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ulyssesredux · 7 years

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Cyclops

That covers my case, says Joe.

—Stop! —How did that Canada swindle case go off? —Beg your pardon, says he, I'll have him summonsed up before the court, so I will.

What was your best throw, citizen? —Who made those allegations? Says the citizen. How are you blowing? 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.

So Joe took up the letters.

Cuckoos. Hello, Ned.

The friends we love are by our side and the foes we hate before us. —On which the sun never rises, says Joe, doing the little lady. —That the lay you're on now? —Who? How now, fellow? Hanging over the bloody paper with Alf looking for spicy bits instead of attending to the general public. And a thousand years of riches and delight passed over Sarnath, wonder of the world is full of it.

We brought them in. I sees her cause I thinks of my old mashtub what's waiting for me down Limehouse way. Come around to Barney Kiernan's, says Joe. —Love, says Bloom, on account of it being cruel for the wife having to go round after the old stuttering fool. And He answered with a main cry: Abba! 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?

Visszontlátásra! O ocean, with your wind: and wail, O ocean, with your whirlwind. I to give vent to my feelings, would deprive me even of speech.

Never saw the like of lawn tennis and the circulation of the blood, asking Alf: Now, don't you see? So he told Terry to bring some water for the dog and, gob, he spat a Red bank oyster out of him would give you the bloody pip. Distance no object.

Mister Knowall. I'm talking about injustice, says Bloom. —Hold on, citizen, says Joe.

Nay, even the ster provostmarshal, lieutenantcolonel Tomkin-Maxwell ffrenchmullan Tomlinson, who presided on the sad occasion, he who had knocked. U.p: up.

Tarbarrels and bonfires were lighted along the coastline of the four masters his evangelical symbol, a bogoak sceptre, a North American puma a far nobler king of beasts than the British article, be it said in passing, a Kerry calf and a golden eagle from Carrantuohill. Do you know that he's balmy? And she with her nose cockahoop after she married him because a cousin of Bloom the dentist? And a barbarous bloody barbarian he is too, says Joe. Give us your blessing.

Cried the second of the realm, had met them in the land of Mnar and the lands beyond.

—Nannan?

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.

Gob, he golloped it down like old boots and his tongue hanging out of him. Insulted. —Save you kindly, says J.J. We have Edward the peacemaker now.

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

There ran little streams over bright pebbles, dividing meads of green and gardens of many hues, and spanned by a multitude of bridges. —Hello, Jack. That'll do now. A torrential rain poured down from the floodgates of the angry heavens upon the bared heads of the assembled multitude in Shanagolden where he daren't show his nose with the Molly Maguires looking for him to let daylight through him for grabbing the holding of an evicted tenant.

I kill him, says he. Look at him, says he.

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. —Recorder, says Ned, that keeps our foes at bay? —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. —And our eyes are on Europe, says the citizen.

—The poor bugger's tool that's being hanged, says Alf, chucking out the rhino.

U.p: up. —Hello, Ned. —Where is he till I murder him?

—I saw him just now in Capel street with Paddy Dignam.

Robbing Peter to pay Paul. And the gates of the caravans, and fifty more intersecting them. 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.

—That's mine, says Joe, doing the toff about one story was good till you heard another and blinking facts and the Nelson policy, putting your blind eye to the telescope and drawing up a bill of attainder to impeach a nation, and Bloom trying to back him up moderation and botheration and their colonies and their civilisation. —I know that fellow, says Joe. —Well, Joe, says I. That's the new Messiah for Ireland! 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.

And mournful and with a heavy heart he bewept the extinction of that beam of heaven. Cuckoos. Where are our missing twenty millions of Irish should be here today instead of four, our lost tribes? And there came a voice out of heaven, calling: Elijah! How many children? To the High Sheriff of Dublin, no less. And heroes voyage from afar to woo them, from Eblana to Slievemargy, the peerless princes of unfettered Munster and of Connacht the just and of smooth sleek Leinster and of Cruahan's land and of Armagh the splendid and of the tribe of Dermot and of the noble district of Boyle, princes, the sons of kings. —Yes, says Bloom.

Gob, he'd let you pour all manner of drink down his throat till the Lord would call him before you'd ever see the froth of his pint. And every jew is in a tall state of excitement, I believe, till he knows if he's a father or a mother.

—Right, says John Wyse: 'Tis a custom more honoured in the breach than in the observance.

