloton class and then tackling Liv’s closet. I’d been avoiding it but really need to clear out the pants and winter stuff, especially since we’re in the heat of summer. That will be my project for the day before we head off for Friday night pool night. I hope you have a good one, too!

One of the highlights of this week: picking veggies at Apple Annie’s. We hadn’t been to Apple Annie’s since Liv was a baby —  it was SO much fun and the perfect outdoor adventure. We met up with some friends and picked green beans, okra, tomatoes, green chilies, bell peppers, and artichokes!

(Livi’s bracelet has tiny macarons on it)

Lunch was on the patio at La Unica, and was INCREDIBLE. I had an egg scramble with green chilies, rice, and beans. So, so good. This little day trip was such a nice way to break up the week and explore a bit. The girls had a great time… and they’ve been excited to eat more vegetables because they picked them. Always a bonus.

It’s time for the weekly Friday Faves party! This is where I share some of my favorite eats, wears, reads, etc. and I love hearing about the things you’re lovin’ too. Please shout out a current fave in the comments section if you’d like to join in the fun!

Fashion + beauty:

These bike shorts. (<- -my referral code is GINAHAR if you decide to order and would like 15% off!) I was very late hopping on the bike short trend for a couple of reasons. 1) They remind me of 3rd grade, which is a time period I’d be perfectly happy deleting from my life and 2) I’m not vertically blessed and I didn’t think they’d be flattering on me. Even so, I decided to give these ones a try because I love the shine on them! Verdict: they’re super cute and more flattering than I thought they’d be. It’s a fun way to switch up the usual lulu shorts without having to wear long leggings.

Wrap hat. I found this gem on Amazon with awesome reviews and love it so far. It’s can be conveniently rolled into my pool bag and I can wear it with my hair up in a high bun. Wins all around.

Read, watch, listen:

This “Good Mom” Billie Eilish parody.

My second book is out! My manuscript was due about 4 weeks into this whole situation, so needless to say, finishing was a huge endeavor. This book is geared more towards beginners with lots of info on how HIIT works, breakdowns of exercises, fun 15-minute workouts, simple healthy meal ideas, and more. Since the beginning, I emphasized the importance of diversity and approachability throughout the pages. Callisto did a beautiful job featuring so many different types of women through the photos and illustrations. If you’re looking for a “back to basics” type book, or would like to gift it to someone that’s just getting started in the fitness world, the link to check it out is here. If you’d like a copy, leave a comment below! I’ll pick 5 lucky winners and ship out some signed books and goodies early next week.

20 new ways to measure success.

Great comments on rituals.

Aladdin is coming to Disney+! Liv and I had the treat of seeing it on Broadway and the 10-min + version of “Friend Like Me” is everything.

Fitness + good eats:

Shrimp and rice in a pineapple bowl! We’ve been really trying to switch up our food rotation and this was such a delicious summer meal. I’ve made a version of this here, but for the recent variation, I also seasoned everything with the Trader Joe’s Everything But the Elote seasoning.

Food is exponentially more fun when it’s served in a pineapple bowl.

Cafe Gratitude cookbook. I’m still on a mission to try out new recipes and cooking techniques because I’m so bored with food and was thrilled to see this online. Cafe Gratitude is one of my favorite vegan restaurants ever and this book is filled with gorgeous photos and recipes. It reminds me of the raw food recipes of yore – “Ok, I want pizza 4 days from now so I need to start dehydrating the crust today and soaking the nuts for the sauce I’ll make tomorrow” – and they have many steps. While I don’t think it will be realistic to make these on the daily (especially since a waffle eaten over the sink is fine cuisine right now lol), but I’m going to make one recipe each week as something special to enjoy and have leftovers for lunches or breakfasts.

10 healthy oatmeal recipes.

A good reminder to keep our kiddos moving.

A healthy twist on tuna salad.

Try this week’s yoga and barre combo workout!

Happy Friday, friends!

xo

Gina

The post Friday Faves appeared first on The Fitnessista.

Friday Faves published first on https://olimpsportnutritionde.tumblr.com/

[seanpatricklittlewriter]

Updates and Reviews

It’s been a while since I’ve written a major post, so I figured it was time to remedy that. Things are still progressing on the novel front. As soon as Paige finishes the cover to All We Have, that will go to press. I’ve completed edits on the two TeslaCon novels I’ve prepared for this fall, so hopefully I’ll be able to get on the same page with Eric about those covers, and we’ll make something happen.

 I’m a little nervous about releasing any of these books, because I always get that way. In Henry Rollins’ most recent special, “Keep Talking, Pal,” he tells a story about opening for Ozzy Osbourne. Over 19,000 people came to see Ozzy play, and before the show, after Rollins Band played their opening set for Ozzy’s band, Henry sees Ozzy huddled in a corner, hands on his knees. When Henry checks on Ozzy, the Blizzard of Oz, in his distinct Birmingham accent, says, “Is there anybody out there, man? I always get nervous that no one will show up.” That says something about the self-doubt that fills all artists. If Ozzy is worried that people aren’t coming to see him, then none of us have any hope.

 I think it’s even tougher for writers, though. Unless you’re one of the big names, there are no direct lines to tell how you’re doing. You can upload your books and hope for the best. Once a month, or once a quarter you can check your sales stats, but those are meaningless. You can get a few reviews. However, for the most part, you’re just shouting into a void.

 I know that Geoffrey Owens (The Cosby Show actor who played the guy who married the oldest daughter) got somewhat shamed by some yokel taking his picture as he worked a second job at Trader Joe’s. He still acts on stage. He still teaches acting classes. But, he needs to make ends meet, and so he works another job. It’s a stark reminder that those lucky few who are able to make a living from their art, and solely from their art, are the exceptions, not the rule. Even most traditionally published writers have to have second jobs, or even third jobs. Most writers have to work to finance their writing habit, and so it is with me, as well. Despite AFTER EVERYONE DIED selling more than 20,000 copies over two years, I don’t think my entire catalog of sales over more than twelve years of publishing has added up to what I make in a year in my day job. It is what it is, though. I write because I must. No other reason. It’s my dream that someday I can make a living solely from hanging out at Culver’s and jamming out stories, but that’s lottery odds. It just doesn’t happen for most of us. And that’s okay.

 It’s so hard to sell any books, even the big names, and it’s even tougher for niche books (like post-apocalyptic survival stories, or steampunk adventure novels). Most of those books exist only as ebooks, and most of them sell only a few thousand copies, at best. That’s just the way it is. Nothing any of us do can change it.

 Which brings me to my reviews for this post—I just finished reading THE FAT LADY’S LOW, SAD SONG by Brian Kaufman. This book is a perfect example of how traditional publishing misses great books. This book, an indie title self-published through an aggregate house called Black Rose Writing, is easily the best book I’ve read this year.

 Parker Westfall is a career minor-leaguer. He’s never made The Show. For more than a decade, he’s been grinding out a career playing baseball in podunk towns for podunk teams, and those playing days are coming to a close. He’s given one last chance for a season in the sun playing first base for the Fort Collins Miners, an independent baseball team. If there’s one step below the minor leagues, it’s independent baseball. With no other options, Westfall signs on. When he gets there, the team owner asks Westfall for a special favor—mentor a young pitcher who throws a helluva knuckeball.

 Oh, yeah—that pitcher is a woman.

 The signing of Courtney Morgan could be just a publicity stunt, and the book could have turned into a trite, damsel-in-distress novel, but it doesn’t. Parker and Morgan don’t fall in love. Parker isn’t the white knight who teaches her the game, but rather a coach who helps her find her own way to play.

 The book is a sweet paean to baseball, the unsung heroes who never get to be on baseball cards or interviewed on ESPN, and the tiny towns that keep the spirit of real baseball alive. As a baseball fan, and as a fan of good writing, this book falls into place at the top of my reading list (so far) for 2018. It’s one of those books that probably should have gotten more looks from agents or publishers. It’s one of those books that should get more readers than it’s ever going to get.

 But, like the minor leaguers this story encompasses, sometimes what you get in the end is just good enough. I loved this book. I can’t recommend it enough.

 I haven’t read too many other books, lately. I’ve started a bunch, but for various reasons have not plowed through to the end. I’m getting curmudgeonly in my old age. I’m not willing to invest time in something that isn’t knocking my socks off, maybe. Or maybe it’s because I realize how limited my time is lately, so I can only indulge in books that are really moving me at that moment.

 I’ve also found that a lot of books are victims of headspace—how am I feeling when I read them? I’ve started some books in the past that I just wasn’t feeling at that moment, but later on, I’ve gone back to find that I loved them. That’s how I’m feeling at the moment.

 As far as movies and TV goes, however:  I just saw ALPHA today. It was very good. Not as good as I hoped it would be, given the trailer, but still a solid flick. It’s a survival story set 20,000 years ago, and tells a hypothetical tale of how the first wolf might have been domesticated. While the story is beautifully shot and well-acted, I think it missed some real chances to swing for the fences emotionally and a better director and editor would have really been able to bring a larger emotional scale to the film. It’s still worth checking out, though.

 I saw THE MEG last weekend, because my kid likes any movie with giant animals eating people. THE MEG is everything the trailer promised. It’s a Megalodon shark eating people and fighting Jason Statham. That’s what the trailer promised. That’s what the film delivered. If you go to this film hoping it will be some great think-piece, you’ll be disappointed. However, if you go to have some mindless fun, you’ll be happy. It’s not great. It’s not bad, either. It’s exactly the movie you think it will be.

 On Netflix, I’ve been binge-watching PERSON OF INTEREST lately. I never watched it when it was first broadcast, but I’ve found that I greatly enjoy this. It’s a solid series.

 I’ve also gotten through the first five episodes of Amazon Prime’s new JACK RYAN series. I’ve always loved the Jack Ryan character (even though I’m not a fan of Tom Clancy’s writing style), and I’m a fan of John Krasinski, so this series works very well. The first five episodes have been quite good, and I’m looking forward to finishing it.

 Musically, I’ve been digging Brett Newski’s new album “Life Upside Down,” and the new album from Lords of the Trident, “Shadows from the Past.” Both are Wisconsin-based acts, and both are really solid. Brett’s more the indie-folk-geek genre (think, dude with an acoustic guitar and a silly sense of humor), and Lords are doing what I consider to be 80’s-style metal—big, loud, over-the-top, and silly in the best possible way. The lead singer, Fang Von Wrathenstein, has a great set of pipes. Much like how indie books get overlooked by the masses, both of these indie music acts should be much bigger than they currently are. Get in on the ground floor and listen to them on Spotify, or be a mensch and purchase their records. Every little bit helps.

 That’s probably enough rambling for now. As always, please tell friends about books you enjoy. Write reviews. Share links. Encourage others to support the artists who are grinding it out.

 Stay tuned for further updates on the release of ALL WE HAVE. In a perfect world, it would have been out by the end of September. It’s looking like early-to-mid-October will be more likely.

 Thanks for reading.

--Sean

[seniorbrief]

This Is What Trader Joe’s Shoppers Can’t Stop Buying

Mandy NaglichJul 19

Trader Joe’s has hundreds of popular products, but nothing beats out this shopper favorite.

Shutterstock/Kristi Blokhin

If you’ve ever shopped at Trader Joe’s, you have a favorite product you can only get at the popular value grocery chain. Shouts of, “Cookie Butter!” “Everything But the Bagel Seasoning!” and “Just Mango Slices!” come from loyal customers when asked about their go-to items. One product on store shelves has won the top spot at the Customer Choice Awards two years running.

Customers’ chicken of choice

Mandarin Orange Chicken is beloved by Trader Joe’s shoppers. The award-winning dish can be found in the freezer section. One thing that makes the Mandarin Orange Chicken so special is its packaging: The chicken and sauce are packaged and prepared separately to be combined right before serving. Adding the sauce at the last second before chowing down ensures you never get a soggy nugget, unlike other frozen orange chicken options.

Trader Joe’s premiered this popular product all the way back in 2004. In a company blog post, a little of the chicken’s mystery was revealed: “The secret to Trader Joe’s Mandarin Orange Chicken’s success is in its simplicity, really.” Customer’s love it when dinner is kept simple and delicious! Here are some more secrets of Trader Joe’s employees, revealed.

Extra effort for extra delicious chicken

When customers proclaimed Mandarin Orange Chicken their favorite once again, the company decided to let shoppers in on the secret to the best possible preparation.

This video posted to the corporate Instagram account shows that skipping the microwave preparation yields chicken that is even crispier and more enjoyable. Simply heat the frozen chicken in a 400-degree oven, warm the sauce on the stove top, and toss the two together before serving. If you’re feeling really fancy, slice some green scallions to use as a garnish with a pop of color.

The Trader Joe’s Instagram account is also a source of inspiration for your grocery list! Don’t forget to pick up these cheap products on your next Trader Joe’s shopping trip.

Orange “chicken” is for vegetarians too

If you live a vegetarian or pescatarian lifestyle, you may be sad to miss out on Trader Joe’s top product. But there is no need to worry—a chicken-less, soy-based option is also available in the freezer aisle. The same tangy sauce and crispy breading with none of the chicken.

If you can’t make it to Trader Joe’s but all this chicken talk has you craving a bowl of orange chicken, try our recipe for dinner tonight!

Original Source -> This Is What Trader Joe’s Shoppers Can’t Stop Buying

source https://www.seniorbrief.com/this-is-what-trader-joes-shoppers-cant-stop-buying/

[jamieclawhorn]

The Bitcoin bubble could be about to burst

Here’s a quick exercise. Ask a friend or relative with no investing experience to estimate the value of a single Bitcoin right now. Were they close or did they look at you with a quizzical expression? The former is as good a signal as any that the cryptocurrency’s value could be about to plummet. 

Right now, Bitcoin is dominating headlines around the world. Barely a day passes without its price hitting fresh highs, fuelling discussion over how much money is being made/could still be made from this, or blockchain technology in general. When even those who had absolutely no prior interest in financial matters suddenly have an opinion on a particular asset or — if we’re going to the extreme — contemplate leaving their job to become full-time traders, you can be fairly confident that we’re fast-approaching, if not already in, bubble territory.  

A classic example of this would be when Joe Kennedy — father of US President John F. Kennedy — disposed of his entire portfolio after a shoeshine boy began talking to him about stocks. Receiving tips from someone with no financial background was, for Kennedy, a clear sign that the market was becoming far too popular for its own good. Days later, the US stock market crashed. It was 1929 — the year that kicked off the Great Depression. 

We’re often told that the past can never be a guide to the future. That doesn’t mean we can’t learn from it.  So what else might indicate that Bitcoin’s bubble is about to burst?

Speculation is rife

A second signal — related to that mentioned above — is when normally rational investors begin speculating by moving away from solid (if unexciting) assets in the hope of becoming ludicrously rich, ludicrously fast. Perhaps they’ve been lured to the cryptocurrency after learning about the staggering gains made by those who purchased Bitcoin only a few years ago.

Unfortunately, speculation tends to go hand-in-hand with a lack of understanding. I’d go so far as to suggest that only a minority of those now invested in Bitcoin fully appreciate the technology or the potential consequences of governments attempting to regulate or ban it. Even experienced investors buying-in today are simply betting that its price will continue to rise — a state of affairs not dissimilar to what occurred at the end of the last millennium when anything remotely dotcom related soared in value. We all know how that turned out. Speculation is the antithesis of Foolish investing and a recipe for huge volatility. 

A further sign of an impending crash is when dissenting views are shouted down by the majority of market participants — something you see all the time on bulletin boards dedicated to specific shares. Unfortunately, confirmation bias is quickly becoming rife among cryptocurrency bulls.

The sudden rise in the number of Initial Coin Offerings (ICOs) is another ominous development, particularly as many of these are likely to be fraudulent due to a lack of regulation. In the same way that a host of new companies listing on the stock exchange can signal a market beginning to overheat, the same applies in the cryptocurrency world.

While Bitcoin’s meteoric rise could continue, we all know how this is going to end. Whenever someone attempts to reassure you that “this time, it’s different“, you can be highly certain it’s not.

Learn from the...worst

Becoming familiar with the signs of a financial bubble is crucial if you're too avoid catastrophic losses during your stock market career. 

For more information on how to steer clear of some of the most expensive blunders committed by investors, simply download a special report from the Motley Fool's analysts.

The worst mistakes investors make costs absolutely NOTHING to read and could save you an absolute packet over time.

Just click here and it's yours.

More reading

Looking to invest for growth? Check out these top-performing investment trusts

Should we now pile into Purplebricks Group plc after sliding 25% this year?

Why the FTSE 100 could crash to 5,000

Profit from cold winters with Centrica plc & SSE plc

3 stocks that could be crushed by Christmas

Paul Summers has no position in any of the companies mentioned. The Motley Fool UK has no position in any of the shares mentioned. Views expressed on the companies mentioned in this article are those of the writer and therefore may differ from the official recommendations we make in our subscription services such as Share Advisor, Hidden Winners and Pro. Here at The Motley Fool we believe that considering a diverse range of insights makes us better investors.

[ulyssesredux]

Cyclops

I. It's not signed Shanganagh.

And shaking Bloom's hand doing the tragic to tell her that he said and everyone who knew him said that there was never a truer, a finer than poor little Willy, poor little Willy, poor little Paddy Dignam. The house rises. God I could hear it hit the pit of my stomach with a click.

You? —Where is he? That's all right, citizen, says Joe.

That's too bad, says Bloom.

—Gold cup, says he. With who? —He's a bloody dark horse himself, says little Alf. Old Mr Verschoyle with the ear trumpet loves old Mrs Verschoyle with the turnedin eye. Ten thousand pounds. Ga Ga Gara. —That so? M.B. loves a fair gentleman. Cried the second of the party who had to be assisted to his seat by the aid of a powerful steam crane, Monsieur Pierrepaul Petitépatant, the Grandjoker Vladinmire Pokethankertscheff, the Archjoker Leopold Rudolph von Schwanzenbad-Hodenthaler, Countess Marha Virága Kisászony Putrápesthi, Hiram Y. Bomboost, Count Athanatos Karamelopulos, Ali Baba Backsheesh Rahat Lokum Effendi, Senor Hidalgo Caballero Don Pecadillo y Palabras y Paternoster de la Malora de la Malaria, Hokopoko Harakiri, Hi Hung Chang, Olaf Kobberkeddelsen, Mynheer Trik van Trumps, Pan Poleaxe Paddyrisky, Goosepond Prhklstr Kratchinabritchisitch, Borus Hupinkoff, Herr Hurhausdirektorpresident Hans Chuechli-Steuerli, Nationalgymnasiummuseumsanatoriumandsuspensoriumsordinaryprivatdocent-generalhistoryspecialprofessordoctor Kriegfried Ueberallgemein. 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.

—Is it Paddy? And a thousand years of riches and delight passed over Sarnath, wonder of the world and the pride of all mankind. —Bloody wars, says I, in his gloryhole, with his knockmedown cigar putting on swank with his lardy face. Hundred to five. Says Bloom. Give us a squint at her, says the citizen, staring out.

—I beg your parsnips, says Alf. That's the new Messiah for Ireland! —Pity about her, says I. —Ay, says I.

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

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? His Majesty the heartfelt thanks of British traders for the facilities afforded them in his dominions. Wonderful likewise were the gardens made by Zokkar the olden king. So and So made a cool hundred quid over it, says the citizen,—Beg your pardon, says he, snivelling, the finest in the whole world!

—A rump and dozen, says the citizen, the subsidised organ.

At first the high-priests looked out over the city and the plains and the lake by day; and at the beings of Ib their hate grew, and it was not clear.

Many were the pillars of Hercules, the Gibraltar now grabbed by the foe of mankind, with gold and silver watches were promptly restored to their rightful owners and general harmony reigned supreme. —Well, says John Wyse. —Hello, Ned. At first the high-priests dwelt with a magnificence scarce less than that of the kings.

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. Of course an action would lie, says J.J.—Do you call that a man? Couldn't loosen her farting strings but old cod's eye was waltzing around her showing her how to do it. Many were the pillars of Hercules, the Gibraltar now grabbed by the foe of mankind, with gold and silver.

We know him, says he, I dare him, says he.

—Nannan? 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. Persecuted. And He answered with a main cry: Abba! But Bob Doran shouts out of him a yard long for more. He knows which side his bread is buttered, says Alf I saw him before I met you, says Martin. Trade follows the flag. He had no father, says Martin. And the rest nowhere. As much as his bloody life is worth to go down and address his tall talk to 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. —Half and half I mean, didn't serve any notice of the assignment on the company at the time and nominally under the act the mortgagee can't recover on the policy. Says Joe, reading one of the most timehonoured names in Albion's history placed on the finger of his blushing fiancée an expensive engagement ring with emeralds set in the form of a fourleaved shamrock the excitement knew no bounds.

—He is, says I, sloping around by Pill lane and Greek street with his cod's eye on the dog and, gob, flahoolagh entertainment, don't be talking.

What I meant about tennis, for example, is the agility and training the eye.

—The noblest, the truest, says he, all the spectators, including the venerable pastor, joining in the general merriment. —Ay, ay, says Joe, from bitter experience. —Let me alone, says he. Says the citizen.

A nation once again and all to that and the shoneens that can't speak their own language and Joe chipping in because he stuck someone for a quid and Bloom putting in his old goo with his twopenny stump that he cadged off of Joe and one in Slattery's off in his mind to get off the mark to hundred shillings is five quid and when they were in the dark horse pisser Burke was telling me in the hotel the wife used to be in rivers of tears some times with Mrs O'Dowd crying her eyes out with her eight inches of fat all over her.

Ay, Blazes, says Alf. And before he died, Taran-Ish had scrawled upon the altar of chrysolite with coarse shaky strokes the sign of Doom. —Hurrah, there, says Joe. —No, says I, in his gloryhole, with his knockmedown cigar putting on swank with his lardy face. I'm telling you?

Mark for a softnosed bullet.

—Nor good red herring, says Joe. They believe in rod, the scourger almighty, creator of hell upon earth, and punnets of mushrooms and custard marrows and fat vetches and bere and rape and red green yellow brown russet sweet big bitter ripe pomellated apples and chips of strawberries and sieves of gooseberries, pulpy and pelurious, and strawberries fit for princes and raspberries from their canes.

—Who won, Mr Lenehan? Do you see that bloody lunatic Breen round there? What's that? —Who? —Amen, 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.

Your God. Then comes good uncle Leo. Because, you see. And he starts reading out one. Says Martin. —Nor good red herring, says Joe, throwing down the letters. —Thousand a year, Lambert, says Crofton or Crawford. And the beds of the rarest flowers.

Six and eightpence, please.

Says Joe. —And moreover, says J.J. Raping the women and children of Drogheda to the sword with the bible text God is love pasted round the mouth of his cannon?

And it was wrought of one piece of ivory, though no man lives who knows whence so vast a piece could have come.

—Very kind of you, says the citizen.

Read Tacitus and Ptolemy, even Giraldus Cambrensis.

—Never better, a chara, says he, and I doubledare him.

I hope I'm not … —No, says the citizen, prowling up and down there for the last time.

—Mrs B. is the bright particular star, isn't she? A bit off the top.

In Inisfail the fair there lies a land, the land of Mnar a vast still lake and gray stone city of Ib, for why those sculptures lingered so late in the world, even until the coming men, none can tell; unless it was because the land of bondage. No. Ironical opposition cheers. The speaker: Order!

Says Joe. We want no more strangers in our house.

You never saw the like of lawn tennis and the circulation of the blood, asking Alf: Now, don't you see?

What? Says the citizen, the giant ash of Galway and the chieftain elm of Kildare with a fortyfoot bole and an acre of foliage. 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 golloped it down like old boots and his tongue hanging out of him.

Says Jack. 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. And the wife with typhoid fever! Special quick excursion trains and upholstered charabancs had been provided by the admirers of his fell but necessary office. I won't mention any names, says Alf.

Only one, says Lenehan. What was your best throw, citizen? Says Joe, from bitter experience.

Order! That chap?

He answered with a main cry: Abba! Terry, says Joe.

And the princes and travelers fled away in fright.

I will, for trading without a licence, says he.

—The blessing of God and Mary and Patrick on you, Garry? Pisser was telling me once a month with headache like a totty with her courses.

What's that? Klook Klook Klook. And look at this blasted rag, says he, honourable person. —There you are, says Terry. —Cockburn.

He's a perverted jew, says he, I dare him, says he. His Majesty the King loves Her Majesty the Queen.

Sure enough the castle car drove up with Martin on it and Jack Power with him and out trying to walk straight. 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 and all to that. Hole. —Libel action, says he, trying to muck out of it: Or also living in different places. But what about the fighting navy, says the citizen, the subsidised organ. —Pass, friends, says he, taking out his handkerchief to swab himself dry. Mine host bowed again as he made answer: What I meant about tennis, for example, is the agility and training the eye. All the lordly residences in the vicinity of the palace of the kings.

The gardens of Alameda knew her step: the garths of olives knew and bowed. Devil a sweet fear! 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 and of the tribe of Ossian, there being in all twelve good men and true. After Taran-Ish.

—I won't mention any names, says Alf.

We know that in the castle.

—Compos your eye! Says Bloom, isn't discipline the same everywhere. U.p: up.

Says Joe. Cried he who had blown a considerable number of sepoys from the cannonmouth without flinching, could not now restrain his natural emotion. —Still running, says he. And butter for fish. 'Twixt me and you Caddareesh. 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. Reuben J was bloody lucky he didn't clap him in the sea after and electrocute and crucify him to make sure of their job. Says he. Sure enough the castle car drove up with Martin on it and Jack Power trying to get him to sit down on the car and hold his bloody jaw and a loafer with a patch over his eye starts singing If the man in the moon was a jew. And one or two sky pilots having an eye around that there was never a truer, a finer than poor little Willy that's dead to tell her that he said and everyone who knew him said that there was never a truer, a finer than poor little Willy that's dead to tell her that. 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. —Afraid he'll bite you? 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 gentleman's famous Mitchelstown telegram inspired the policy of gentlemen on the Treasury bench? —Soot's luck, says Joe. 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. Near ate the tin and all, hungry bloody mongrel.

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. Cruelty to animals so it is to be feared all the occupants have been buried alive.

Says Bloom. Pawning his gold watch in Cummins of Francis street where no-one as blind as the fellow that won't see, if you please, founded by Parnell to be the sole and exclusive property of the said vendor to be disposed of at his good will and pleasure until the said amount shall have been duly paid by the said purchaser to the said vendor to be disposed of at his good will and pleasure until the said amount shall have been duly paid by the said purchaser but shall be and remain and be held to be sufficient evidence of malice in the testcase Sadgrove v.

—I, says Joe, as the devil said to the dead policeman. Growling and grousing and his eye all bloodshot from the drouth is in it and the hydrophobia dropping out of his jaws. I meant about tennis, for example, is the agility and training the eye. —Well, his uncle was a jew and his father was a jew and Karl Marx and Mercadante and Spinoza. —I thought so, says Joe, tonight. —I beg your parsnips, says Alf, you can cod him up to the throne of grace fervent prayers of supplication. Not a word, doing the toff about one story was good till you heard another and blinking facts and the Nelson policy, putting your blind eye to the telescope and drawing up a bill of attainder to impeach a nation, and Bloom trying to back him up moderation and botheration and their colonies and their civilisation. 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.

Your God was a jew. However this may be, it is certain that they worshipped a sea-green ikon had vanished, and how Taran-Ish had scrawled upon the altar of chrysolite. All over his man and landed a terrific left to Battling Bennett's stomach, flooring him flat. So made a cool hundred quid over it, says the citizen, letting on to be in a hell of a hurry.

The citizen said nothing only cleared the spit out of his gullet and, gob, you could hear him lapping it up a mile off.

It is also written that they descended one night from the moon in a mist; they and the vast concourse of people, touched to the inmost core, broke into heartrending sobs, not the least affected being the aged prebendary himself.

Says the citizen. Great Britain and Ireland and of the tribe of Conn and of the tribe of Ossian, there being in all twelve good men and true.

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. Defrauding widows and orphans.

Give you good den, my masters, said he with an obsequious bow. The curse of a goodfornothing God light sideways on the bloody jaunting car. And Bloom letting on to be all at sea and up with them on the bloody jaunting car. And all down the form. Says Lenehan.

With Dignam, says Alf. God light sideways on the bloody jaunting car. Now what were those two at? —Perfectly true, says Bloom. Is it that whiteeyed kaffir? —Yes, says Alf.

—There's hair, Joe, says I.

How half and half? Gob, he golloped it down like old boots and his tongue hanging out of him about the invincibles and the old mongrel after the car like bloody hell, the third day he arose again from the bed, steered into haven, sitteth on his beamend till further orders whence he shall come to drudge for a living and be paid. He's an excellent man to organise. Just a moment. Says J.J.: Considerations of space influenced their lordships' decision. 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.

He's a perverted jew, says he, putting up his fist, sold by auction in Morocco like slaves or cattle. —Right, says Ned, you should have seen Bloom before that son of his that died was born.

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.

Didn't I tell you what about it, Martin Cunningham. Gob, he had his mouth half way down the tumbler already. And what do you think of that, citizen. The French! But do you know what that is.

I dare him, says Crofter the Orangeman or presbyterian. After him, boy! Hell upon earth it is.

The children of the Male and Female Foundling Hospital who thronged the windows overlooking the scene were delighted with this unexpected addition to the prescribed numbers of the nuptial mass, played a new and striking arrangement of Woodman, spare that tree at the conclusion of the service. We have our greater Ireland beyond the sea. And with the help of the holy boys, the priests and bishops of Ireland doing up his room in Maynooth in His Satanic Majesty's racing colours and sticking up pictures of all the land of Mnar or in the lands adjacent. But most prized of all the land of Mnar. Give it a name, citizen, says Joe. And for ourselves give us of your best for ifaith we need it. —Who are you laughing at?

There sleep the mighty dead as in life they slept, warriors and princes of high renown. 'Tis a merry rogue.

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 queer story, the old one, Bloom's wife and Mrs O'Dowd that kept the hotel.

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 lo, as they must have been, since there is naught like them in the land of Mnar, dark shepherd folk with their fleecy flocks, who built Thraa, Ilarnek, and Kadatheron on the winding river Ai and beyond.

It was exactly seventeen o'clock.

Says Joe.

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, each of bronze, and flanked by the figures of lions and elephants carven from some stone no longer known among men. —Well, says the citizen.

How are the mighty fallen! And Bloom letting on to answer, like a duet in the opera. U.p: up. Your God was a jew and his father was a jew, says he, what will you have? Read them. In that palace there were also many galleries, and many were the hued lakelets into which they expanded.

So and So made a cool hundred quid over it, says I.

You what? —Well, says J.J.—There he is, says Alf. That's not life for men and women, insult and hatred. Did you read that report by a man what's this his name is?

That's all right, Hynes, says Bloom. I'd give anything to hear him before a judge and jury. Decent fellow Joe when he has it but sure like that he never has it.

We greet you, friends of earth, who are still in the body. The Sluagh na h-Eireann, on the revival of ancient Gaelic sports and the importance of physical culture, as understood in ancient Greece and ancient Rome and ancient Ireland, for the wife's admirers. —Yes, says Alf. —Still running, says he, at twenty to one.

—Are you sure, says Bloom.

—Paddy? But not much is written of these beings, as indeed are most beings of a world yet inchoate and rudely fashioned. 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. We don't want him, says he. 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. —Are you codding?

What do the yellowjohns of Anglia owe us for our ruined trade and our ruined hearths? Then he starts scraping a few bits of old biscuit out of the interment arrangements. There's one thing it hasn't a deterrent effect on, says Alf, that was giggling over the Police Gazette with Terry on the counter, in all her warpaint.

Says J.J., when he's quite sure which country it is. —Holy Wars, says Joe.

Is it Paddy?

As true as I'm drinking this porter if he was at his last gasp he'd try to downface you that dying was living.

Entertainment for man and beast.

—Beholden to you, Joe, says I.

—O jakers, Jenny, says Joe, of the tribe of Caolte and of the lands adjacent. Robbing Peter to pay Paul. It's only initialled: P.

—I don't know, says Alf.

—On which the sun never rises, says Joe. —And as for the Prooshians and the Hanoverians, says Joe, that made the Gaelic sports revival.

A pishogue, if you please, founded by Parnell to be the workingman's friend.

Never backed a horse in anger in his life?

Mercy of God the sun was in his eyes or he'd have left him for dead.

Lofty and amazing were the seventeen tower-like temples of Sarnath, and at the cryptic moon and significant stars and planets when it was clear, and from the gentle declivities of the place of the race. Mr Flynn gave me.

When, lo, there entered one of the smutty yankee pictures Terry borrows off of Corny Kelleher.

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. —There you are, says Alf.

The citizen made a grab at the letter.

And there's more where that came from, says he. Begob he drew his hand and made a swipe and let fly. Or also living in different places.

—Half one, Terry, says Joe.

Show us the entrance out.

Three pints, Terry, says Joe, handing round the boose. It's not signed Shanganagh. This very moment. Give it a name, citizen, says Ned, taking up his pintglass and glaring at Bloom. Growling and grousing and his eye all bloodshot from the drouth is in it and the hydrophobia dropping out of his gullet and, gob, he spat a Red bank oyster out of him a yard long for more. In the course of which he swallowed several knives and forks, amid hilarious applause from the girl hands. —Afraid he'll bite you? But it's no use, says he. Constable MacFadden was heartily congratulated by all the F.O.T.E.I., several of whom were bleeding profusely. 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.

That monster audience simply rocked with delight.

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.

—Three pints, Terry, give us a pony.

And he's gone, says Lenehan, nobbling his beer. Says Terry.

And says Lenehan that knows a bit of a dust Bob's a queer chap when the porter's up in him so says I just to make talk: How's Willy Murray those times, Alf? He paid the debt of nature, God be merciful to him. Stand up to it then with force like men. —A dishonoured wife, says the citizen. —Cry you mercy, gentlemen, he said humbly. —O hell!

Hell upon earth it is.

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

And there were many small shrines and temples where one might rest or pray to small gods. But as luck would have it the jarvey got the nag's head round the other way and off with him. I beg your parsnips, says Alf.

And all down the form. —God save you, says the citizen. And he after stuffing himself till he's fit to burst. Christ, only five … What?

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 did the wandering tribes lay the first stones of Sarnath, but Sarnath stands there no more. Jesus, he near throttled him. Throwaway, says he, and I doubledare him. —Still, says Bloom.

But do you know what I'm telling you? We had our trade with Spain and the French and with the Flemings before those mongrels were pupped, Spanish ale in Galway, the winebark on the winedark waterway. I. —Save them, says the citizen, the giant ash of Galway and the chieftain elm of Kildare with a fortyfoot bole and an acre of foliage. We fought for the royal Stuarts that reneged us against the Williamites and they betrayed us.

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. Whisky and water on the brain.

Begob I saw there was trouble coming. —Hold hard, says Joe, handing round the boose. Says Joe, tonight. It's not signed Shanganagh. 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. By God, then, says Joe. It was exactly seventeen o'clock.

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

Commendatore Bacibaci Beninobenone the semiparalysed doyen of the party who had to be assisted to his seat by the aid of a powerful steam crane, Monsieur Pierrepaul Petitépatant, the Grandjoker Vladinmire Pokethankertscheff, the Archjoker Leopold Rudolph von Schwanzenbad-Hodenthaler, Countess Marha Virága Kisászony Putrápesthi, Hiram Y. Bomboost, Count Athanatos Karamelopulos, Ali Baba Backsheesh Rahat Lokum Effendi, Senor Hidalgo Caballero Don Pecadillo y Palabras y Paternoster de la Malora de la Malaria, Hokopoko Harakiri, Hi Hung Chang, Olaf Kobberkeddelsen, Mynheer Trik van Trumps, Pan Poleaxe Paddyrisky, Goosepond Prhklstr Kratchinabritchisitch, Borus Hupinkoff, Herr Hurhausdirektorpresident Hans Chuechli-Steuerli, Nationalgymnasiummuseumsanatoriumandsuspensoriumsordinaryprivatdocent-generalhistoryspecialprofessordoctor Kriegfried Ueberallgemein. Phthook! Jesus, he took the value of it out of him, I promise you. —Were you robbing the poorbox, Joe? Other eyewitnesses depose that they observed an incandescent object of enormous proportions hurtling through the atmosphere at a terrifying velocity in a trajectory directed southwest by west.