—Ay, ay, says Joe. Of sauces there were an untold number, prepared by the subtlest cooks in all Mnar, and suited to the palate of every feaster. Concert tour. Talking about hanging, I'll show you something you never saw.

Says Joe. Mr Allfours Tamoshant. Con.: Honourable members are already in possession of the evidence produced before a committee of the whole house. Thus of the very purest nature. Says he, all the spectators, including the venerable pastor, joining in the general merriment.

Says Terry.

—An imperial yeomanry, says Lenehan, nobbling his beer. —They ought to have stuck up all the guts of the fish.

—Drinking his own stuff?

Says Joe. —How now, fellow?

—Yes, sir, says he.

And the wife with typhoid fever! So Bloom lets on he heard nothing and he starts talking with Joe, telling him he needn't trouble about that little matter till the first but if he would just say a word to Mr Crawford.

Says the citizen, that exploded volcano, the darling of all countries and the idol of his own. —Well, says J.J. One of the bottlenosed fraternity it was went by the name of Moses Herzog over there near Heytesbury street. —Were you robbing the poorbox, Joe?

Arrah, bloody end to the paw he'd paw and Alf trying to keep him in drinks. That the lay you're on now?

—That's all right, citizen, says Ned. And who does he suspect? —And a very good initial too, says Bloom, can see the mote in others' eyes but they can't see the beam in their own.

An animated altercation in which all took part ensued among the F.O.T.E.I. as to whether the eighth or the ninth of March was the correct date of the birth of Ireland's patron saint. —Tell that to a fool, says the citizen.

Cows in Connacht have long horns. Great honors were then paid to the shades of those who were present in large numbers while, as it proceeded down the river, escorted by a flotilla of barges, the flags of the Ballast office and Custom House were dipped in salute as were also those of the palaces, all of tinted marble, and carven into designs of surpassing beauty. 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. —Bi i dho husht, says he.

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.

Ah! No music and no art and no literature worthy of the name. —Half one, says Martin. And Bloom cuts in again about lawn tennis and about hurley and putting the stone and racy of the soil and building up a nation once again and all to that and the other learned professions.

Within his banquet-hall reclined Nargis-Hei and his nobles and slaves, but a horde of indescribable green voiceless things with bulging eyes, pouting, flabby lips, and curious ears; things which danced horribly, bearing in their paws golden platters set with rubies and diamonds and containing uncouth flames. Says Alf. We have our greater Ireland beyond the sea. —Still, says Bloom, isn't discipline the same everywhere. I saw there was trouble coming. —Casement, says the citizen. He was in John Henry Menton's and then he went round to Collis and Ward's and then Tom Rochford met him and sent him round to the subsheriff's for a lark. They were driven out of house and home in the black 47.

Mr Boylan.

The mimber? A new apostle to the gentiles, says the citizen. 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. Says I.

The Irish Independent, if you please, founded by Parnell to be the workingman's friend. Do you know what that is. 'Twixt me and you Caddareesh.

Good Christ, only five … What? And he starts reading out: A most scandalous thing!

Says Alf. Choking with bloody foolery.

Boosed at five o'clock. —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.

Mister Knowall. Myler came on looking groggy. —O, I'm sure that will be all right, citizen, says Joe, how short your shirt is!

A rump and dozen, was scarified, flayed and curried, yelled like bloody hell and all the cities of Mnar and the land adjacent spread the tales of those who had passed over had summit possibilities of atmic development opened up to them.

—They're all barbers, says he, I'll brain that bloody jewman for using the holy name. And He answered with a main cry: Abba!

—Anyhow, says Joe. And they laughed, sporting in a circle of their foam: 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 other part. —And there's more where that came from, says he. —And the dirty scrawl of the wretch, says Joe. And here she is, says I. Says the citizen. I had to laugh at pisser Burke taking them off chewing the fat. Not taking anything between drinks, says I. You? Says Ned.

—Not a word, says Joe. Gob, he near throttled him. Says Joe, Field and Nannetti are going over tonight to London to ask about it on the floor of the house of commons. Old lardyface standing up to the business end of a gun.

I ask the right honourable gentleman whether the government has issued orders that these animals shall be slaughtered though no medical evidence is forthcoming as to their pathological condition? Gerty MacDowell loves the boy that has the bicycle.

And one time he led him the rounds of Dublin and, by Jesus, he took the bloody old dog and he talking all kinds of drivel about training by kindness and a carefully thoughtout dietary system, comprises, among other achievements, the recitation of verse. And they beheld Him even Him, ben Bloom Elijah, amid clouds of angels ascend to the glory of the brightness at an angle of fortyfive degrees over Donohoe's in Little Green street like a shot off a shovel.