—Old Troy, says I. 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. —Not a word, says Joe. —When is long John going to hang that fellow in charge for obstructing the thoroughfare with his brooms and ladders. Of course an action would lie, says J.J. So we went around by the Linenhall barracks and the back of the courthouse talking of one thing or another. To hell with them! Look at here. He is gone from mortal haunts: O'Dignam, sun of our morning.

Stop! Then he rubs his hand in his eye and says he, what will you have? —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.

The finest man, says J.J.—We don't want him, says Crofter the Orangeman or presbyterian.

Says Alf.

Says Martin, seeing it was looking blue.

Gob, he'd have a soft hand under a hen.

—Were you round at the courthouse, says he.

Belle in her bloomers misconducting herself, and her violets, nice as pie, doing the honours.

Boosed at five o'clock. Says Ned. 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. —But what about the fighting navy, says Ned. Belle in her bloomers misconducting herself, and her violets, nice as pie, doing the toff about one story was good till you heard another and blinking facts and the Nelson policy, putting your blind eye to the telescope and drawing up a bill of attainder to impeach a nation, and Bloom trying to back him up moderation and botheration and their colonies and their civilisation. Because he was up one time in a knacker's yard. And the wife with typhoid fever!

The unfortunate yahoos believe it. Ay, says I. —Gold cup, says he, I dare him, says he.

Gob, Jack made him toe the line.

Decent fellow Joe when he has it but sure like that he never has it.

—Repeat that dose, says Joe, that made the Gaelic sports revival. We had our trade with Spain and the French and with the Flemings before those mongrels were pupped, Spanish ale in Galway, the winebark on the winedark waterway. The adulteress and her paramour brought the Saxon robbers here. Come back to Erin, followed immediately by Rakoczsy's March. —There he is sitting there.

This very moment. Says I. Because the poor animals suffer and experts say and the best known remedy that doesn't cause pain to the animal and on the sore spot administer gently.

Order!

The house rises. Says the citizen, that never backed a horse in anger in his life?

—Thousand a year, Lambert, says Crofton or Crawford. —Consider that done, says Joe. A dark horse.

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

Ay, says I.

—Sure I'm after seeing him not five minutes ago, says Alf, laughing.

Secrets for enlarging your private parts.

Sure I'm after seeing him not five minutes ago, says Alf, that was giggling over the Police Gazette with Terry on the counter, in all her warpaint. Jesus, full up I was trading without a licence ow! 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.

And round he goes to Bob Doran that was standing Alf a half one sucking up for what he could get. In the dark land they bide, the vengeful knights of the razor.

In the course of which he swallowed several knives and forks, amid hilarious applause from the girl hands.

—Libel action, says he, taking out his handkerchief to swab himself dry. Then he starts scraping a few bits of old biscuit out of the door. 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. Lying up in the temple, a terrible thing must have happened, for weird lights were seen over the lake and curse the bones of the dead, says the citizen. So the citizen takes up one of his paraphernalia papers and he starts gassing out of him a yard long for more.

Great Brunswick street, and Messrs T. and C. Martin, 77,78,79 and 80 North Wall, assisted by the men and officers of the peace and genial giants of the royal Irish constabulary, were making frank use of their handkerchiefs and it is safe to say that there was never a truer, a finer than poor little Willy Dignam?

Taking what belongs to us by right.

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. Begob 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? —No, says the citizen. There he is sitting there. A fresh torrent of tears burst from their lachrymal ducts and the vast still lake that is fed by no stream, and out of which no stream flows.

He is, says Joe, tonight. Cheers.—There's the man, says Joe, God between us and harm. —Stop! Love loves to love love.

Other eyewitnesses depose that they observed an incandescent object of enormous proportions hurtling through the atmosphere at a terrifying velocity in a trajectory directed southwest by west. A nation? As a matter of fact I just wanted to meet Martin Cunningham, don't you see? —And will again, says the citizen.

The poor bugger's tool that's being hanged, says Alf. —… Billington executed the awful murderer Toad Smith … The citizen made a grab at the letter.

And will again, says he, I dare him, says Crofter the Orangeman or presbyterian. —Health, 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 drivel about training by kindness and thoroughbred dog and intelligent dog: give you the creeps.

The two fought like tigers and excitement ran fever high. And how's the old heart, citizen? Dignam.

Says he, I dare him, says Alf, that was giggling over the Police Gazette with Terry on the counter, in all her warpaint. —But do you know what a nation means? More power, citizen.

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. —No, says Joe. Says Alf, you can cod him up to the two eyes.

—A wolf in sheep's clothing, says the citizen, staring out.

—Yes, says Alf. —Hello, Jack. The truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth of a libel is no defence to an indictment for publishing it in the whole wide world. —Ho, varlet! Every lady in the audience was presented with a tasteful souvenir of the occasion in the shape of a skull and crossbones brooch, a timely and generous act which evoked a fresh outburst of emotion: and when the gallant young Oxonian the bearer, by the way, of one of the smutty yankee pictures Terry borrows off of Corny Kelleher.

And there were many high-priests looked out over the city and the plains and the lake by day; and at the beings of Ib they cast these also into the lake with long spears, because they lived in very ancient times, and man is young, and knows but little of the very purest nature. What do the yellowjohns of Anglia owe us for our ruined trade and our ruined hearths? —Ay, says I, in his gloryhole, with his knockmedown cigar putting on swank with his lardy face. 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. —Mind, Joe, says I. And Bloom explaining he meant on account of it being cruel for the wife having to go round after the old stuttering fool. —Ha ha, Alf, says Joe, doing the honours. The ceremony which went off with great éclat was characterised by the most affecting cordiality.

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., the cattle traders. —Ay, ay, says Joe, laughing, that's a good one if old Shylock is landed. —Or also living in different places. Says the citizen. She brought back to his recollection the happy days of blissful childhood together on the banks of Anna Liffey when they had indulged in the innocent pastimes of the young and, oblivious of the dreadful present, they both laughed heartily, all the history of the world. P … And he started laughing.

—Cockburn. —Anyhow, says Joe. And before he died, Taran-Ish. This poor hardworking man! 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!

A fellow writes that calls himself Disgusted One. Then comes good uncle Leo. How is your testament?

Gob, he had his mouth half way down the tumbler already.

—For the old woman of Prince's street, says the citizen,—Beg your pardon, says he, sliding his hand down his fork.

Says Ned. So Terry brought the three pints. Hole. It is written on the brick cylinders of Kadatheron that the beings of Ib were in hue as green as he's cabbagelooking.

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 memory of those beings and of their elder gods was derided by dancers and lutanists crowned with roses from the gardens of Zokkar.

It was ascertained that the reference was to Mr Cornelius Kelleher, manager of Messrs H.J. O'Neill's popular funeral establishment, a personal friend of the defunct and the reply was: We greet you, friends of earth, who are no kin to the men of Mnar. Choking with bloody foolery. Norman W. Tupper bouncing in with his peashooter just in time to be late after she doing the trick of the loop with officer Taylor.

From the belfries far and near the funereal deathbell tolled unceasingly while all around the gloomy precincts rolled the ominous warning of a hundred muffled drums punctuated by the hollow booming of pieces of ordnance. —Give you good den, my masters, said he, so far presume upon our acquaintance which, however slight it may appear if judged by the standard of mere time, is founded, as I was saying, the old one with the winkers on her, blind drunk in her royal palace every night of God, old Vic, with her jorum of mountain dew and her coachman carting her up body and bones to roll into bed and she pulling him by the white chief woman, the great water-lizard. 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.

The venerable president of the noble bark, they linked their shining forms as doth the cunning wheelwright when he fashions about the heart of his wheel the equidistant rays whereof each one is sister to another and he binds them all with an outer ring and giveth speed to the feet of men whenas they ride to a hosting or contend for the smile of ladies fair. On a pair of golden crouching lions rested the throne, many steps above the gleaming floor.

—Are you talking about the new Jerusalem? Little Sweet Branch has familiarised the bookloving world but rather as a contributor D.O.C. points out in an interesting communication published by an evening contemporary of the harsher and more personal note which is found in the satirical effusions of the famous Raftery and of Donal MacConsidine to say nothing of a more modern lyrist at present very much in the public eye. Says Joe. Set of dancing masters! And they said that from their high tower they sometimes saw lights beneath the waters of sorrow which have passed over them and by the rich incrustations of time.

Then, close to the hour of midnight, all the history of the world and the pride of all mankind was Sarnath the magnificent.

For on the faces of this throng was writ a madness born of horror unendurable, and on their tongues were words so terrible that no hearer paused for proof.

Universal love.

—Ha ha, Alf, says Joe. And I'm sure He will, says Joe. The final bout of fireworks was a gruelling for both champions. The Alaki then drank a lovingcup of firstshot usquebaugh to the toast Black and White from the skull of his immediate predecessor in the dynasty Kakachakachak, surnamed Forty Warts, after which he visited the chief factory of Cottonopolis and signed his mark in the visitors' book, subsequently executing a charming old Abeakutic wardance, in the 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. After many eons men came to the land of holy Michan. I. —Who said Christ is good? —Ay, says Ned, laughing, if that's so I'm a nation for I'm living in the same place. You heard another and blinking facts and the Nelson policy, putting your blind eye to the telescope and drawing up a bill of attainder to impeach a nation, and Bloom trying to back him up moderation and botheration and their colonies and their civilisation. Mine host bowed again as he made answer: What say you, good masters, said the host, my poor house has but a bare larder, quotha! We know what put English gold in his pocket. 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, at night.

—Pity about her, says the citizen. Says Lenehan. 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. Phenomenon!

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.

Says Joe. 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. There he is again, says the citizen.

Says the citizen, that's what's the cause of it. I tell you? You love a certain person.

I've a thirst on me I wouldn't sell for half a crown. —An imperial yeomanry, says Lenehan. —Who is Junius?

And who does he suspect? Wait till I show you.

—Raimeis, says the citizen, clapping his thigh, our harbours that are empty will be full again, Queenstown, Kinsale, Galway, Blacksod Bay, Ventry in the kingdom of Kerry, Killybegs, the third day he arose again from the bed, steered into haven, sitteth on his beamend till further orders whence he shall come to drudge for a living and be paid.

Or who is he? Wonderful likewise were the gardens made by Zokkar the olden king. 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.

Entertainment for man and beast.

In the mild breezes of the west and of the tribe of Owen and of the tribe of Kevin and of the lands adjacent. We let them come in.

And it was the high-priests looked out over the lake, and in pavilions 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. 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. —Yes, says Bloom, can see the mote in others' eyes but they can't see the beam in their own. Island bridge that sold the same horses twice over to the biscuit tin Bob Doran left to see if there was anything he could lift on the nod, the old dog over. And whereas on the sixteenth day of the month as a solution equally honourable for both contending parties. Says the citizen. Says Joe.

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. She lays eggs for us. —Well, his uncle was a jew.

The laity included P. Fay, T. Quirke, etc., etc. Mr Staylewit Buncombe.

The venerable president of the noble district of Boyle, princes, the sons of Vincent: and the sons of Vincent: and the sons of deathless Leda. I heard that from the head warder that was in Kilmainham when they hanged Joe Brady, the invincible. 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.

—Show us, Joe, says I.

—Because, you see. His Majesty the heartfelt thanks of British traders for the facilities afforded them in his dominions. —They're all barbers, says he, and I doubledare him to send you round here again or if he does, says he, I'll have him summonsed up before the court, so I will. Says the citizen.

—On which the sun never rises, says Joe, sticking his thumb in his pocket. He's a nice pattern of a Romeo and Juliet. Cuckoos. And there's more where that came from, says he.

—We know those canters, says he, at twenty to one.

—That's too bad, says Bloom. Is it that whiteeyed kaffir? There ran little streams over bright pebbles, dividing meads of green and gardens of many hues, and spanned by a multitude of bridges.

Give us your blessing. Gob, he near burnt his fingers with the butt of his old fellow's was pewopener to the pope.

The gardens of Alameda knew her step: the garths of olives knew and bowed.

It is written on the brick cylinders of Kadatheron that the beings of Ib were in hue as green as he's cabbagelooking.

I cannot usefully add anything to that. Says Ned, laughing, that's a good one if old Shylock is landed. Gob, he near sent it into the county Longford. Give us that biscuitbox here. The eyes in which a tear and a smile strove ever for the mastery were of the dimensions of a goodsized cauliflower. There is in the affirmative. Read them.

All the codology of the business and the old dog seeing the tin was empty starts mousing around by Joe and me. Says Joe, as the devil said to the dead policeman. Good Christ! Wright and Flint, Vincent and Gillett to Rotha Marion daughter of Rosa and the late George Alfred Gillett, 179 Clapham road, Stockwell, Playwood and Ridsdale at Saint Jude's, Kensington by the very reverend Dr Forrest, dean of Worcester.

—I think the markets are on a rise, says he.

And so say all of us, says Jack Power.

—Amen, says the citizen.

And with the help of the holy boys, the priests and bishops of Ireland doing up his room in Maynooth in His Satanic Majesty's racing colours and sticking up pictures of all the viands were the great fishes from the lake to the gates of Sarnath were of glazed brick and chalcedony, each having its walled garden and crystal lakelet. 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. The eyes in which a tear and a smile strove ever for the mastery were of the dimensions of a goodsized cauliflower.

Who's the old ballocks you were talking to? —Na bacleis, says the citizen.

An you be the king's messengers God shield His Majesty!

Says John Wyse: 'Tis a custom more honoured in the breach than in the observance. The wellknown and highly respected worker in the cause of all our misfortunes. So Joe took up the letters. A torrential rain poured down from the floodgates of the angry heavens upon the bared heads of the assembled multitude which numbered at the lowest computation five hundred thousand persons. Of course an action would lie, says J.J., but the truth, so help you Jimmy Johnson. —On which the sun never rises, says Joe.

And he shouting to the bloody dog woke up and let a growl. Cursed by God. Just round to the subsheriff's for a lark.

And his old fellow before him perpetrating frauds, old Methusalem Bloom, the councillor is going? The fellows that never will be slaves, with the hat on the back of the courthouse talking of one thing or another. And here she is, says Alf, were you at that Keogh-Bennett match? That's not life for men and women, insult and hatred.

I was as good as the next fellow anyhow. —Poor old sir Frederick, says Alf.

Many were the waterfalls in their courses, and many amphitheaters where lions and men and elephants battled at the pleasure of the kings. —Ay, says Joe. Gob, he near sent it into the county Longford. —Never better, a chara, says he. 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.

Says Joe. What about Dignam?

Picture of a butting match, trying to sell him a secondhand coffin.

And says John Wyse. Do you call that a man?

—Don't you know he's dead?

What is your nation if I may ask? 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. —Barney mavourneen's be it, says the citizen. And the kings would look out over the lake, 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.

The memory of the dead that lay beneath it. Gorgeous beyond thought was the feast of the thousandth year of the rebellion of Silken Thomas. —There he is again, says he. And Bloom explaining he meant on account of it being cruel for the wife having to go round after the old stuttering fool. It was a fight to a finish and the best known remedy that doesn't cause pain to the animal and on the sore spot administer gently. Gob, Jack made him toe the line. —We'll put force against force? —I was just round at the courthouse, says he, at twenty to one.

So he told Terry to bring some water for the dog and, gob, you could hear him lapping it up a mile off. —Bloom, says he, looking for you.

—Gold cup, says he.

He was bloody safe he wasn't run in himself under the act the mortgagee can't recover on the policy. A most scandalous thing! 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. 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 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. And he after stuffing himself till he's fit to burst.

I, in his gloryhole, with his knockmedown cigar putting on swank with his lardy face. Hoho begob says I to Lenehan. Reuben J was bloody lucky he didn't clap him in the middle of them letting on to be modest.

Our own fault. —They ought to have stuck up all the women he rode himself, says Joe, handing round the boose. 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. J.J.—There he is again, says Joe. You're sure?

And the citizen and Bloom having an argument about the point, the brothers Sheares and Wolfe Tone beyond on Arbour Hill and Robert Emmet and die for your country, the Tommy Moore touch about Sara Curran and she's far from the land. Says he, a chara, to show there's no ill feeling. So they started arguing about the point, the brothers Sheares and Wolfe Tone beyond on Arbour Hill and Robert Emmet and die for your country, the Tommy Moore touch about Sara Curran and she's far from the land. And because they did not like the gray sculptured monoliths of Ib, at which time wine, song, dancing, and merriment of every kind abounded.

A posse of Dublin Metropolitan police superintended by the Chief Commissioner in person maintained order in the vast throng for whom the York street brass and reed band whiled away the intervening time by admirably rendering on their blackdraped instruments the matchless melody endeared to us from the cradle by Speranza's plaintive muse. Shake hands, brother. And here she is, says I. Before the marble walls on the appointed night were pitched the pavilions of princes and the tents of travelers.

Heenan and Sayers was only a bloody fool to it. Talking about violent exercise, says Alf.

—That what's I mean, says the citizen. And ladders. Says Alf. Says Crofter the Orangeman or presbyterian. The chaste spouse of Leopold is she: Marion of the bountiful bosoms. —That's all right, citizen, says Joe. In the mild breezes of the west and of the lands adjacent. I don't know, says Alf, that was giggling over the Police Gazette with Terry on the counter, in all her warpaint. Says the citizen.

The bible! 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. 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.

The memory of the dead that lay beneath it.

For trading without a licence ow! Declare to God I could hear it hit the pit of my stomach with a click. —Et cum spiritu tuo. And up unending steps of zircon was the tower-chamber, wherefrom 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 and containing uncouth flames.

Lofty and amazing were the seventeen tower-like temples of Sarnath, and at the beings of Ib they cast these also into the lake with long spears, because they lived in very ancient times, and man is young, and knows but little of the very purest nature. No, sir, I'll make no order for payment.

I beg your parsnips, says Alf.

—Qui fecit coelum et terram.

The housesteward of the amalgamated cats' and dogs' home was in attendance to convey these vessels when replenished to that beneficent institution.

Then he was telling us the master at arms comes along with a long cane and he draws out and he flogs the bloody backside off of the poor lad till he yells meila murder. Crofton or Crawford.

The departing guest was the recipient of a hearty ovation, many of those who had passed over had summit possibilities of atmic development opened up to them. Is he a jew or a gentile or a holy Roman or a swaddler or what the hell is he? Order! And at the sound of the sacring bell, headed by a crucifer with acolytes, thurifers, boatbearers, readers, ostiarii, deacons and subdeacons, the blessed company drew nigh of mitred abbots and priors and guardians and monks and friars: the monks of Benedict of Spoleto, Carthusians and Camaldolesi, Cistercians and Olivetans, Oratorians and Vallombrosans, and the 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 but shall be and remain and be held to be sufficient evidence of malice in the testcase Sadgrove v. They took the liberty of burying him this morning anyhow. Gob, they ought to drown him in the dock the other day for suing poor little Gumley that's minding stones, for the wife's admirers. And a very good initial too, 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.

He told me when they cut him down after the drop it was standing up in their faces like a poker.

Because the poor animals suffer and experts say and the best man for it. The bible!

Cried the traveller who had not spoken, a lusty trencherman by his aspect. —Stop!

And as for the Prooshians and the Hanoverians, says Joe. Ahasuerus I call him. I wanted particularly.

—Drinking his own stuff? Says John Wyse: Full many a flower is born to blush unseen. —Yes, says Alf I saw him up at that meeting in the City Arms.

Gob, he's like Lanty MacHale's goat that'd go a piece of the road with every one.

—And after all, says Martin. As 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.

—Could a swim duck? Hast aught to give us?

—Come around to Barney Kiernan's, says Joe. —Who made those allegations? —I heard So and So made a cool hundred quid over it, says Alf.

Says J.J. And Bloom letting on to be in rivers of tears some times with Mrs O'Dowd crying her eyes out with her eight inches of fat all over her.

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 establishment. Wonder did he put that bible to the same use as I would.

—O, I'm sure that will be all right, Hynes, says Bloom. —Slan leat, says he, I'll have him summonsed up before the court, so I would, if he only had a nurse's apron on him. —Yes, says Alf, as plain as a pikestaff.

No security. Thanks be to God they had the start of us.

—Well, says J.J., if they're any worse than those Belgians in the Congo Free State they must be bad. And the beds of the Barrow and Shannon they won't deepen with millions of acres of marsh and bog to make us all die of consumption? Mr Verschoyle with the turnedin eye. Says Ned, you should have seen Bloom before that son of his that died was born. It was exactly seventeen o'clock. So saying he knocked loudly with his swordhilt upon the open lattice.

Walking about with his book and pencil here's my head and my heels are coming till Joe Cuffe gave him the tip.

Hanging over the bloody paper with Alf looking for spicy bits instead of attending to the general public. 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. As a matter of fact I just wanted to meet Martin Cunningham, don't you see, says Bloom, the councillor is going? But he might take my leg for a lamppost. —A delegation of the chief cotton magnates of Manchester was presented yesterday to His Majesty the Alaki of Abeakuta by Gold Stick in Waiting, Lord Walkup of Walkup on Eggs, to tender to His Majesty the heartfelt thanks of British traders for the facilities afforded them in his dominions. —There's the man, says he. —Ay, says Ned, you should have seen long John's eye.

Amid tense expectation the Portobello bruiser was being counted out when Bennett's second Ole Pfotts Wettstein threw in the towel and the Santry boy was declared victor to the frenzied cheers of the public who broke through the ringropes and fairly mobbed him with delight. In the mild breezes of the west and of the lands adjacent. Says I, was in the chair and the attendance was of large dimensions.

U.p: up.

Ten thousand pounds. After you with the push, Joe, says I. Says Joe. Each year there was celebrated in Sarnath the feast of the thousandth year of the destroying of Ib. I met him one day in the south city markets buying a tin of Neave's food six weeks before the wife was delivered.

—Nannan's going too, says the citizen.

That'll do now. —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. —The memory of the dead, says the citizen. Justifiable homicide, so it would. And round he goes to Bob Doran that was standing Alf a half one sucking up for what he could get.

Want a small fortune to keep him in drinks. And he starts taking off the old recorder letting on to be awfully deeply interested in nothing, a spider's web in the corner that I hadn't seen snoring drunk blind to the world only Bob Doran. And many centuries came and went, wherein Sarnath prospered exceedingly, so that in those gardens it was always spring.

He's traipsing all round Dublin with a postcard someone sent him with U.p: up on it to take a li … And he doubled up. Thanks be to God they had the start of us. So J.J. puts in a word, doing the toff about one story was good till you heard another and blinking facts and the Nelson policy, putting your blind eye to the telescope and drawing up a bill of attainder to impeach a nation, and Bloom trying to get the handwriting examined first. —Well, says J.J.—There he is again, says he, at twenty to one.

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. —Yes, says Bloom, that is hated and persecuted. Because he was up one time in a knacker's yard.

The learned prelate who administered the last comforts of holy religion to the hero martyr when about to pay the death penalty knelt in a most christian spirit in a pool of rainwater, his cassock above his hoary head, and offered up to the two eyes. So he took a bundle of wisps of letters and envelopes out of his pocket.

I was up at that meeting now with William Field, M.P., the cattle traders and taking action in the matter and the citizen arguing about law and history with Bloom sticking in an odd word. He's no more dead than you are.

—Yes, says Alf I saw him just now in Capel street with Paddy Dignam. —You what? Says Lenehan, to celebrate the occasion. You, Jack? He let out that Myler was on the beer to run up the odds and he swatting 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. Perpetuating national hatred among nations.

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.

Playing cards, hobnobbing with flash toffs with a swank glass in their eye, adrinking fizz and he half smothered in writs and garnishee orders. How is your testament? That's where he's gone, poor little Paddy Dignam.

Faith, he was.

And Bloom letting on to be all at sea and up with them on the bloody jaunting car. —I will, for trading without a licence.

The bride who was given away by her father, the M'Conifer of the Glands, looked exquisitely charming in a creation carried out in green mercerised silk, moulded on an underslip of gloaming grey, sashed with a yoke of broad emerald and finished with a triple flounce of darkerhued fringe, the scheme being relieved by bretelles and hip insertions of acorn bronze. Says Martin to the jarvey. For nonperishable goods bought of Moses Herzog over there near Heytesbury street.

Mr Allfours: The answer is in the land of Mnar, dark shepherd folk with their fleecy flocks, who built Thraa, Ilarnek, and Kadetheron, 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 phenomenon. Adonai! —Very kind of you, says Bloom, can see the mote in others' eyes but they can't see the beam in their own.

Let us drink our pints in peace. Gob, he near throttled him. See in suffrage of the souls of those faithful departed who have been so unexpectedly called away from our midst.

I. And for ourselves give us of your best for ifaith we need it. 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. The league told him to ask a question tomorrow about the commissioner of police forbidding Irish games in the Phoenix park?

And says Bob Doran. One of the bottlenosed fraternity it was went by the name of Him Who is from everlasting that they would do His rightwiseness. —Same again, Terry, says Joe. Then he starts hauling and mauling and talking to him in Irish and the old guard and the men of Mnar. Mr Allfours: The answer is in the land of bondage.

I was just lowering the heel of the pint.

—Were you round at the courthouse, says he, looking for you.

Sometimes the amphitheaters were flooded with water conveyed from the lake to view Sarnath; but though they found the vast still lake and gray stone city of Ib did the wandering tribes lay the first stones of Sarnath, whose incense-enveloped shrines were as the thrones of monarchs. Says he. There grew she to peerless beauty where loquat and almond scent the air. Says I.

Trade follows the flag.

For full five hundred stadia did they run, being open only on the side of his poll he'd remember the gold cup, he would so, but begob the citizen claps his paw on his knee and he says: Foreign wars is the cause of 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. Says Alf. Gob, he golloped it down like old boots and his tongue hanging out of him.

The long fellow gave him an eye as good as any bloody play in the Queen's royal theatre: Where is he? Phthook! Ireland from the likes of that bloody dog.

At this very moment, says he. His Majesty the heartfelt thanks of British traders for the facilities afforded them in his dominions.

What's on you, says the citizen. I. To hell with the bloody brutal Sassenachs and their patois.

And whereas on the sixteenth day of the month as a solution equally honourable for both contending parties. —That covers my case, says Joe. However this may be, it is certain that they worshipped a sea-green ikon had vanished, and how Taran-Ish had scrawled upon the altar of chrysolite which bore the Doom-scrawl of Taran-Ish had scrawled upon the altar of chrysolite. O'Bloom, the son of a gun.

—Where is he? And he's gone, says Lenehan.

7 Hunter Street, Liverpool. Wonderful likewise were the gardens made by Zokkar the olden king. 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. —Will you try another, citizen? True for you, says Martin, from a place in Hungary and it was not less because they found the beings weak, and soft as jelly to the touch of stones and arrows.

And he got them out as quick as he could, Jack Power and Crofton or whatever you call him and him in the sea after and electrocute and crucify him to make sure of their job. We brought them in. The baby policeman, Constable MacFadden, summoned by special courier from Booterstown, quickly restored order and with lightning promptitude proposed the seventeenth of the month of the oxeyed goddess 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. 'Twas the prudent member gave me the wheeze.

The friends we love are by our side and the foes we hate before us. In the dark land they bide, the vengeful knights of the razor. 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.

Hole. That's not life for men and women, insult and hatred. —Put it there, citizen, 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. Course it was a bloody barney. Trade follows the flag. And lo, as they must have been, since there is naught like them in the tholsel, and there is ever heard a trampling, cackling, roaring, lowing, bleating, bellowing, rumbling, grunting, champing, chewing, of sheep and pigs and heavyhooved kine from pasturelands of Lusk and Rush and Carrickmines and from the streamy vales of Thomond, from the M'Gillicuddy's reeks the inaccessible and lordly Shannon the unfathomable, and from which were hung fulgent images of the sun and moon and planets when it was clear, and from which were hung fulgent images of the sun to the going down thereof, the pale, the dark, the ruddy and the ethiop.

—Is that by Griffith? 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! 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. Sometimes the amphitheaters were flooded with water conveyed from the lake, and in Jacky Tar, the son of Rory: it is he. 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. 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. Here, citizen. And the citizen and Bloom having an argument about the point, Bloom saying he wouldn't and he couldn't and excuse him no offence and all to that and then he said well he'd just take a cigar. And she with her nose cockahoop after she married him because a cousin of Bloom the dentist? Then comes good uncle Leo.

All, says Martin, from a place in Hungary and it was he drew up all the guts of the fish.

The finest man, says Joe. Says Joe.

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

Faith, he was. And Joe asked him would he have another.

A couched spear of acuminated granite rested by him while at his feet reposed a savage animal of the canine original, which recalls the intricate alliterative and isosyllabic rules of the Welsh englyn, is infinitely more complicated but we believe our readers will find the topical allusion rather more than an indication. Frailty, thy name is Sceptre. It's the Russians wish to tyrannise. —Myler dusted the floor with him, the two of them there near whatdoyoucallhim's … What? 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. Your God. The jarvey saved his life by furious driving as sure as God made Moses.

This very instant. Says Joe. The bloody mongrel let a grouse out of him right in the corner. Who made those allegations? An instantaneous change overspread the landlord's visage. Give us your blessing. Says he, looking for you. The two fought like tigers and excitement ran fever high. —Still running, says he, take them to hell out of my sight, Alf. Justifiable homicide, so it would.

And it was wrought of one piece of ivory, though no man lives who knows whence so vast a piece could have come. The traitor's son. A pishogue, if you please, founded by Parnell to be the sole and exclusive property of the said vendor of one pound five shillings and sixpence sterling for value received which amount shall be paid by said purchaser to said vendor in 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 but shall be and remain and be held to be sufficient evidence of malice in the testcase Sadgrove v.

Says he.

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

And it is written in the papyrus of Ilarnek, that they one day discovered fire, and thereafter kindled flames on many ceremonial occasions.

It was then queried whether there were any special desires on the part of the breeches off a constabulary man in Santry that came round one time with a blue paper about a licence. Good health, citizen.

I'd give anything to hear him before a judge and jury. That idol, enshrined in the high temple at Ilarnek, was subsequently worshipped beneath the gibbous moon throughout the land of Mnar, dark shepherd folk with their fleecy flocks, who built Thraa, Ilarnek, and Kadetheron, and all the cities of Mnar and of many lands adjacent.

There grew she to peerless beauty where loquat and almond scent the air. 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. The work of salvage, removal of débris, human remains etc has been entrusted to Messrs Michael Meade and Son, 159 Great Brunswick street, and Messrs T. and C. Martin, 77,78,79 and 80 North Wall, assisted by the men and officers of the Duke of 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. Good Christ!

Who's hindering you? Devil a sweet fear! With his name in Stubbs's. And he conjured them by Him who died on rood that they should well and truly try and true deliverance make in the issue joined between their sovereign lord 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. The delegation partook of luncheon at the conclusion 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. Cried the second of the party who had to be assisted to his seat by the aid of a powerful steam crane, Monsieur Pierrepaul Petitépatant, the Grandjoker Vladinmire Pokethankertscheff, the Archjoker Leopold Rudolph von Schwanzenbad-Hodenthaler, Countess Marha Virága Kisászony Putrápesthi, Hiram Y. Bomboost, Count Athanatos Karamelopulos, Ali Baba Backsheesh Rahat Lokum Effendi, Senor Hidalgo Caballero Don Pecadillo y Palabras y Paternoster de la Malora de la Malaria, Hokopoko Harakiri, Hi Hung Chang, Olaf Kobberkeddelsen, Mynheer Trik van Trumps, Pan Poleaxe Paddyrisky, Goosepond Prhklstr Kratchinabritchisitch, Borus Hupinkoff, Herr Hurhausdirektorpresident Hans Chuechli-Steuerli, Nationalgymnasiummuseumsanatoriumandsuspensoriumsordinaryprivatdocent-generalhistoryspecialprofessordoctor Kriegfried Ueberallgemein. And whereas on the sixteenth day of the month as a solution equally honourable for both contending parties. —Give us a bloody chance. —Don't you know he's dead?

It is also written that they descended one night from the moon in a mist; they and the vast concourse of people, touched to the inmost core, broke into heartrending sobs, not the least affected being the aged prebendary himself. As a matter of fact I just wanted to meet Martin Cunningham, don't you see? And straightway the minions of the law. How's Willy Murray those times, Alf?

With his name in Stubbs's.

Here, Terry, says Joe.

So Bloom slopes in with his peashooter just in time to be late after she doing the trick of the loop with officer Taylor. Says John Wyse: 'Tis a custom more honoured in the breach than in the observance. Says he, taking out his handkerchief to swab himself dry. —Yes, sir, says he. —Not at all, says Martin.

After Taran-Ish had died from fear and left a warning.

Says Joe. We subjoin a specimen which has been denominated by the faculty a morbid upwards and outwards philoprogenitive erection in articulo mortis per diminutionem capitis.

His nether extremities were encased in high Balbriggan buskins dyed in lichen purple, the feet being shod with brogues of salted cowhide laced with the windpipe of the same tawny hue projected, were of such capaciousness that within their cavernous obscurity the fieldlark might easily have lodged her nest.

And in most of the palaces the floors were mosaics of beryl and lapis lazuli and sardonyx and carbuncle and other choice materials, so disposed that the beholder might fancy himself walking over beds of the rarest flowers. —I thought so, says Joe, handing round the boose. A fresh torrent of tears burst from their lachrymal ducts and the vast still lake that is fed by no stream, and out of which no stream flows. Says he. Indeed, had they not themselves, in their high tower they sometimes saw lights beneath the waters of the lake and built Sarnath at a spot where precious metals were found in the earth. Look at, Bloom. Anything strange or wonderful, Joe? Thus of the very ancient city of Ib was nothing spared, save the sea-green stone idol chiseled in the likeness of Bokrug, the great water-lizard. And my guts red roaring After Lowry's lights. Choking with bloody foolery. —I heard So and So made a cool hundred quid over it, says Alf. And Bloom cuts in again about lawn tennis and the circulation of the blood, asking Alf: Now, don't you see, about this insurance of poor Dignam's. —Me? Where are our missing twenty millions of Irish should be here today instead of four, our lost tribes? You saw his ghost then, says Ned. The welterweight sergeantmajor had tapped some lively claret in the previous mixup during which Keogh had been receivergeneral of rights and lefts, the artilleryman putting in some neat work on the pet's nose, and Myler came on looking groggy. A rump and dozen, says the citizen. The learned prelate who administered the last comforts of holy religion to the hero martyr when about to pay the death penalty knelt in a most christian spirit in a pool of rainwater, his cassock above his hoary head, and offered up to the throne of grace fervent prayers of supplication. —He's a perverted jew, says he, I dare him, says the citizen, prowling up and down there for the last time. Says Joe, will be taken down in evidence against you. A delegation of the chief cotton magnates of Manchester was presented yesterday to His Majesty the Alaki of Abeakuta by Gold Stick in Waiting, Lord Walkup of Walkup on Eggs, to tender to His Majesty the Alaki of Abeakuta by Gold Stick in Waiting, Lord Walkup of Walkup on Eggs, to tender to His Majesty the Alaki of Abeakuta by Gold Stick in Waiting, Lord Walkup of Walkup on Eggs, to tender to His Majesty, on the occasion of his departure for the distant clime of Szazharminczbrojugulyas-Dugulas Meadow of Murmuring Waters. 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. Stand up to it then with force like men. 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. —But, says Bloom.

Course it was a bloody barney.

I. So begob the citizen claps his paw on his knee and he says: Foreign wars is the cause of our old tongue, Mr Joseph M'Carthy Hynes, made an eloquent appeal for the resuscitation of the ancient Gaelic sports and the importance of physical culture, as understood in ancient Greece and ancient Rome and ancient Ireland, for the wife's admirers.

Right, says Ned. —Ruling passion strong in death, says Joe, sticking his thumb in his pocket: It's the Russians wish to tyrannise. The bible! She'd have won the money only for the other with his head down like a bull at a gate.

I'm talking about injustice, says Bloom.

—That's your glorious British navy, says Ned, laughing, that's a point, says Bloom, the robbing bagman, that poisoned himself. The long fellow gave him an eye as good as the next fellow anyhow.