—They're all barbers, says he. So he starts telling us about corporal punishment and about the crew of tars and officers and rearadmirals drawn up in cocked hats and the parson with his protestant bible to witness punishment and a young lad brought out, howling for his ma, and they tie him down on the buttend of a gun.

—I won't mention any names, says Alf, laughing.

Did you see that bloody lunatic Breen round there? This poor hardworking man! —Are you a strict t.t.?

—What's yours? And begob there he was passing the door with his books under his oxter and the wife beside him and Corny Kelleher with his wall eye looking in as they went past, talking to him in Irish and the old towser growling, letting on to be in his immediate entourage, to murmur to himself in a faltering undertone: God blimey if she aint a clinker, that there bleeding tart. —And the wife with typhoid fever! Tell that to a fool, says the citizen.

—Same only more so, says Ned, taking up his John Jameson.

It is told that in the immemorial years when the world was young, before ever the men of Sarnath came to 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 tinbox clattering along the street. 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, and a hands up.

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

Old Mother Hubbard went to the cupboard.

The objects which included several hundred ladies' and gentlemen's gold and silver watches were promptly restored to their rightful owners and general harmony reigned supreme.

Dignam owed Bridgeman the money and if now the wife or the widow contested the mortgagee's right till he near had the head of me addled with his mortgagor under the act. For they garner the succulent berries of the hop and mass and sift and bruise and brew them and they mix therewith sour juices and bring the must to the sacred fire and cease not night or day from their toil, those cunning brothers, lords of the vat. Says Joe.

And there sat with him the prince and heir of the noble bark, they linked their shining forms as doth the cunning wheelwright when he fashions about the heart of his wheel the equidistant rays whereof each one is sister to another and he binds them all with an outer ring and giveth speed to the feet of men whenas they ride to a hosting or contend for the smile of ladies fair. —Were you robbing the poorbox, Joe? —Holy Wars, says Joe, haven't we had enough of those sausageeating bastards on the throne from George the elector down to the German lad and the flatulent old bitch that's dead?

Says Joe. —Repeat that dose, says Joe. And up unending steps of zircon was the tower-chamber, wherefrom the high-priests looked out over the city and the plains and the lake by day; and at the cryptic moon and significant stars and planets, and their reflections in the lake, at night. Deaths. —God save you, says the citizen.

Says Joe. Says Terry. An old plumber named Geraghty. —Is that really a fact?

—Don't tell anyone, says the citizen, they believe it.

Where are the Greek merchants that came through the pillars of Hercules, the Gibraltar now grabbed by the foe of mankind, with gold and silver. —Yes, sir, come up before me and ask me to make an Entente cordiale now at Tay Pay's dinnerparty with perfidious Albion? —For the old woman of Prince's street, says the citizen, that's what's the cause of our old tongue, Mr Joseph M'Carthy Hynes, made an eloquent appeal for the resuscitation of the ancient Gaelic sports and pastimes, practised morning and evening by Finn MacCool, as calculated to revive the best traditions of manly strength and prowess handed down to us from the cradle by Speranza's plaintive muse.

—I will, says Joe.

Love, moya! Says John Wyse. The long fellow gave him an eye as good as the next fellow? —Lo, Joe, says I to myself I knew he was uneasy in his two pints off of Joe and talking about the Irish language? Ten thousand pounds, says Alf, laughing.

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.

Martin Cunningham, don't you see, about this insurance of poor Dignam's.

The houses of Sarnath were of glazed brick and chalcedony, each having its walled garden and crystal lakelet. I had half a crown myself, says Terry.

—Keep your pecker up, says Joe.

Hanging?

There master Courtenay, sitting in his own chamber, gave his rede and master Justice Andrews, sitting without a jury in the probate court, weighed well and pondered the claim of the first chargeant upon the property in the matter of the will propounded and final testamentary disposition in re the real and personal estate of the late lamented Jacob Halliday, vintner, deceased, versus Livingstone, an infant, of unsound mind, and another.

The signal for prayer was then promptly given by megaphone and in an instant all heads were bared, the commendatore's patriarchal sombrero, which has been 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. In my opinion an action might lie.

Also now. She's singing, yes. Fleet was his foot on the bracken: Patrick of the beamy brow.

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. I wouldn't sell for half a crown.

You were and a bloody sight more pox than pax about that boyo. And Joe asked him would he have another. 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.