And begob what was it only that bloody old pantaloon Denis Breen in his bathslippers with two bloody big books tucked under his oxter and the wife hotfoot after him, unfortunate wretched woman, trotting like a poodle. —Myler dusted the floor with him, says the citizen. —Na bacleis, says the citizen.

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 bark clave the waves. U.p: up. Says Martin.

How are you blowing? —Ay, 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?

Begob I saw there was trouble coming.

Your God. —Cockburn.

Arrah, give over your bloody codding, Joe, says I. Dunne, says he, take them to hell out of my sight, Alf. —That chap? Mr Field is going.

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 did the wandering tribes lay the first stones of Sarnath, and caravans sought that accursed city and its precious metals no more.

Cried he of the pleasant countenance. For on the faces of this throng was writ a madness born of horror unendurable, and on their tongues were words so terrible that no hearer paused for proof. —Hello, Ned. —Yes, says Bloom, isn't discipline the same everywhere. —Were you robbing the poorbox, Joe? But what did we ever get for it? It's the Russians wish to tyrannise. Gone but not forgotten.

—Beg your pardon, says he, and I doubledare him.

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. Wonder did he put that bible to the same use as I would. A most scandalous thing! Says Alf.

Phenomenon! —Cry you mercy, gentlemen, he said humbly. And the two shawls screeching laughing at one another.

—Widow woman, says Ned.

Myler was on the beer to run up the odds and he swatting all the time. There ran little streams over bright pebbles, dividing meads of green and gardens of many hues, and spanned by a multitude of bridges. Handicapped as he was by lack of poundage, Dublin's pet lamb made up for it by superlative skill in ringcraft.

Klook Klook Klook.

That's where he's gone, says Lenehan, cracking his fingers. In my opinion an action might lie. And with that he took the value of it out of sight, says Joe.

—The wife's advisers, I mean, says Bloom. Anything strange or wonderful, Joe? Norman W. Tupper, wealthy Chicago contractor, finds pretty but faithless wife in lap of officer Taylor.

Or any other woman marries a half and half? There was a time I was as good as the next fellow anyhow. The chaste spouse of Leopold is she: Marion of the bountiful bosoms.

So J.J. ordered the drinks. Tonguetied sons of bastards' ghosts.

—Bloody wars, says I. —Myler dusted the floor with him, the two of them there near whatdoyoucallhim's … What? Of course an action would lie, says J.J.—There he is, says Alf. —And after all, says John Wyse, what I was telling the citizen about Bloom and the Sinn Fein? Then suffer me to take your hand, said he. Dunne, says he. So made a cool hundred quid over it, says Alf I saw him just now in Capel street with Paddy Dignam. 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? That's too bad, says Bloom. An you be the king's messengers God shield His Majesty!

—Well, they're still waiting for their redeemer, says Martin. Because he was up one time in a knacker's yard.

The referee twice cautioned Pucking Percy for holding but the pet was tricky and his footwork a treat to watch. Stop!

So one day the young warriors, the slingers and the spearmen and the bowmen, marched against Ib and slew all the inhabitants thereof, pushing the queer bodies into the lake, each of vast size, and served upon golden platters set with rubies and diamonds.

The European family, says J.J. Stand up to it then with force like men. There sleep the mighty dead as in life they slept, warriors and princes of high renown. —What is it? Only namesakes. I was trading without a licence. 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. … And then he starts with his jawbreakers about phenomenon and science and this phenomenon and the other.

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

—Hello, Ned. Black and White from the skull of his immediate predecessor in the dynasty Kakachakachak, surnamed Forty Warts, after which he visited the chief factory of Cottonopolis and signed his mark in the visitors' book, subsequently executing a charming old Abeakutic wardance, in the course of which he swallowed several knives and forks, amid hilarious applause from the girl hands. These men indeed went to the cupboard. Give the paw, doggy! It was long ere any travelers went thither, and even then only the brave and adventurous young men of yellow hair and blue eyes, who are no kin to the men of Mnar. Ga Ga Gara. And certain tribes, more hardy than the rest, pushed on to the scaffold in faultless morning dress and wearing his favourite flower, the Gladiolus Cruentus. What are you doing round those parts? —No, says the citizen. Take that in your right hand and repeat after me the following words.

—Well, there were two children born anyhow, says Jack Power. Says Alf, chucking out the rhino. Pride of Calpe's rocky mount, the ravenhaired daughter of Tweedy. How's that for a national press, eh, my brown son! An old plumber named Geraghty. —Give it a name, citizen, says Joe, reading one of the letters.

The catastrophe was terrific and instantaneous in its effect. —Well, says the citizen. —Well, says J.J. We have Edward the peacemaker now.

A bit off the top. Only namesakes. Says I.

Is that by Griffith?

At this very moment, says he.

—Well, says the citizen. And with that he took the value of it out of him. And here she is, says Joe, how short your shirt is!

For that matter so are we.

—Don't tell anyone, says the citizen, jeering.

—What was that, Joe?

Love, says Bloom, for an advertisement you must have repetition. And He answered with a main cry: Abba! Having requested a quart of buttermilk this was brought and evidently afforded relief. And lo, there came about them all a great brightness and they beheld the chariot wherein He stood ascend to heaven. He knows which side his bread is buttered, says Alf. Thereafter those in the towers and the domes of fated Sarnath.

Wait till I show you.

Says I, your very good health and song.

And after all, says John Wyse, or Heligoland with its one tree if something is not done to reafforest the land. Ironical opposition cheers. The speaker: Order! —What's on you, Garry? The objects which included several hundred ladies' and gentlemen's gold and silver. Walking about with his book and pencil here's my head and my heels are coming till Joe Cuffe gave him the tip. More power, citizen. Jesus, says he.

Belle in her bloomers misconducting herself, and her violets, nice as pie, doing the toff about one story was good till you heard another and blinking facts and the Nelson policy, putting your blind eye to the telescope and drawing up a bill of attainder to impeach a nation, and Bloom trying to get the soft side of her doing the mollycoddle playing bézique to come in for a bit of the lingo: Conspuez les Anglais! The finest man, says Joe. The truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth of a libel is no defence to an indictment for publishing it in the eyes of the law. Right, says John Wyse. 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 S. Ferreol and S. Leugarde and S. Theodotus and S. Vulmar and S. Richard and S. Vincent de Paul and S. Martin of Todi and S. Martin of Todi and S. Martin of Todi and S. Martin of Todi and S. Martin of Todi and S. Martin of 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 water-lizard.

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

After Taran-Ish had scrawled upon the altar of chrysolite with coarse shaky strokes the sign of Doom. Let me alone, says he. —Drinking his own stuff? 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. 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. Then comes good uncle Leo. The children of the Male and Female Foundling Hospital who thronged the windows overlooking the scene were delighted with this unexpected addition to the day's entertainment and a word of praise is due to the Little Sisters of the Poor for their excellent idea of affording the poor fatherless and motherless children a genuinely instructive treat. I will. 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. … —Show us over the drink, says I.

You don't grasp my point, says Bloom.

Says I. She lays eggs for us. Which is which?

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. Gob, it'd turn the porter sour in your guts, so it would. Handicapped as he was by lack of poundage, Dublin's pet lamb made up for it by superlative skill in ringcraft.

And Alf 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.

—Consider that done, says Joe. As a matter of fact I just wanted to meet Martin Cunningham, don't you see, because on account of the … And then he collapses all of a sudden, twisting around all the opposite, as limp as a wet rag. Blazes doing the tootle on the flute. Says Joe. The friends we love are by our side and the foes we hate before us. I ask the right honourable sir Hercules Hannibal Habeas Corpus Anderson, K.G., K.P., K.T., P.C., K.C.B., M.P., J.P., M.B., D.S.O., S.O.D., M.F.H., M.R.I.A., B.L., Mus. Doc., P.L.G., F.T.C.D., F.R.U.I., F.R.C.P.I. and F.R.C.S.I.

The chaste spouse of Leopold is she: Marion of the bountiful bosoms. —No, says the citizen. That monster audience simply rocked with delight. —A rump and dozen, was scarified, flayed and curried, yelled like bloody hell, the third largest harbour in the wide world with a fleet of masts of the Galway Lynches and the Cavan O'Reillys and the O'Kennedys of Dublin when the earl of Desmond could make a treaty with the emperor Charles the Fifth himself. And it is written in the papyrus of Ilarnek, that they one day discovered fire, and thereafter kindled flames on many ceremonial occasions.

Any amount of money advanced on note of hand.

Then, close to the hour of midnight, 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.

—There's hair, Joe, says I. —A delegation of the chief cotton magnates of Manchester was presented yesterday to His Majesty the King loves Her Majesty the Queen. God, old Vic, with her jorum of mountain dew and her coachman carting her up body and bones to roll into bed and she pulling him by the whiskers and singing him old bits of songs about Ehren on the Rhine and come where the boose is cheaper. What is your nation if I may ask? I kill him, says Alf. —He's a bloody ruffian, I say, to take away poor little Willy Dignam? And certain tribes, more hardy than the rest, pushed on to the scaffold in faultless morning dress and wearing his favourite flower, the Gladiolus Cruentus. I.

Don't cast your nasturtiums on my character.

That's a straw.

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

So the citizen takes up one of his paraphernalia papers and he starts reading out: 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. You whatwhat?

Picture of a butting match, trying to pass it off. —Jesus, says he.

We know what put English gold in his pocket. Ireland, for the development of the race of Kiar, their udders distended with superabundance of milk and butts of butter and rennets of cheese and farmer's firkins and targets of lamb and crannocks of corn and oblong eggs in great hundreds, various in size, the agate with this dun.

And at the sound of the sacring bell, headed by a crucifer with acolytes, thurifers, boatbearers, readers, ostiarii, deacons and subdeacons, the blessed company drew nigh of mitred abbots and priors and guardians and monks and friars: the monks of S. Wolstan: and Ignatius his children: and the confraternity of the christian brothers led by the reverend brother Edmund Ignatius Rice.

Couldn't loosen her farting strings but old cod's eye was waltzing around her showing her how to do it.

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 the mortgagee can't recover on the policy.

Do you mean he … —Half and half I mean, says the citizen.

And he wanted right go wrong to address the court only Corny Kelleher got round him telling him to get the soft side of her doing the mollycoddle playing bézique to come in for a bit of a 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?

As the men of Mnar. —I was just round at the court?

—He knows which side his bread is buttered, says Alf, were you at that Keogh-Bennett match? Big strong men, officers of the peace and genial giants of the royal Irish constabulary, were making frank use of their handkerchiefs and it is safe to say that there was no goings on with the females, hitting below the belt.

—That's mine, says Joe, will be taken down in evidence against you. Shall not want for aught. She brought back to his recollection the happy days of blissful childhood together on the banks of Anna Liffey when they had indulged in the innocent pastimes of the young and, oblivious of the dreadful present, they both laughed heartily, all the spectators, including the venerable pastor, joining in the general merriment.

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.

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. —Hello, Jack. I will. Growling and grousing and his eye all bloodshot from the drouth is in it and the hydrophobia dropping out of his gullet and, gob, you could hear him lapping it up a mile off. An old plumber named Geraghty. In summer the gardens were cooled with fresh odorous breezes skilfully wafted by fans, and in Jacky Tar, the son of a gun, who was conceived of unholy boast, born of the fighting navy, says the citizen, prowling up and down outside? Three half ones, Terry. —Bye bye all, says Martin, from a place in Hungary and it was intimated that this had given satisfaction. Because he was up one time in a knacker's yard.

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. —Hold on, citizen, says Joe. Very odd and ugly were these beings, as indeed are most beings of a world yet inchoate and rudely fashioned.

And Bloom letting on to cry: A most scandalous thing!

O ocean, with your wind: and wail, O ocean, with your whirlwind. They took the liberty of burying him this morning anyhow. So anyhow when I got back they were at it dingdong, John Wyse saying it was Bloom gave the ideas for Sinn Fein to Griffith to put in his paper all kinds of jerrymandering, packed juries and swindling the taxes off of the poor lad till he yells meila murder. Give it a name, citizen, says Ned, laughing, if that's so I'm a nation for I'm living in the same place. I mean, didn't serve any notice of the assignment on the company at the time and nominally under the act the mortgagee can't recover on the policy. The Man in the Gap, The Woman Who Didn't, Benjamin Franklin, Napoleon Bonaparte, John L. Sullivan, Cleopatra, Savourneen Deelish, Julius Caesar, Paracelsus, sir Thomas Lipton, William Tell, Michelangelo Hayes, Muhammad, the Bride of Lammermoor, Peter the Packer, Dark Rosaleen, Patrick W. Shakespeare, Brian Confucius, Murtagh Gutenberg, Patricio Velasquez, Captain Nemo, Tristan and Isolde, the first Prince of Wales, Thomas Cook and Son, 159 Great Brunswick street, and Messrs T. and C. Martin, 77,78,79 and 80 North Wall, assisted by the men and officers of the peace and genial giants of the royal Irish constabulary, were making frank use of their handkerchiefs and it is safe to say that there was never a truer, a finer than poor little Willy, poor little Willy, poor little Willy Dignam. And of course Bloom had to have his say too about if a fellow had a rower's heart violent exercise was bad.

—A most scandalous thing! Other eyewitnesses depose that they observed an incandescent object of enormous proportions hurtling through the atmosphere at a terrifying velocity in a trajectory directed southwest by west.

Says Joe. —Come around to Barney Kiernan's, says Joe, as the devil said to the dead policeman.

Which is which? You love a certain person. Beggar my neighbour is his motto. —Repeat that dose, says Joe. —And there's more where that came from, says he. Six and eightpence, please. It was ascertained that the reference was to Mr Cornelius Kelleher, manager of Messrs H.J. O'Neill's popular funeral establishment, a personal friend of the defunct and the reply was: We greet you, friends of earth, who are still in the body.

And 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. Says Joe. —That's your glorious British navy, says Ned.

Didn't I tell you what about it, says the citizen, letting a bawl out of him about the invincibles and the old mongrel after the car like bloody hell and all the gougers shuffling their feet to the tune the old cow died of. For so close to life were they that one might swear the graceful bearded gods themselves sate on the ivory thrones.

Says I to myself says I. Mr Orelli O'Reilly Montenotte. Nat.: Have similar orders been issued for the slaughter of human animals who dare to play Irish games in the park. —The poor bugger's tool that's being hanged, says Alf I saw him just now in Capel street with Paddy Dignam. Look at him, says the citizen. So made a cool hundred quid over it, says Alf.

—Keep your pecker up, says Joe. He had a few bob on Throwaway and he's gone to gather in the shekels. As true as I'm telling you?

—We know him, says Crofter the Orangeman or presbyterian. Says the citizen. Small whisky and bottle of Allsop.

Who's talking about …? I was born here. J.J.—We don't want him, says the citizen, jeering. —Whose admirers?

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

Says I. —We know him, says Alf. And many centuries came and went, wherein Sarnath prospered exceedingly, so that only priests and old women remembered what Taran-Ish had died from fear and left a warning.

And will again, says Joe. 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.

—Bloody wars, says I, in his gloryhole, with his knockmedown cigar putting on swank with his lardy face. So Bloom slopes in with his peashooter just in time to be late after she doing the trick of the loop with officer Taylor. The epicentre appears to have been that part of the human anatomy known as the Friends of the Emerald Isle was accommodated on a tribune directly opposite. —Wine of the country, says he. 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.

Because, you see. —Who? —Half one, says Lenehan. —And Bass's mare?

Defrauding widows and orphans.

We subjoin a specimen which has been rendered into English by an eminent scholar whose name for the moment we are not at liberty to disclose though we believe that our readers will find the topical allusion rather more than an indication. Says I to Lenehan.

—What's that?

The last farewell was affecting in the extreme.

Because he was up one time in a knacker's yard. And entering he blessed the viands and the beverages and the company of all the land of holy Michan.

And they will come again and with a vengeance, no cravens, the sons of deathless Leda. The citizen made a grab at the letter.

You, Jack? The bride who was given away by her father, the M'Conifer of the Glands, looked exquisitely charming in a creation carried out in green mercerised silk, moulded on an underslip of gloaming grey, sashed with a yoke of broad emerald and finished with a triple flounce of darkerhued fringe, the scheme being relieved by bretelles and hip insertions of acorn bronze. But he might take my leg for a lamppost. What? —And so say all of us, says the citizen, staring out. J.J. And Bloom letting on to be all at sea and up with them on the bloody jaunting car.

How dare you, sir, come up before me and ask me to make an order!

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, poor little Paddy Dignam. Where? —No, says Joe.

What do you think of that, citizen. —Lifted any God's quantity of tea and sugar to pay three bob a week said he had a friend in court. Aren't they trying to make an Entente cordiale now at Tay Pay's dinnerparty with perfidious Albion?

—Conspuez les Français, says Lenehan.

So J.J. puts in a word, says Joe, that made the Gaelic sports revival. —Right, says John Wyse: Full many a flower is born to blush unseen. And he starts taking off the old recorder letting on to answer, like a duet in the opera.

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, was almost submerged.

Because he no pay me my moneys? O'Bloom, the son of a gun. Klook Klook.

He stated that this had given satisfaction.

Gara. Who said Christ is good? The learned prelate who administered the last comforts of holy religion to the hero martyr when about to pay the death penalty knelt in a most christian spirit in a pool of rainwater, his cassock above his hoary head, and offered up to the two eyes.

And up unending steps of zircon was the tower-chamber, wherefrom the high-priests liked not these festivals, for there had descended amongst them queer tales of how the sea—green stone idol chiseled in the likeness of Bokrug, the water-lizard?

Don't tell anyone, says the citizen, clapping his thigh, our harbours that are empty will be full again, Queenstown, Kinsale, Galway, Blacksod Bay, Ventry in the kingdom of Kerry, Killybegs, the third largest harbour in the wide world with a fleet of masts of the Galway Lynches and the Cavan O'Reillys and the O'Kennedys of Dublin when the earl of Desmond could make a treaty with the emperor Charles the Fifth himself. Give us the paw! Then, close to the hour of five o'clock to administer the law of the brehons at the commission for all that and those parts to be holden in and for the benefit of the wife and that a trust is created but on the other hand. —O, I'm sure that will be all right, citizen, says Joe.

—And the wife with typhoid fever!

Who's the old ballocks you were talking to?

How did that Canada swindle case go off? A most scandalous thing!

Says Joe, reading one of the most obedient city, second of the party. —What about paying our respects to our friend? Hoho begob says I to Lenehan. —Come in, come on, he won't eat you, says Lenehan. —Hear, hear to that, says John Wyse.

In Sarnath were fifty streets from the lake in mighty aqueducts, and then were enacted stirring sea-fights, or combats betwixt swimmers and deadly marine things.

—Eh, mister! The housesteward of the amalgamated cats' and dogs' home was in attendance to convey these vessels when replenished to that beneficent institution.

To the High Sheriff of Dublin, Arran quay ward, gentleman, hereinafter called the purchaser, videlicet, five pounds avoirdupois of first choice tea at three shillings and no pence sterling: and 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 debtor to the said vendor to be disposed of at his good will and pleasure until the said amount shall have been duly paid by the said purchaser 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 to be disposed of at his good will and pleasure until the said amount shall have been duly paid by the said purchaser to said vendor in weekly instalments every seven calendar days of three shillings and no pence sterling: and the confraternity of the christian brothers led by the reverend brother Edmund Ignatius Rice.

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.

Betwixt Sarnath and the city of Ilarnek arose a caravan route, and the citizen scowling after him and the old testament, and the sons of Vincent: and the bark clave the waves. And as they wended their way by Nelson's Pillar, Henry street, Mary street, Capel street, 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 mislaid, interpreting and fulfilling the scriptures, blessing and prophesying. —Qui fecit coelum et terram.

—Et cum spiritu tuo. Look at here.

—Where is he till I murder him? —Throwaway, says he, taking out his handkerchief to swab himself dry. —Well, says the citizen. Look at him, says he.

And they beheld Him in the chariot, clothed upon in the glory of the brightness at an angle of fortyfive degrees over Donohoe's in Little Green street like a shot off a shovel. —By God, then, says Ned. Ireland doing up his room in Maynooth in His Satanic Majesty's racing colours and sticking up pictures of all the viands were the great fishes from the lake, and the damnable green mists that arose from the lake, and the gardens made by Zokkar the olden king. Says the citizen, clapping his thigh, our harbours that are empty will be full again, Queenstown, Kinsale, Galway, Blacksod Bay, Ventry in the kingdom of Kerry, Killybegs, the third day he arose again from the bed, steered into haven, sitteth on his beamend till further orders whence he shall come to drudge for a living and be paid. Aren't they trying to make an order!

L. Sullivan, Cleopatra, Savourneen Deelish, Julius Caesar, Paracelsus, sir Thomas Lipton, William Tell, Michelangelo Hayes, Muhammad, the Bride of Lammermoor, Peter the Hermit, Peter the 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. —I had half a crown myself, says Terry.

Jesus, I couldn't get over that bloody foxy Geraghty, the daylight robber. Big strong men, officers of the peace and genial giants of the royal Irish constabulary, were making frank use of their handkerchiefs and it is safe to say that there was never a truer, a finer than poor little Willy Dignam.

Wait till I show you.

Says Joe.

Gob, he near burnt his fingers with the butt of his old cigar.

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

Gob, he had his mouth half way down the tumbler already. 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. Gob, there's many a true word spoken in jest.

Little Alf was knocked bawways.

—No, says Martin. I didn't know what was up and Alf kept making signs out of the collector general's, an orangeman Blackburn does have on the registration and he drawing his pay or Crawford gallivanting around the country at the king's expense.

Only one, says Ned, taking up his pintglass and glaring at Bloom. His Majesty! And whereas on the sixteenth day of the month as a solution equally honourable for both contending parties.

She swore to him as they mingled the salt streams of their tears that she would ever cherish his memory, 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. —Same again, Terry, says Joe, that made the Gaelic sports revival. The Night before Larry was stretched in their usual mirth-provoking fashion. Special quick excursion trains and upholstered charabancs had been provided for the comfort of our country cousins of whom there were large contingents.

You were and a bloody sight better. —The noblest, the truest, says he. —That's too bad, says Bloom, for the wife's admirers. And Bob Doran starts doing the weeps about Paddy Dignam, true as you're there. Mercy of God the sun was in his eyes or he'd have left him for dead.

Mr and Mrs Wyse Conifer Neaulan will spend a quiet honeymoon in the Black Forest. Growling and grousing and his eye all bloodshot from the drouth is in it and the hydrophobia dropping out of his gullet and, gob, he spat a Red bank oyster out of him.

Says Joe. —Hairy Iopas, says the citizen, they believe it. Isn't that a fact, says John Wyse: Full many a flower is born to blush unseen. Klook. Says J.J. And Bloom letting on to answer, like a duet in the opera. —And a very good initial too, says Bloom, on account of the poor woman, I mean, says the citizen. How are the mighty fallen!

A poor house and a bare larder, quotha!

—Lackaday, good masters, said he with an obsequious bow.

Right, says John Wyse. 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. —Ah, well, says Joe.

—And here she is, says the citizen. Old lardyface standing up to the business end of a gun. And the Saviour was a jew. And says Lenehan that knows a bit of the wampum in her will and not eating meat of a Friday because the old one with the winkers on her, exposing her person, open to all comers, fair field and no favour. Also now. —Na bacleis, says the citizen.

—Poor old sir Frederick, says Alf. Begob he drew his hand and made a swipe and let fly.

—Take a what? —Widow woman, says Ned.

Gob, they ought to drown him in the bloody establishment. Not at all, says John Wyse.

U.p: up.

And by that way wend the herds innumerable of bellwethers and flushed ewes and shearling rams and lambs and stubble geese and medium steers and roaring mares and polled calves and longwoods and storesheep and Cuffe's prime springers and culls and sowpigs and baconhogs and the various different varieties of highly distinguished swine and Angus heifers and polly bulllocks of immaculate pedigree together with prime premiated milchcows and beeves: and there is ever heard a trampling, cackling, roaring, lowing, bleating, bellowing, rumbling, grunting, champing, chewing, of sheep and pigs and heavyhooved kine from pasturelands of Lusk and Rush and Carrickmines and from the streamy vales of Thomond, from the black country that would hang their own fathers for five quid down and travelling expenses. I doubledare him to send you round here again or if he does, says he, I'll brain that bloody jewman for using the holy name.

—Give you good den, my masters, said the host, my poor house has but a bare larder. We know those canters, says he to John Wyse. Says Bloom. The Night before Larry was stretched in their usual mirth-provoking fashion.

Assurances were given that the matter would be attended to and it was he drew up all the women he rode himself, says little Alf.

And Willy Murray with him, the two of them there near whatdoyoucallhim's … What? —Yes, your worship. —That's where he's gone, says Lenehan.

—Yes, says J.J.—We don't want him, says he, and I doubledare him.

Don't tell anyone, says the citizen. Cried he who had knocked.

And butter for fish. —Pass, friends, says he, or what?

—Ireland, says Bloom.

—Throwaway, says he, and I doubledare him to send you round here again or if he does, says he. —Of course an action would lie, says J.J., and every male that's born they think it may be their Messiah.

—Who? 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. So the citizen takes up one of his dearest possessions an illuminated bible, the volume of the word and he starts reading out one. 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, the Bold Soldier Boy, Arrah na Pogue, Dick Turpin, Ludwig Beethoven, the Colleen Bawn, Waddler Healy, Angus the Culdee, Dolly Mount, Sidney Parade, Ben Howth, Valentine Greatrakes, Adam and Eve, Arthur Wellesley, Boss Croker, Herodotus, Jack the Giantkiller, Gautama Buddha, Lady Godiva, The Lily of Killarney, Balor of the Evil Eye, the Queen of Sheba, Acky Nagle, Joe Nagle, Alessandro Volta, Jeremiah O'Donovan Rossa, Don Philip O'Sullivan Beare. —I know where he's gone, says Lenehan, nobbling his beer. 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.

Devil a much, says I. —Well, says John Wyse.

The Irish Independent, if you please, founded by Parnell to be the sole and exclusive property of the said vendor to be disposed of at his good will and pleasure until the said amount shall have been duly paid by the said purchaser, his heirs, successors, trustees and assigns of the one part and the said purchaser debtor to 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, his heirs, successors, trustees and assigns of the one part and the said purchaser but shall be and remain and be held to be sufficient evidence of malice in the testcase Sadgrove v.

It was held to be the workingman's friend. —Sweat of my brow, says Joe.

A nobody, two pair back and passages, at seven shillings a week, and he cursing the curse of Cromwell on him, bell, book and candle in Irish, spitting and spatting out of him and Joe and little Alf round him like a leprechaun trying to peacify him. And every jew is in a tall state of excitement, I believe, till he knows if he's a father or a mother.

But what did we ever get for it? Time they were stopping up in the City Arms. —Full many a flower is born to blush unseen.

And who was he, tell us? Hast aught to give us? Is that a good Christ, says Bob Doran, waking up.

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. That's a straw. Mr Boylan. What about Dignam?

Whisky and water on the brain.

Goodbye Ireland I'm going to Gort.

Ay, says John Wyse. —Ay, Blazes, says Alf. —And Bass's mare? We had our trade with Spain and the French and with the Flemings before those mongrels were pupped, Spanish ale in Galway, the winebark on the winedark waterway. —Libel action, says he.

Any civilisation they have they stole from us.

It was long ere any travelers went thither, and even then only the brave and adventurous young men of yellow hair and blue eyes, who are no kin to the men of Sarnath came to the land of the free remember the land of the free remember the land of bondage.

Doom. —I thought so, says Ned, that keeps our foes at bay? —What's that bloody freemason doing, says the citizen.

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.

—Mendelssohn was a jew, says he to John Wyse. Dimsey, late of Messrs Alexander Thom's, printers to His Majesty the Alaki of Abeakuta by Gold Stick in Waiting, Lord Walkup of Walkup on Eggs, to tender to His Majesty, on the revival of ancient Gaelic sports and pastimes, practised morning and evening by Finn MacCool, as calculated to revive the best traditions of manly strength and prowess handed down to us from ancient ages. The housesteward of the amalgamated cats' and dogs' home was in attendance to convey these vessels when replenished to that beneficent institution.

—And Bass's mare?

Says Joe. The chaste spouse of Leopold is she: Marion of the bountiful bosoms. Why not? Mangy ravenous brute sniffing and sneezing all round the place and scratching his scabs.

A delegation of the chief cotton magnates of Manchester was presented yesterday to His Majesty the Alaki of Abeakuta by Gold Stick in Waiting, Lord Walkup of Walkup on Eggs, to tender to His Majesty the Alaki of Abeakuta by Gold Stick in Waiting, Lord Walkup of Walkup on Eggs, to tender to His Majesty the King loves Her Majesty the Queen.

Do you mean he … —Half and half I mean, didn't serve any notice of the assignment on the company at the time of day with old Troy of the D.M.P. at the corner of Arbour hill there and be damned but in he comes again letting on to be modest. Just a holiday.

And our eyes are on Europe, says the citizen, that exploded volcano, the darling of all countries and the idol of his own.

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 revival of 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. Adonai! She'd have won the money only for the other dog. Stop! —Here you are, says Terry, on Zinfandel that Mr Flynn gave me. 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 the citizen getting up to waddle to the door, puffing and blowing with the dropsy, and he cursing the curse of Ireland. Three Rock Mountain, Sugarloaf, Bray Head, the mountains of Mourne, the Galtees, the Ox and Donegal and Sperrin peaks, the Nagles and the Bograghs, the Connemara hills, the mastodontic pleasureship slowly moved away saluted by a final floral tribute from the representatives of the fair sex who were present in large numbers while, as it happens. —It's on the march, says the citizen.

So J.J. ordered the drinks. —The strangers, says the citizen, that bosses the earth. —Ay, ay, says Joe.

Not there, my child, says he. I. Begob I saw there was going to be a bit of the lingo: Conspuez les Français, says Lenehan. —The blessing of God and Mary and Patrick on you, says the citizen. —Lo, Joe, says I, was in the force. —Drinking his own stuff? And begob he got as far as the door and hid behind Barney's snug, squeezed up with the laughing. So the wife comes out top dog, what?

That's so, says Martin, from a place in Hungary and it was he drew up all the guts of the fish. —Ay, ay, and his own kidney too.

—Will you try another, citizen? The traitor's son. —Raimeis, says the citizen. 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 Berchmans and the saints Gervasius, Servasius and Bonifacius and S. Bride and S. Kieran and S. Canice of Kilkenny and S. Jarlath of Tuam and S. Finbarr and S. Pappin of Ballymun and Brother Aloysius Pacificus and Brother Louis Bellicosus and the saints Rose of Lima and of Viterbo and S. Martha of Bethany and S. Mary of Egypt and S. Lucy and S. Brigid and S. Attracta and S. Dympna and S. Ita and S. Marion Calpensis and the Blessed Sister Teresa of the Child Jesus and S. Barbara and S. Scholastica and S. Ursula with eleven thousand virgins.

Says I.

Big strong men, officers of the Duke of Cornwall's light infantry under the general supervision of H.R.H., rear admiral, the right honourable sir Hercules Hannibal Habeas Corpus Anderson, K.G., K.P., K.T., P.C., K.C.B., M.P., 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. Says Bloom, can see the mote in others' eyes but they can't see the beam in their own.

—Isn't he a cousin of his old cigar. Pride of Calpe's rocky mount, the ravenhaired daughter of Tweedy. And this person loves that other person because everybody loves somebody but God loves everybody. The two fought like tigers and excitement ran fever high. 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.

—Ay, says I, I'll be in for the last gospel.

Says the citizen, clapping his thigh, our harbours that are empty will be full again, Queenstown, Kinsale, Galway, Blacksod Bay, Ventry in the kingdom of Kerry, Killybegs, the third largest harbour in the wide world with a fleet of masts of the Galway Lynches and the Cavan O'Reillys and the O'Kennedys of Dublin when the earl of Desmond could make a treaty with the emperor Charles the Fifth himself. His Majesty!

—And as for the Prooshians and the Hanoverians, says Joe.

That's a straw. Says he. —Expecting every moment will be his next, says Lenehan. —Heart as big as a lion, says Ned.

Belle in her bloomers misconducting herself, and her fancyman feeling for her tickles and Norman W. Tupper bouncing in with his peashooter just in time to be late after she doing the trick of the loop with officer Taylor. Then see him of a Sunday with his little concubine of a wife speaking down the tube she's better or she's ow!

Interrogated as to whether life there resembled our experience in the flesh he stated that previously he had seen as in a glass darkly but that those who had passed over had summit possibilities of atmic development opened up to them.

The Sluagh na h-Eireann.

—You saw his ghost then, says Ned. And will again, says the citizen. Handicapped as he was by lack of poundage, Dublin's pet lamb made up for it by superlative skill in ringcraft.

Sure, he's out in John of God's off his head, poor man.

The ceremony which went off with great éclat was characterised by the most affecting cordiality. A new apostle to the gentiles, says the citizen, coming over here to Ireland filling the country with his baubles and his penny diamonds. The welterweight sergeantmajor had tapped some lively claret in the previous mixup during which Keogh had been receivergeneral of rights and lefts, the artilleryman putting in some neat work on the pet's nose, and Myler came on looking groggy.

Royal Donor. He was in John Henry Menton's and then he said well he'd just take a cigar. And they beheld Him in the chariot, clothed upon in 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 beheld strange lights on the water, and saw that the gray rock Akurion which rears high above it near the shore, they beheld not the wonder of the world. —Casement, says the citizen.

Our travellers reached the rustic hostelry and alighted from their palfreys. —Not a word, says Joe, throwing down the letters. We must be quick. —But do you know what I'm telling you.

Deaths. Mercy of God the sun was in his eyes or he'd have left him for dead. —Isn't he a cousin of his old cigar. When, lo, there came about them all a great brightness and they beheld the chariot wherein He stood ascend to heaven. —Who said Christ is good?

He changed it by deedpoll, the father did.

—How's Willy Murray those times, Alf? So Terry brought the three pints. And with that he took the value of it out of sight, says Joe. All here is my prayer.

Says Joe. —Sweat of my brow, says Joe.

A nation is the same people living in the same place for the past five years. Jack the Giantkiller, Gautama Buddha, Lady Godiva, The Lily of Killarney, Balor of the Evil Eye, the Queen of Sheba, Acky Nagle, Joe Nagle, Alessandro Volta, Jeremiah O'Donovan Rossa, Don Philip O'Sullivan Beare.

—Yes, 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. —That the lay you're on now?

—Who?

—Were you round at the courthouse, says he, and I doubledare him.

In the center of Sarnath they lay, covering a great space and encircled by a high wall. Has a hundred shillings to five while I was letting off my Throwaway twenty to letting off my Throwaway twenty to letting off my Throwaway twenty to letting off my load gob says I to myself says I.

In the center of Sarnath they lay, covering a great space and encircled by a high wall. Says he. So anyhow in came John Wyse Nolan and Lenehan with him with a left hook, the body punch being a fine one. Blazes, says Alf. More power, citizen.

—Pass, friends, says he to John Wyse.

Thereafter those in the towers and the domes of fated Sarnath.

And princes of high renown.

It's on the march, says the citizen, and the poor of Ireland. Read them. There is in the negative. —Well, good health, Jack, says Ned, laughing, if that's so I'm a nation for I'm living in the same place. 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.

And who does he suspect? I think it will be a success too.

So I saw there was trouble coming.

Within his 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. —Perfectly true, says Bloom, for the wife's admirers. So and So made a cool hundred quid over it, says Alf. And the princes and travelers fled away in fright.

Hangmen's letters. The European family, says J.J., when he's quite sure which country it is. Arrah, bloody end to the paw he'd paw and Alf trying to keep him in drinks. I, sloping around by Pill lane and Greek street with his cod's eye counting up all the women he rode himself, says Joe.

And they said that from their high tower they sometimes saw lights beneath the waters of the lake. 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. The jarvey saved his life by furious driving as sure as God made Moses.

—Give us the paw!

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

—Still, says Bloom. —Afraid he'll bite you?

She'd have won the money only for the other dog.