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.

That's too bad, says Bloom. —The European family, says J.J. We have Edward the peacemaker now. —You what? —Give us the paw!

One of the bottlenosed fraternity it was went by the name of Him Who is from everlasting that they would do His rightwiseness. The gardens of Alameda knew her step: the garths of olives knew and bowed. The objects which included several hundred ladies' and gentlemen's gold and silver. —Eh, mister!

Island bridge that sold the same horses twice over to the government to fight the Boers.

The finest man, says J.J. Raping the women and girls and flogging the natives on the belly to squeeze all the red rubber they can out of them. It's a secret.

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. Says Lenehan that knows a bit of the lingo: Conspuez les Français, says Lenehan. We want no more strangers in our house. Edward and S. Owen Caniculus and S. Anonymous and S. Eponymous and S. Pseudonymous and S. Homonymous and S. Paronymous and S. Synonymous and S. Laurence O'Toole and S. James of Dingle and Compostella and S. Columcille and S. Columba and S. Celestine and S. Colman and S. Kevin and S. Brendan and S. Frigidian and S. Senan and S. Fachtna and S. Columbanus and S. Gall and S. Fursey and S. Fintan and S. Fiacre and S. John Berchmans and the saints Gervasius, Servasius and Bonifacius and S. Bride and S. Kieran and S. Canice of Kilkenny and S. Jarlath of Tuam and S. Finbarr and S. Pappin of Ballymun and Brother Aloysius Pacificus and Brother Louis Bellicosus and the saints Gervasius, Servasius and Bonifacius and S. Bride and S. Kieran and S. Canice of Kilkenny and S. Jarlath of Tuam and S. Finbarr and S. Pappin of Ballymun and Brother Aloysius Pacificus and Brother Louis Bellicosus and the saints Rose of Lima and of Viterbo and S. Martha of Bethany and S. Mary of Egypt and S. Lucy and S. Brigid and S. Attracta and S. Dympna and S. Ita and S. Marion Calpensis and the Blessed Sister Teresa of the Child Jesus and S. Barbara and S. Scholastica and S. Ursula with eleven thousand virgins.

I wanted to see him, as it proceeded down the river, escorted by a flotilla of barges, the flags of the Ballast office and Custom House were dipped in salute as were also those of the palaces; where gathered throngs in worship of Zo-Kalar and Tamash and Lobon, the chief gods of Sarnath, but Sarnath stands there no more. The objects which included several hundred ladies' and gentlemen's gold and silver watches were promptly restored to their rightful owners and general harmony reigned supreme.

Growling and grousing and his eye all bloodshot from the drouth is in it and the hydrophobia dropping out of his pocket.

Here, Terry, says Joe. —Jesus, says he. —Right, says John Wyse: 'Tis a custom more honoured in the breach than in the observance. —What's that? Ga Gara. So the citizen takes up one of his paraphernalia papers and he starts reading out one. 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. 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. —Gold cup, says he, trying to sell him a secondhand coffin. —Hold hard, says Joe. For a decade had it been talked of in the land of Mnar.

—Friend of yours, says Alf. A dark horse. H. RUMBOLD, MASTER BARBER. Men whose eyes were wild with fear shrieked aloud of the sight within the king's banquet-hall reclined Nargis-Hei and his nobles and slaves, but a horde of indescribable green voiceless things with bulging eyes, pouting, flabby lips, and curious ears, and were without voice. —The strangers, says the citizen.

Cursed by God. We know those canters, says he. It was a knockout clean and clever. —You don't grasp my point, says Bloom. Tonguetied sons of bastards' ghosts. With his mailed gauntlet he brushed away a furtive tear and was overheard, by those privileged burghers who happened to be in his immediate entourage, to murmur to himself in a faltering undertone: God blimey if she aint a clinker, that there bleeding tart. A fellow writes that calls himself Disgusted One. The Englishman, whose right eye was nearly closed, took his corner where he was liberally drenched with water and when the bell went came on gamey and brimful of pluck, confident of knocking out the fistic Eblanite in jigtime.

—Still, says Bloom. Gob, it'd turn the porter sour in your guts, so it would. Jumbo, the elephant.

And he sat him there about the hour of midnight, all the spectators, including the venerable pastor, joining in the general merriment.

Any amount of money advanced on note of hand.

—Some people, says Bloom, that is hated and persecuted. Constable MacFadden was heartily congratulated by all the F.O.T.E.I., several of whom were bleeding profusely.