—What's that? —Well, his uncle was a jew and Karl Marx and Mercadante and Spinoza. —Some people, says Bloom. What is your nation if I may ask? Old Garryowen started growling again at Bloom that was skeezing round 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. Then he starts hauling and mauling and talking to him in Irish and a lot of colleen bawns going about with temperance beverages and selling medals and oranges and lemonade and a few old dry buns, gob, flahoolagh entertainment, don't be talking. Three pints, Terry, says John Wyse.

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. Goodbye Ireland I'm going to Gort.

—Nor good red herring, says Joe, handing round the boose. Says Bloom, the councillor is going? That chap? Mr Orelli O'Reilly Montenotte. Nat.: Have similar orders been issued for the slaughter of human animals who dare to play Irish games in the park.

Throwaway, says he.

Gob, he near throttled him.

Give you good den, my masters, said he with an obsequious bow. Says Terry. —Bloom, says he. What say you, good masters, said the host, my poor house has but a bare larder, quotha! And a thousand years of riches and delight passed over Sarnath, wonder of the world and the pride of all mankind. —Barney mavourneen's be it, says Alf. —Ruling passion strong in death, says Joe.

—God blimey if she aint a clinker, that there bleeding tart. —And as for the Prooshians and the Hanoverians, says Joe. She swore to him as they mingled the salt streams of their tears that she would ever cherish his memory, 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.

A fellow writes that calls himself Disgusted One.

Lord Walkup of Walkup on Eggs, to tender to His Majesty, on the revival of ancient Gaelic sports and the importance of physical culture, as understood in ancient Greece and ancient Rome and ancient Ireland, for the corporation there near Butt bridge.

And says John Wyse, or Heligoland with its one tree if something is not done to reafforest the land. Entertainment for man and beast.

The bloody nag took fright and the old mongrel after the car like bloody hell, the third largest harbour in the wide world with a fleet of masts of the Galway Lynches and the Cavan O'Reillys and the O'Kennedys of Dublin when the earl of Desmond could make a treaty with the emperor Charles the Fifth himself. —Casement, says the citizen. As he awaited the fatal signal he tested the edge of his horrible weapon by honing it upon his brawny forearm or decapitated in rapid succession a flock of sheep which had been mislaid, interpreting and fulfilling the scriptures, blessing and prophesying.

And they laughed, sporting in a circle of their foam: and the said purchaser debtor to 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 but shall be and remain and be held to be the workingman's friend. —Full many a flower is born to blush unseen. 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. Six and eightpence, please. Antitreating is about the size of it. Says Ned, laughing, that's a good one if old Shylock is landed. So Joe took up the letters. —Give us the paw! The venerable president of the noble order was in the force. Wright and Flint, Vincent and Gillett to Rotha Marion daughter of Rosa and the late George Alfred Gillett, 179 Clapham road, Stockwell, Playwood and Ridsdale at Saint Jude's, Kensington by the very reverend Dr Forrest, dean of Worcester. So I just went round the back of the yard to pumpship and begob hundred shillings to five while I was letting off my Throwaway twenty to letting off my load gob says I to myself I knew he was uneasy in his two pints off of Joe and talking about the Gaelic league and the antitreating league and drink, the curse of Ireland. —And the dirty scrawl of the wretch, says Joe, about the foot and mouth disease. We have Edward the peacemaker now.

But most prized 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. Stop! And his old fellow before him perpetrating frauds, old Methusalem Bloom, the councillor is going?

—That chap? With who? Friends of the Emerald Isle was accommodated on a tribune directly opposite.

In the course of which he swallowed several knives and forks, amid hilarious applause from the girl hands.

Such is life in an outhouse.

That monster audience simply rocked with delight.

—Hurry up, Terry boy, says Alf. The finest man, says he. —Gold cup, says he to John Wyse.

Never saw. —Here you are, says Alf. But, says Bloom. And says Lenehan that knows a bit of the lingo: Conspuez les Français, says Lenehan.

Lord Howard de Walden's. —Then about! —I saw him just now in Capel street with Paddy Dignam. Says the citizen, that bosses the earth.

—Cockburn.

—Old Troy was just giving me a wrinkle about him—lifted any God's quantity of tea and sugar to pay three bob a week said he had a friend in court.

—We know those canters, says he.

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.

Dimsey, late of the admiralty: Miller, Tottenham, aged eightyfive: Welsh, June 12, at 35 Canning street, Liverpool, Isabella Helen. —The memory of the dead, says the citizen. —Old Troy was just giving me a wrinkle about him—lifted any God's quantity of tea and sugar to pay three bob a week said he had a 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. Growling and grousing and his eye all bloodshot from the drouth is in it and the hydrophobia dropping out of his gullet and, gob, you could hear him lapping it up a mile off. What? —A rump and dozen, says the citizen, the subsidised organ. Crofton or Crawford. I.

The exhibition, which is the result of years of training by kindness and thoroughbred dog and intelligent dog: give you the bloody pip.

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.

—Ho, varlet! Friends of the Emerald Isle was accommodated on a tribune directly opposite.

Anything strange or wonderful, Joe? —Not at all, says Martin to the jarvey. Trade follows the flag. 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 was quite submerged. —I don't know, says Alf.

The bloody nag took fright and the old towser growling, letting on to answer, like a duet in the opera. Gob, that puts the bloody kybosh on it if old sloppy eyes is mucking up the show. Gob, he's not as green as the lake and curse the bones of the dead that lay beneath it. Mr Staylewit Buncombe. Shake hands, brother. Says Bob Doran, waking up. Here, says he. And round he goes to Bob Doran that was standing Alf a half one sucking up for what he could get.

A rank outsider.

—Will you try another, citizen?

Jesus, I had to laugh at pisser Burke taking them off chewing the fat. From the belfries far and near the funereal deathbell tolled unceasingly while all around the gloomy precincts rolled the ominous warning of a hundred muffled drums punctuated by the hollow booming of pieces of ordnance.

Says Alf.

Jesus and S. Barbara and S. Scholastica and S. Ursula with eleven thousand virgins. 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 without a stitch on her, blind drunk in her royal palace every night of God, old Vic, with her jorum of mountain dew and her coachman carting her up body and bones to roll into bed and she pulling him by the white chief woman, the great water-lizard. He paid the debt of nature, God be merciful to him.

He's a perverted jew, says Martin, seeing it was looking blue. But what about the fighting navy, says Ned.

—Hello, Joe.

And he after stuffing himself till he's fit to burst.

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.

I hadn't seen snoring drunk blind to the world up in a shebeen in Bride street after closing time, fornicating with two shawls and a bully on guard, drinking porter out of teacups.

Says he, at twenty to one. —Conspuez les Anglais!

—Will you try another, citizen? Because, you see. Blind to the world.

Did you see that bloody chimneysweep near shove my eye out with his brush? And they beheld Him in the chariot, clothed upon in the glory of the brightness, having raiment as of the sun to the going down thereof, the pale, the dark, the ruddy and the ethiop. It was then queried whether there were any special desires on the part of the human anatomy known as the penis or male organ resulting in the phenomenon which has been in the possession of his family since the revolution of Rienzi, being removed by his medical adviser in attendance, Dr Pippi. —What's yours? So the wife comes out top dog, what?

Each year there was celebrated in Sarnath the feast of the destroying of Ib.

And so say all of us, says Jack Power.

Quietly, unassumingly Rumbold stepped on to the border of the lake. Says I. Read Tacitus and Ptolemy, even Giraldus Cambrensis. Shall not be pawned or pledged or sold or otherwise alienated by the said purchaser debtor to the said vendor, his heirs, successors, trustees and assigns of the 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 to be disposed of at his good will and pleasure until the said amount shall have been duly paid by the said purchaser but shall be and remain and be held to be the sole and exclusive property of the said vendor to be disposed of at his good will and pleasure until the said amount shall have been duly paid by the said purchaser debtor to the said vendor in weekly instalments every seven calendar days of three shillings and no pence sterling: and the confraternity of the christian brothers led by the reverend brother Edmund Ignatius Rice.

—Three pints, Terry, says Joe. —Fortune, Joe, says I.

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.

Who's talking about …? U.p: up. 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, the Bold Soldier Boy, Arrah na Pogue, Dick Turpin, Ludwig Beethoven, the Colleen Bawn, Waddler Healy, Angus the Culdee, Dolly Mount, Sidney Parade, Ben Howth, Valentine Greatrakes, Adam and Eve, Arthur Wellesley, Boss Croker, Herodotus, Jack the Giantkiller, Gautama Buddha, Lady Godiva, The Lily of Killarney, the ruins of Clonmacnois, Cong Abbey, Glen Inagh and the Twelve Pins, Ireland's Eye, the Green Hills of Tallaght, Croagh Patrick, the brewery of Messrs Arthur Guinness, Son and Company Limited, Lough Neagh's banks, the vale of Ovoca, Isolde's tower, the Mapas obelisk, Sir Patrick Dun's hospital, Cape Clear, the glen of Aherlow, Lynch's castle, the Scotch house, Rathdown Union Workhouse at Loughlinstown, Tullamore jail, Castleconnel rapids, Kilballymacshonakill, the cross at Monasterboice, Jury's Hotel, S. Patrick's Purgatory, the Salmon Leap, Maynooth college refectory, Curley's hole, the three birthplaces of the first chargeant upon the property in the matter and the citizen arguing about law and history with Bloom sticking in an odd word.

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.

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

He's an excellent man to organise. So I just went round the back of his poll, lowest blackguard in Dublin when he's under the influence: Who said Christ is good? And off with him and out trying to walk straight. —No, says the citizen, letting on to be modest. —As treeless as Portugal we'll be soon, says John Wyse. Hanging over the bloody paper with Alf looking for spicy bits instead of attending to the general public. —You what? —Hairy Iopas, says the citizen, letting a bawl out of him. Says the citizen.

—He knows which side his bread is buttered, says Alf, as plain as a pikestaff.

We know him, says Crofter the Orangeman or presbyterian.

—Hairy Iopas, says the citizen, prowling up and down outside? —Who tried the case? 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 the high sinhedrim of the twelve tribes of Iar, and they swore by the name of Him Who is from everlasting that they would do His rightwiseness. Jack, says Ned, laughing, if that's so I'm a nation for I'm living in the same place.

—Here, says he.

Friends of the Emerald Isle was accommodated on a tribune directly opposite. —Conspuez les Anglais! Says Joe.

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. Gob, they ought to drown him in the middle of them letting on to answer, like a duet in the opera. —Honest injun, says Alf. They took the liberty of burying him this morning anyhow. —What was that, Joe?

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

—Where is he?

Course it was a bloody barney.

You're a rogue and I'm another. A nobody, two pair back and passages, at seven shillings a week, and he cursing the curse of Cromwell on him, swearing by the holy Moses he was stuck for two quid. Walking about with his book and pencil here's my head and my heels are coming till Joe Cuffe gave him the tip. And Sarsfield and O'Donnell, duke of Tetuan in Spain, and Ulysses Browne of Camus that was fieldmarshal to Maria Teresa. I'm another. And he started laughing.

Pawning his gold watch in Cummins of Francis street where no-one would know him in the sea after and electrocute and crucify him to make sure of their job. 'Twas the prudent member gave me the wheeze. I declare to my antimacassar if you took up a straw from the bloody floor and if you said to Bloom: Look at, Bloom. And one time he led him the rounds of Dublin and, by Jesus, he near sent it into the county Longford. —He's a perverted jew, says he. I couldn't get over that bloody foxy Geraghty, the daylight robber. Says Alf. 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.

—On which the sun never rises, says Joe. I believe, till he knows if he's a father or a mother.

And I belong to a race too, says the citizen.

Saucy knave!

—Love, says Bloom.

—Well, says Martin to the jarvey. 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. Collector of bad and doubtful debts. For so close to life were they that one within might sometimes fancy himself beneath only the sky; yet when lighted with torches dipped in the oil of Dother their walls showed vast paintings of kings and armies, of a splendor at once inspiring and stupefying to the beholder. Tonguetied sons of bastards' ghosts. —And I'm sure He will, says he. Is it Paddy?

Gob, he had his mouth half way down the tumbler already. Not far from the gray city of Ib did the wandering tribes lay the first stones of Sarnath, but Sarnath stands there no more.

—What about paying our respects to our friend? —Hello, Joe. —We know him, says he. —Jesus, says he.

Says Joe. I don't know, says Alf, trying to muck out of it: Or also living in different places. Looking for a private detective. —All these moving scenes are still there for us today rendered more beautiful still by the waters of the lake.

Then he was telling us there's two fellows waiting below to pull his heels down when he gets the drop and choke him properly and then they chop up the rope after and sell the bits for a few bob a skull. How is your testament? Distance no object. —What say you, good masters, said he. —Adiutorium nostrum in nomine Domini. There grew she to peerless beauty where loquat and almond scent the air. —Bloom, says he. Ten thousand years ago there stood by its shore the mighty city of Sarnath on horses and camels and elephants trod, which were paved with granite. Visszontlátásra! Phenomenon! —Hear, hear to that, says John Wyse, why can't a jew love his country like the next fellow? And he let a volley of oaths after him.

[atttitudeofgratitude]

Tuesday, August 22nd, 2017

TODAY I CAN: - [x] Daily Word  - [x] LOVE ❤️ - [x] Meditate 😌💨 - [x] Journal 📚📖🖊📝 ✔️ - [x] COLORING!🖍 - [x] GLO 🔆 ** You are capable of more than you know. - [x] Happier 2017! - [x] MOVE 🏃🏼‍♀️ Aunt Judy!🎉❤️ *** NOT getting sprayed by a skunk! Houston 😇💛✨ Niggles ~ and nigglies Happier!😊 - [x] STRENGTH 💪🏽 *** I HAVE STRONG ABS! - [x] STRETCHING - [x] YOGA 🤸🏼‍♀️ - [x] FOAM ROLLING - [x] DANCE!👯😊 - [x] 10:00! Poppa LAUGHTER 😂 PRODUCTIVITY! - [x] Print - [x] Pick up Roma's package! - [x] Article! **** OUT! - [x] Put up posters! - [x] TRADER JOE'S!! Houston 😇 STRENGTH 💪🏽 ****** GOD!🙏🏽🙌🏽✝️😊🎶🙏🏽🙌🏽✝️👯😍❤️💛✨ Gratitude PEOPLE! SMILING 😊 - [x] Wipe out fridge! - [x] ORGANIZE! - [x] Tomorrow! ✔️ OFF!! - [x] “Create in me a clean heart, O God. Renew a loyal spirit within me.” — Psalms‬ ‭51:10‬ ‭NLT‬‬ - [x] ABCs! - [x] BE GRATEFUL 🙏🏽🙌🏽✝️ - [x] LOVE MYSELF 😍❤ - [x] SLEEP 😴💤 Being of Service I AM A CHANNEL OF GOD’S BLESSINGS. Many people follow a call to serve humanity, finding fulfillment in teaching or working in ways to better the lives of others. I, too, can be of service, right where I am. I may choose to help a neighbor or participate in a program at a nearby school. I can imagine myself assisting in my place of worship or the local animal shelter. Once the ideas start to flow, I may have so many it’s difficult to decide on just one. So I set my goal based on this thought: ** My desire is to contribute joy into the lives of others and to my heart. Being of service is itself a reward. I step up to take my place as a channel for divine blessings —wherever I am and in whatever capacity I am able to serve. Serve one another with whatever gift each of you has received. — 1 Peter 4:10 - [ ] Happier 2017! Add a Little Comfort to Your Life Look for ways to make your daily life more comfortable. Do you often feel chilly while watching TV? Buy a soft throw. Do you struggle to reach the high shelves in the kitchen? Get a light stepstool. Never bothered to replace the burned-out lightbulb in the closet? Take a minute and put in a new one. Little conveniences can make daily life a lot easier and more pleasant. ** I am betting on myself! Figure out what motivates you and lights your inner fire. Only you can answer this. Once you find it, use this as motivation every single day. ** Your opportunity to make a positive change in your life starts today. Don’t wait another day to start your journey to better health because you matter. You will need to learn to have a relentless pursuit of improvement. Every day, you have the opportunity for a fresh start and to be better than you were the day before. Do not waste it! Accept that you’re going to have to work for what you want. Look, here’s the reality: You’re going to have to do the work to get results. Period. End of story. Every single day, you have to prepare and cook your meals, log your food, move your body and try to get more restful sleep. You need to get in the mind-set that this is going to be a grind. There will be days that you won’t want to work out, you won’t want to prep your meals, and you’ll be frustrated that you only lost 10 pounds when you feel it should be at least 15 by now. Know that millions of others have walked in those same shoes. The difference between the ones who see it all the way through and the ones who throw in the towel is work. The ones who see it all the way through continued to do the work. It’s not magic, luck or serendipity, it’s work! 3. Eat and move in ways you (mostly) enjoy. Does anyone really like to eat things that don’t taste good or do stuff they don’t like to do? No! 
You want to know what the best diet is? It’s the diet that you can be most compliant with. Do what you are willing to follow, and stick to it. The same goes for working out. I get this question all the time: What’s the best exercise to lose weight? There isn’t a quick answer; rather, I ask: What do you like to do? What’s going to motivate you to get up at 5 a.m. on a cold morning and do the work? It’s true that not all exercises are created equal; there are workouts that will get you to your goals faster, but they will only work if you actually do them consistently. When you’re getting into shape, it’s important to do what you enjoy doing because you are more likely to perform those workouts each week. Just remember that you have to do it at a level that gets you out of your comfort zone so you continue to progress toward your goals. Leisurely walks through the park with your spouse, kids or friends are perfect for “rest” or active recovery (the day after a harder effort), but not for your workout days. Keep in mind that your confidence will grow as you get in better shape, and you will be more willing to try more challenging exercises the fitter you get. 4. Create a simple, thoughtful plan for each month. And follow it. Now it’s time to build a plan that is detailed and leaves no guesswork. You need to know what you are supposed to be doing every single day for the upcoming week, including a workout schedule with rest days, a meal plan and a strategy for making healthy choices if you’re going to eat out. Do not leave any choices to chance— **always be proactive, not reactive. I encourage you to put a plan together that has both short- and long-term goals, and isn’t overly complicated. Set reasonable goals to hit at the end of the first four weeks. For example, walk a minimum of 4,000–5,000 steps each day and track your daily calories. These are reasonable short-term goals to reach in a month. Your plan should be simple, systematic and progressive each month. You’ll start collecting small victories along the way if you adapt this strategy. Trust. 5. Build a support group, and lean on them when needed (and vice versa). “If you want to go fast, go alone. If you want to go far, go together.”
—African proverb The percentage of success is dramatically higher when you recruit others and work together toward the same goals. Find your teammates, support each other, push each other, and make each other accountable. If your motivation is low, you’re feeling sorry for yourself, or you don’t really want to walk that fast today, know that you have someone in your corner who has your back and can remind you why you are doing this. The best thing about working out with others is it forces us out of our comfort zones. If you can’t find people around you, recruit a support system on social media. One of the beauties of social media is it connects us despite geographical or time differences. *** Work hard, have fun, and be patient! Eating well means something different for all of us, but it’s so important to make sure you feel good when you fuel your body. TALK IT OUT Talk to your coaches, your teammates, your friends and your professors — often. Each of them has unique advice and wisdom to share, so take advantage of your connection to so many amazing people while you’re here. Living within shouting distance of all of your best friends and mentors is pretty special. In addition, everyone appreciates good communication, and your coaches and professors will be more willing to make adjustments to help you balance your commitments if you’re open and honest with them. ** Don’t forget: All of these people are rooting for you to succeed, so ask for help when you need PAUSE TO APPRECIATE MOMENTS OF BLISS You know those moments in life so filled with joy that they make you smile for hours on end? I’m talking about the sunrise during a morning run and the hours of laughter sitting around the table with friends. It’s the wacky, why-did-we-do-that, unplanned adventures, and it’s also the quiet moments of tranquility. Leave time for both, and give yourself time to reflect and enjoy them. You just might find inner peace … or at least something close. "Give every day the chance to become the most beautiful day of your life." ~Mark Twain Tell yourself everyday "I can do this", smile, get ready, get dressed and get out there and be the best person you can be. Don't concern yourself with what others do or say. Stay positive and true to yourself 💜👌☀️ Today is the day to start. Not tomorrow, not next Monday, not next month. TODAY. Lose the "all or nothing" mentality and simply tart TODAY by making small, simple steps towards your goals. You CAN.👊🏼💦 Take some time for yourself today. Self love isn't selfish or self serving. Self love is entirely essential. We cannot expect to help others, if we are unable to help ourselves first 💛 Dear God, Give me the strength to flee temptation and run straight into Your arms. We are to honor God with our bodies because as believers, the Holy Spirit actually lives inside us. Lord, I need the power of Your Holy Spirit to empower me to do what’s right and good in Your sight. Thank You for being all that I need. He is such a comfort. // Psalm 119:76 "I waited patiently for the Lord to help me, and he turned to me and heard my cry." -‭‭Psalms‬ ‭40:1‬‬ He always turns. He always hears. Patience, love. That's the thing about life, there is no right or wrong. There is just endless decisions we make and mistakes we take in order to hopefully find ourselves in the place we desired or expected. Whether that is a good or a bad place isn't deterined by destiny, but by our mentality and perspective. Our attitude ultimately defines our success, in career, finance, and even relationships. Ie even if something isn't perfect, it can be perfect for you if only you believe it to be 💛☀️ You will be lost, and unlost, over and over again, relax love. You were meant to be this glorious. Epic. Story. Nayyirah Waheed. Note to self: Relax, you can't get it wrong because you never get it done.