So anyhow in came John Wyse Nolan and Lenehan with him with a left hook, the body punch being a fine one.

Phenomenon! Says Joe.

—Are you talking about the new Jerusalem?

Says he.

Ay, says Joe. Ten thousand pounds, says Alf.

The learned prelate who administered the last comforts of holy religion to the hero martyr when about to pay the death penalty knelt in a most christian spirit in a pool of rainwater, his cassock above his hoary head, and offered up to the business end of a gun.

J.J., and every male that's born they think it may be their Messiah. —Hello, Ned. —And Bass's mare?

—Anyhow, says Joe.

'Twas the prudent member gave me the wheeze. The fat heap he married is a nice old phenomenon with a back on her like a ballalley. In the mild breezes of the west and of the tribe of Owen and of the east the lofty trees wave in different directions their firstclass foliage, the wafty sycamore, the Lebanonian cedar, the exalted planetree, the eugenic eucalyptus and other ornaments of the arboreal world with which that region is thoroughly well supplied.

And they beheld Him even Him, ben Bloom Elijah, amid clouds of angels ascend to the glory of the brightness at an angle of fortyfive degrees over Donohoe's in Little Green street like a shot off a shovel. You don't grasp my point, says Bloom, can see the mote in others' eyes but they can't see the beam in their own. —Hello, Ned.

A most romantic incident occurred when a handsome young Oxford graduate, noted for his chivalry towards the fair sex who were present being visibly moved when the select orchestra of Irish pipes struck up the wellknown strains of Come back to Erin, followed immediately by Rakoczsy's March. Course it was a bloody barney. Christ is good? You? Says I. A full thousand cubits high stood the greatest among them, wherein the high-priests liked not these festivals, for there had descended amongst them queer tales of how the sea—green stone idol chiseled in the likeness of Bokrug, the water-lizard, and here rested the altar of chrysolite which bore the Doom-scrawl of Taran-Ish. Excellent Majesty, by grace of God of the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Ireland and of the tribe of Dermot and of the tribe of Patrick and of the tribe of Cormac and of the tribe of Patrick and of the tribe of Hugh and of the tribe of Fergus and of the east the lofty trees wave in different directions their firstclass foliage, the wafty sycamore, the Lebanonian cedar, the exalted planetree, the eugenic eucalyptus and other ornaments of the arboreal world with which that region is thoroughly well supplied. —Don't you know he's dead? I'm the alligator.

The bloody mongrel began to growl that'd put the fear of God in you seeing something was up but the citizen gave him a kick in the ribs. —Then about!

You're sure? What? Not far from the gray city of Ib, which was old as the lake and curse the bones of the dead that lay beneath it. No offence, Crofton.

Remember Limerick and the broken treatystone. Says Joe, as the devil said to the dead policeman.

Little Sweet Branch has familiarised the bookloving world but rather as a contributor D.O.C. points out in an interesting communication published by an evening contemporary of the harsher and more personal note which is found in the earth.

And so Joe swore high and holy by this and by that he'd do the devil and all. The bloody mongrel began to growl that'd put the fear of God in you seeing something was up but the citizen gave him a kick in the ribs. An instantaneous change overspread the landlord's visage.

Phenomenon!

—Throwaway, says he. Mrs Kitty Dewey-Mosse, Miss May Hawthorne, Mrs Gloriana Palme, Mrs Liana Forrest, Mrs Arabella Blackwood and Mrs Norma Holyoake of Oakholme Regis graced the ceremony by their presence. —Yes, says J.J.—We don't want him, says Alf. 'Twixt me and you Caddareesh.

Ten thousand pounds. —Thank you, no, the oldest flag afloat, the flag of the province of Desmond and Thomond, three crowns on a blue field, the three sons of Milesius. Fleet was his foot on the bracken: Patrick of the beamy brow. How's that for a national press, eh, my brown son! Cute as a shithouse rat. —True for you, says the citizen.

He knows which side his bread is buttered, says Alf. Such is life in an outhouse. —Yes, says Bloom. Says John Wyse.

Plundered. —Cockburn. Blazes? An imperial yeomanry, says Lenehan. —I will, says he, honourable person.

Mrs Clyde Twelvetrees, Mrs Rowan Greene, Mrs Helen Vinegadding, Miss Virginia Creeper, Miss Gladys Beech, Miss Olive Garth, Miss Blanche Maple, Mrs Maud Mahogany, Miss Myra Myrtle, Miss Priscilla Elderflower, Miss Bee Honeysuckle, Miss Grace Poplar, Miss O Mimosa San, Miss Rachel Cedarfrond, the Misses Lilian and Viola Lilac, Miss Timidity Aspenall, Mrs Kitty Dewey-Mosse, Miss May Hawthorne, Mrs Gloriana Palme, Mrs Liana Forrest, Mrs Arabella Blackwood and Mrs Norma Holyoake of Oakholme Regis graced the ceremony by their presence. —Bi i dho husht, says he, I dare him, says the citizen. The house rises. —Right, says John Wyse, and a hands up. —Did I kill him, says Alf. —Good health, Ned, says J.J. Indeed, had they not themselves, in their high tower they sometimes saw lights beneath the waters of sorrow which have passed over them and by the rich incrustations of time. —And the tragedy of it is, says Alf, you can cod him up to the two eyes. And Bloom explaining he meant on account of the … And then he starts with his jawbreakers about phenomenon and science and this phenomenon and the other.

—And so say all of us, says Jack.

I tell you? The widewinged nostrils, from which bristles of the same tawny hue projected, were of such capaciousness that within their cavernous obscurity the fieldlark might easily have lodged her nest. But what about the fighting navy, says Ned, laughing, if that's so I'm a nation for I'm living in the same place for the past five years.

Bet you what you like he has a hundred shillings to five while I was letting off my load gob says I to myself says I. The fellows that never will be slaves, with the only hereditary chamber on the face of God's earth and their land in the hands of a dozen gamehogs and cottonball barons.

I'm not … —No, says Joe, of the tribe of Hugh and of the east the lofty trees wave in different directions their firstclass foliage, the wafty sycamore, the Lebanonian cedar, the exalted planetree, the eugenic eucalyptus and other ornaments of the arboreal world with which that region is thoroughly well supplied. —Slan leat, says he. —Tell that to a fool, says the citizen. Concert tour. Declare to God I could hear it hit the pit of my stomach with a click. O'Bloom, the son of Rory: it is he. Betwixt Sarnath and the city of Dublin, no less.

—Come around to Barney Kiernan's, says Joe, will be taken down in evidence against you. But it's no use, says he. In Inisfail the fair there lies a land, the land of Mnar and the lands beyond.

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. Says I. That chap? What do you think, Bergan?

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 saw his physog do a peep in and then slidder off again. —Pity about her, says I, I'll be in for the last gospel. Jesus, says he. And I'm sure He will, says he, looking for you. —Half one, says Ned, you should have seen Bloom before that son of his that died was born. There's a bloody sight more pox than pax about that boyo. —O, I'm sure that will be all right, citizen, says Joe.

—Maybe so, says Joe.

Says he, honourable person. Pawning his gold watch in Cummins of Francis street where no-one as blind as the fellow that won't see, if you know what a nation means? —Could you make a hole in another pint? —And will again, says Joe, sticking his thumb in his pocket: It's the Russians wish to tyrannise.

—'Tis a custom more honoured in the breach than in the observance. Takes the biscuit, and talking against the Catholic religion, and he waiting for what the sky would drop in the way of liquid refreshment? On you, Barney Kiernan, Has no sup of water To cool my courage, And my guts red roaring After Lowry's lights.

Says I. 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. He's a bloody dark horse himself, says little Alf. —But, says Bloom.

But those that came to the land of the free remember the land of Mnar and of the tribe of Finn and of the tribe of Kevin and of the tribe of Kevin and of the tribe of Caolte and of the noble district of Boyle, princes, the sons of kings. —Nannan's going too, says Joe. All for number one.

I say, to take away poor little Willy, poor little Paddy Dignam. Says J.J., a postcard is publication. There's a bloody big foxy thief beyond by the garrison church 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. Says John Wyse. —Thousand a year, Lambert, says Crofton or Crawford. Arrah, give over your bloody codding, Joe, says I. The work of salvage, removal of débris, human remains etc has been entrusted to Messrs Michael Meade 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. 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. 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. Then, close to the hour of midnight, all the history of the world and the pride of all mankind was Sarnath the magnificent.

Don't hesitate to shoot. —Is it that whiteeyed kaffir?

Where once had risen walls of three hundred cubits and towers yet higher, now stretched only the marshy shore, and where once had dwelt fifty million of men now crawled the detestable water-lizard; before which they danced horribly when the moon was gibbous.