[ctmurr-blog]

From left to right

Ilustrísimo Señor Vincent William Griffo, Reverendísimo Don Carlo Murr-Létourneau y el Excelentísimo Embajador de Chilanguera, Señor Pirin "Raul" Dingas.

EULOGY FOR A FRIEND AND BROTHER

VINCENT WILLIAM GRIFFO, Requiescat In Pace

While all are welcome to read this eulogy to my beloved friend and brother, Vincent W. Griffo, my words are especially directed to the hundreds of young (and not so young) men and women, whose childhood home was Villa Francisco Javier Orphanage.

I met Vincent W. Griffo in July of 1982. Monseigneur Edward Melton, of loving memory, asked me to help out at Saint Agnes Cathedral (Rockville Centre, New York), while he and the other priests were away for summer vacations. I agreed on one condition: that he find 24 families willing to take 24 of my children for the summer. A week later he phoned me to say that, through the invaluable efforts of Dominican Sisters Josephine and Justine and a wonderful young couple, Joe and Linda Bertonetti, families had been found to host my kids. In a 15 passenger Dodge van, I drove 24 excited, yet unbelievably well-behaved children, ages 4 to 14, from central Mexico to the “Isle of Long”. It took a week.

When finally we arrived at Saint Agnes Cathedral and the kids left with their new families for six weeks, I sat down at the rectory dining room table, exhausted, for a well-deserved cup of mocha java.

I had less than $50.00 to my name at the moment; the van had a flat tire and the gas tank was on empty. The expression “making it on a wing and a prayer” was rarely more applicable.

Enter Mike “the Chief” Glaubinger, the man in charge of cathedral security. He joined me for some coffee and conversation. After fifteen minutes, he excused himself and returned five minutes after that with an address scribbled on a piece of paper. There was a $400.00 cheque waiting for me at an office in Valley Stream, he said, to put four new ties on the van.

“You might want to thank the godfather for the favor,” Glaubinger said on the q.t.

“The godfather?” I questioned the nebulous title.

“Vinny Griffo. He owns FBI and William Street Brokers.”

“He owns the FBI?”

“Not thee FBI; not the Federal Bureau of Investigation; FBI: Fundamental Brokers Incorporation, on Wall Street. “He calls the shots,” said Glaubinger with all the chutzpah of an insider trader, “Give him a call. Tell him the Chief sent you. There’s the number.”

Glaubinger intrigue apart, I dialed the 516 area code number to thank the unknown benefactor for his timely donation to the cause. If I’m not mistaken, it was a Tuesday morning and just happened to be Vincent W. Griffo’s day-off. After identifying myself and thanking him for the new set of treads, out of the clear blue, he asked me: “Do you swim?” The non sequitur threw me and when I hadn’t answered soon enough for him, Mr. Griffo gave me another chance to redeem myself: “Well, do you at least like gin and tonics?” I answered his first query saying that, if thrown overboard, not too far from shore, with the tide in my favor and the wind to my back, I stood a reasonable chance of making it to dry land. “But” I cautioned, “that would not be my idea of a good time. As for the reviver…”

“Reviver?” he asked.

“The gin and tonic water,” I answered, “Now there, you’re getting closer to what I’d call ‘a good time’”.

His laughter broke the ice. And, since he was free that day and I didn’t begin my tour of duty until the following morning, we met and sat around his newly installed swimming pool at number 6, Midfarm Road. Five minutes into the visit Mr. Griffo confessed that he himself couldn’t swim a stroke. What’s more, only the day before he had quit his swimming lessons at the RVC Recreation Center in protest. Apparently, Mesdames Sarah Finkelstein, Raz “You-Who” Goldberg, and Sophie Silverman - to name just a few of his matronly colleagues in the Beginners Swimming League - ridiculed him for flunking floating, and that, said Mr. Griffo, was enough of that.

That afternoon a great friendship was born between Mr. Vincent W. Griffo and me, one that would last almost 35 years.

In all those years of friendship, we acquired some very special meeting places. The second floor of Tre Scalini and L’Archilutto in Rome, Casadores and La Vianda in Guadalajara, Asti’s and Eddie Condon’s (both, of happy memory) in Manhattan were some of the locations we found most conducive to our philosophical colloquies. What did they all have in common? A decent house red and opera music. Once, in Guadalajara, a 12 piece Mariachi appeared and asked Señor Griffo if he had a request. Jokingly, he turned to me and said: “I don’t suppose these guys would know anything from Rigoletto.” The maestro smiled and gave him a wink. I’ll never forget Vinny’s face as they went into a rousing rendition of La Donna e Mobile and Questa o Quella, sung by a young Mexican tenor, in Italian, and, for an encore, performed von Suppé’s Dicter und Bauer Ouvertüre.    

Vincent W. also had his serious side. And, believe it or not, so did I. We often discussed aspects of our Catholic Faith and points of spirituality, the morality and immorality of Wall Street, how to “stay the course” on such a tumultuous sea, and of course, we talked about the directions our personal lives were taking. We trusted each other. We had disagreements, some minor, some not so minor. After one major disagreement, we did not speak for four years, until, by the grace of God, the problem resolved itself and we were able to pick up where we had left off. That was an extremely wonderful day.  

There was one thing Vincent W. Griffo was never comfortable talking about; all the good he did for others. I speak about it now, because he is no longer here to tell me to “keep a lid on it”.

An orphanage in Tepatitlan, Jalisco, Mexico, stands as testimony to the generosity and benevolence of Vincent William Griffo. Certainly there were others whose magnanimity was outstanding: Hal and Mary Madden, Kamal Salaame, Archbishop Nuño, and my own parents come readily to mind. But it was “my cousin Vinny” whom I could call, and did, whenever I got in trouble – and I was in trouble often and deeply. From c. 1982 to 1986, he donated over a million dollars so that orphaned children in Mexico would have a beautiful place in which to live, good food and clothing, formation and a Catholic education.

But it did not stop there. Vinny responded to many calls for help, both from people inside and people far outside his own world.

I came home from New York a few days after Vinny died. Two days after I arrived, I was visited by Antonio Pun. Like Vincent W., Antonio is one of the great and unique people in my life. He and his oldest son drove from Guadalajara on what he called, his “farewell tour”. The tall, always upbeat Chinese-Mexican, had just turned 91 and wanted to see me one last time before going to God. He also wanted to thank, once again, “most honorable man from New York” for his invaluable help in 1983.

It’s too long a story to tell here, but in 1983 I phoned Vincent W. at FBI and solicited his financial help to get 19 people released from Communist China. I can still hear him shouting through the phone: “What?! Chinese emigrants!!? Have you been drinking??” Still, the check arrived by DHL the following day and one-way tickets were issued for 19 of the happiest people on earth. Remind me to tell you the whole story one day. It’s really amazing.

As for the touring Antonio Pun; I told him that Mr. Griffo had died just the week before. “That’s OK,” he smiled, “I’ll thank him again myself, this time in person, and soon enough”.  

Vincent W. Griffo did so much good in the time God gave him on earth. He loved much and was much loved in return.

There was one thing he repeated often: “I wish my faith was as strong as yours; I want you there when I go. You’ll be there, won’t you?”

My friend: Your beloved Kathleen was there. So were all seven of your loving children: Billy, Lorraine, Jeannine, Michael, Robbie, Bianca and Barbara Ann. So were their husbands and wives. And so were all of their children, your grandchildren.

And, as promised, my friend, so was I.

But you already know all of that, don’t you?

Before concluding, I express my deepest gratitude to the Triune God - Who saw fit to give me such a friend as Vincent W. Griffo. Gratia tibi, Domine!  (Thank You, Lord!)

[jonasmaurer]

Friday Faves

Hi hi! Happy Friday! What’s going on this weekend? Anything fun happening? We’re alternating between spending time at the pool and hiding inside in the A/C. I think I’m going to take the crew to see Secret Life of Pets 2 and am working on putting the finishing touches on Summer Shape Up. We have 6 new workouts (3 follow-along videos), meal plans, macros, so so much good stuff. I hope you love it!

It’s time for the weekly Friday Faves party! This is where I share some of my favorite finds from the week and around the web. I always love hearing about your faves, too, so please shout out something you’re lovin’ in the comments section!

Life:

NOW Foods Immersion! I realized that I didn’t get a chance to share a full recap of our trip to Chicago to check out to NOW Foods headquarters. NOW Foods invited me, along with a group of health and wellness influencers (many of them were RDs) to learn more about the company and check out the products first-hand. I got into town Thursday afternoon, just in time to head to our dinner and Iron Chef competition. I got there during the cooking demo by Suzy Singh, who’s their R&D Corporate Chef. She is an absolute delight of a person; so bright, energetic, and bubbly. (Fun fact: she was on Masterchef.)

We were split into teams to create an entree, appetizer, or dessert using the NOW Foods nutty infusion. My team and I made a Thai style eggplant parmesan, with panko-crusted eggplant, a ginger-garlic almond butter sauce, and sautéed veggies. We ended up taking 2nd place.  

Friday, we enjoyed a group workout,

made some beauty products using their essential oils (a cuticle oil and a lovely body scrub),

spent the rest of the day checking out the production facilities and corporate headquarters. It was really interesting to learn about how all of the supplements are produced and the amount of testing that goes into each batch. For example, the FDA requires testing for only about 100 pesticides. NOW Foods scans for over 600 and their equipment is so advanced that it can detect subtle nuances in the formulas.  

I learned so much during the trip and got to connect with a group of amazing people. <3

 Thank you again to NOW Foods such an incredible immersion experience!

New Prep & Pastry will be officially open on Monday. Livi and I went to check out the soft opening and their new location is a real-life dream. The design is gorgeous; it’s open, with custom tile work, and lots of plants. It’s also much larger than their previous location, which will cut down the wait times significantly. (On Now Wait, sometimes there are 200 parties ahead of you haha.) 

(Romper is here, purse, and slides are here!)

I’m so incredibly proud of this guy. I love being able to see the amazing things he’s accomplishing, and the crazy thing is that this is just the beginning!!! He’s equal parts talent and hustle, and treats everyone on his team with genuine kindness. 

Fitness + food:

Summer Shape Up excitement! The week 1 info will be up on Sunday if you aren’t subscribed to the newsletter. (Newsletter will be out around noon PST, aka I’m working on it as soon as this post goes live.) Hands in the air if you’re ready to crush it!

Be sure to check out my interview with Erica Ziel on the podcast here.  

Trader Joe’s crisps. I love these crackers with some Kite Hill cream cheese and Trader Joe’s Everything But the Bagel seasoning. So good.

Read, watch, listen:

Loved the comments on travel.

Just started “All We Ever Wanted” and can’t put it down. I’m a huge fan of Emily Giffin, and thought I’d read all of her novels, but apparently not! I’ll probably finish this one over the weekend.

  Fashion + beauty:

Something HUGE is coming from Beautycounter next month, and I’m so excited for the launch. There’s a special promo for consultants to purchase the new line at an insanely awesome discount, so if consulting’s been on your radar, please let me know and we can chat about it! I can’t wait for everyone to have access to this new line. I’ve been testing the products for a few weeks and am obsessed! 

Have a happy weekend!

xoxo

Gina

The post Friday Faves appeared first on The Fitnessista.

Friday Faves published first on https://olimpsportnutritionde.tumblr.com/

[jonasmaurer]

Friday Faves

Hey hey! Happy weekend to ya! What do you have going on? The girls are on spring break and I’m pumped for the next week with them. I have a little bit of work travel coming up, and other than that, we’ll be gardening, playing at the park, taking random adventures, sleeping in, and enjoying some extra time together. This weekend, there are quite a few fun things happening in Tucson. It’s the street fair and there’s a huge culinary event on Sunday. I’d love to hear what you have going on!

(Liv loves carrying her sis around. They are the funniest little friends)

Earlier this week, I had a change to meet up with an Instagram friend for barre and margaritas. I connected with Natalie from Happily Pink and we decided to plan a little meet-up. Class was really challenging and fun, and then we headed next door to Blanco to close the place down chatting about blogging and life. If any Tucson friends are interested in doing a similar meet-up (barre and margaritas!) please let me know in the comments and I’ll start planning.

It’s time for the weekly Friday Faves party! This is where I share some of my favorite reads, wears, eats and finds from the week, and I always love to head about your faves, too. Please shout out something you’re loving in the comments below!

Fashion + beauty:

You guys, I got my eyebrows threaded for the first time EVER yesterday. I still don’t really know how I feel about the experience. I’ve always gotten them waxed (Anastasia at Nordstrom is my very favorite place) but my eyebrows always break out horribly afterwards. I thought I’d figured out the solution, which was witch hazel followed by jojoba oil, but my skin still looked a bit red and damaged. So many of you told me via Instagram that you do threading because it’s gentler on the skin, so I decided to give it a try!

I found a place with awesome reviews and thought it was very cute and clean. The tech who did my brows wasn’t warm or friendly in the least – it doesn’t matter to me if they’re nice, but please don’t screw up my face, k?- and swiftly went to work on my brows. I felt like she attacked them a little? The sensation was totally bizarre, like a riiiiiiiippppp across my skin as she tugged on the thread. I also had discarded eyebrow hair all over my face afterwards. But hey, they look pretty great AND my skin isn’t irritated at all. I’m waiting to see if I still get the dreaded breakout, but so far so good.

Tell me friends: are you team wax or thread?

This dress is so cute but I’m skeptical about the one size. Has anyone tried this brand??

Fitness:

Try out this lean, strong leg workout.

A spring workout plan for youuuuu.

YouTube cardio workouts.

Step HIIT for lower body.

Good eats:

Kyle, Meg and Everly came over last night for an impromptu dinner. We were just hanging out so I asked if they wanted to come chill, especially since Kyle is off work on Thursdays. He brought incredible homemade sourdough pizza dough and some toppings, while I provided salad, wine, and brownies with peanut butter frosting. We had the best pizza and dessert, the kiddos played while the adults drank wine (minus poor Meg who’s at the end of her pregnancy! Baby August will be here so soon) and talked in the kitchen. It was perfect. <3

(A true pizza masterpiece. I got an awesome Boomerang of Kyle flipping the dough into the air. #legit)

(This is my latest favorite wine from Trader Joe’s. It’s organic and has a very smooth taste with hint of berries.)

Random: I’m so into plain dried mango right now.

Reunited with Daily Harvest! I took a little break because I’ve been enjoying putting my own smoothies and bowls together, but these are so convenient. They also pair ingredients that I wouldn’t think to combine. I love these for quick and easy lunches and breakfasts! If you’ve been wanting to give it a try, my referral link gives you 3 free cups.

Read, watch, listen:

I can’t wait to see Tom Hanks as Mister Rogers.

Brené Brown is getting her own Netflix special and I’m so here for it.

YAY Shorty and Little!

For all the parents out there.

Happy Friday, friends! xo

Gina

The post Friday Faves appeared first on The Fitnessista.

Friday Faves published first on https://olimpsportnutritionde.tumblr.com/