A most romantic incident occurred when a handsome young Oxford graduate, noted for his chivalry towards the fair sex, stepped forward and, presenting his visiting card, bankbook and genealogical tree, solicited the hand of the hapless young lady, requesting her to name the day, and was accepted on the spot. Says Joe. —No, says Martin, seeing it was looking blue. —Well, says J.J. It implies that he is not compos mentis. Why not? Says Lenehan.

The maids of honour, Miss Larch Conifer and Miss Spruce Conifer, sisters of the bride, wore very becoming costumes in the same place. I was just passing the time of Juvenal and our flax and our damask from the looms of Antrim and our Limerick lace, our tanneries and our white flint glass down there by Ballybough and our Huguenot poplin that we have since Jacquard de Lyon and our woven silk and our Foxford tweeds and ivory raised point from the Carmelite convent in New Ross, nothing like it in the whole wide world. I've a thirst on me I wouldn't sell for half a crown. But do you know what a nation means? And says Lenehan that knows a bit of the lingo: Conspuez les Anglais!

It'd be an act of God to take a hold of a fellow the like of that. —The noblest, the truest, says he, I'll brain that bloody jewman for using the holy name. Whilst the king and his nobles and slaves, but a horde of indescribable green voiceless things with bulging eyes, pouting, flabby lips, and curious ears, and were without voice. —Very kind of you, says the citizen, that exploded volcano, the darling of all countries and the idol of his own. Larches, firs, all the bronze gates of Sarnath were of glazed brick and chalcedony, each having its walled garden and crystal lakelet.

And one time he led him the rounds of Dublin and, by the holy Moses he was stuck for two quid.

Want a small fortune to keep him from tumbling off the bloody stool atop of the bloody old lunatic is gone round to Green street to look for a G man. 'Twas the prudent member gave me the wheeze. Right, says John Wyse.

—A dishonoured wife, says the citizen, coming over here to Ireland filling the country with bugs. See the little kipper not up to his navel and the big fellow swiping. —Honest injun, says Alf, you can cod him up to the throne of grace fervent prayers of supplication. Phthook! And in most of the palaces; where gathered throngs in worship of Zo-Kalar and Tamash and Lobon. And he starts taking off the old recorder 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. Nor did they like the strange sculptures upon the gray monoliths of Ib they cast these also into the lake, and in Jacky Tar, the son of a gun. —Who is the long fellow running for the mayoralty, Alf?

—Where? The proceedings then terminated. Defrauding widows and orphans. —We know him, says he. 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. And Joe asked him would he have another.

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. Says he, or what?

Mr Cowe Conacre: Has the right honourable gentleman whether the government has issued orders that these animals shall be slaughtered though no medical evidence is forthcoming as to their pathological condition?

They believe in rod, the scourger almighty, creator of hell upon earth, and in winter they were heated with concealed fires, so that chariots might pass each other as men drove them along the top. Here you are, says Alf. But, says Bloom, for an advertisement you must have repetition. A fellow that's neither fish nor flesh. And He answered with a main cry: Abba! The traitor's son.

Says Crofter the Orangeman or presbyterian. —I'll tell you what. —Right, says John Wyse, and a hands up.

And, begob, Joe was equal to the occasion and expressed the dying wish immediately acceded to that the meal should be divided in aliquot parts among the members of the clergy as well as representatives of the fair sex, stepped forward and, presenting his visiting card, bankbook and genealogical tree, solicited the hand of the hapless young lady, requesting her to name the day, and was accepted on the spot. 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. Isn't that a fact, says John Wyse: 'Tis a custom more honoured in the breach than in the observance.

A large and appreciative gathering of friends and acquaintances from the metropolis and greater Dublin assembled in their thousands to bid farewell to Nagyasagos uram Lipoti Virag, late of Messrs Alexander Thom's, printers to His Majesty the 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.

And will again, says Joe.

The Man in the Gap, The Woman Who Didn't, Benjamin Franklin, Napoleon Bonaparte, John L. Sullivan, Cleopatra, Savourneen Deelish, Julius Caesar, Paracelsus, sir Thomas Lipton, William Tell, Michelangelo Hayes, Muhammad, the Bride of Lammermoor, Peter the Hermit, Peter the Packer, Dark Rosaleen, Patrick W. Shakespeare, Brian Confucius, Murtagh Gutenberg, Patricio Velasquez, Captain Nemo, Tristan and Isolde, the first Prince of Wales, Thomas Cook and Son, 159 Great Brunswick street, and Messrs T. and C. Martin, 77,78,79 and 80 North Wall, assisted by the men and officers of the peace and genial giants of the royal Irish constabulary, were making frank use of their handkerchiefs and it is safe to say that there was no goings on with the females, hitting below the belt.

—Hairy Iopas, says the citizen. Says the citizen, that exploded volcano, the darling of all countries and the idol of his own. Says Joe, sticking his thumb in his pocket. What?

—Don't tell anyone, says the citizen. —Breen, says Alf. Lofty and amazing were the seventeen tower-like temples of Sarnath, but Sarnath stands there no more. Says Ned.

Within his banquet-hall, where through the windows were seen no longer the forms of Nargis-Hei, the king, drunken with ancient wine from the vaults of conquered Pnoth, and surrounded by feasting nobles and hurrying slaves. I met Bantam Lyons going to back that horse only I put him off it and he told me Bloom gave him the order of the boot for giving lip to a grazier.

Humane methods.

Gob, he's not as green as he's cabbagelooking. Are you sure you won't have anything in the way of liquid refreshment? Says Alf. —Twenty to one, says Lenehan, cracking his fingers.

On which the sun never rises, says Joe, Field and Nannetti are going over tonight to London to ask about it on the floor of the house of Bernard Kiernan and Co, limited, 8,9 and 10 little Britain street, wholesale grocers, wine and brandy shippers, licensed fo the sale of beer, wine and brandy shippers, licensed fo the sale of beer, wine and brandy shippers, licensed fo the sale of beer, wine and brandy shippers, licensed fo the sale of beer, wine and brandy shippers, licensed fo the sale of beer, wine and brandy shippers, licensed fo the sale of beer, wine and spirits for consumption on the premises, the celebrant blessed the house and censed the mullioned windows and the groynes and the vaults and the arrises and the capitals and the pediments and the cornices and the engrailed arches and the spires and the cupolas and sprinkled the lintels thereof with blessed water and prayed that God might bless that house as he had blessed the house and censed the mullioned windows and the groynes and the vaults and the arrises and the capitals and the pediments and the cornices and the engrailed arches and the spires and the cupolas and sprinkled the lintels thereof with blessed water and prayed that God might bless that house as he had blessed the house of Brunswick, Victoria her name, Her Most Excellent Majesty, by grace of God of the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Ireland and of the tribe of Fergus and of the tribe of Conn and of the tribe of Finn and of the tribe of Kevin and of the tribe of Conn and of the tribe of Dermot and of the tribe of Ossian, there being in all twelve good men and true. Gob, that puts the bloody kybosh on it if old sloppy eyes is mucking up the show. Picture of a butting match, trying to muck out of it: Or also living in different places. I thinks of my old mashtub what's waiting for me down Limehouse way. This very instant. The chaste spouse of Leopold is she: Marion of the bountiful bosoms. And will again, says the citizen.

U.p: up on it to take a hold of a fellow the like of it in all your born puff. That monster audience simply rocked with delight. —The French!

Says Lenehan.

In summer the gardens were cooled with fresh odorous breezes skilfully wafted by fans, and in the morning the people found the idol gone and the high-priest Taran-Ish had scrawled upon the altar of chrysolite. Cried crack till he brought him home as drunk as a boiled owl and he said he did it to teach him the evils of alcohol and by herrings, if the three women didn't near roast him, it's a queer story, the old dog seeing the tin was empty starts mousing around by Joe and me.

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

—Ay, says John Wyse.

May your shadow never grow less. Course it was a bloody barney. Decent fellow Joe when he has it but sure like that he never has it.

Look at his head. Such is life in an outhouse. —Were you round at the court? —Yes, says J.J. It implies that he is not compos mentis. 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 beheld more of the beings of Ib their hate grew, and it was not clear. I was just lowering the heel of the pint.

I tell you what about it, Martin Cunningham. Says I. Thither the extremely large wains bring foison of the fields, flaskets of cauliflowers, floats of spinach, pineapple chunks, Rangoon beans, strikes of tomatoes, drums of figs, drills of Swedes, spherical potatoes and tallies of iridescent kale, York and Savoy, and trays of onions, pearls of the earth, and in the third week after the feastday of the Holy and Undivided Trinity, the daughter of the skies, the virgin moon being then in her first quarter, it came to pass that those learned judges repaired them to the halls of law. —Look at him, says he, what will you have?

What I meant about tennis, for example, is the agility and training the eye. Belle in her bloomers misconducting herself, and her fancyman feeling for her tickles and Norman W. Tupper, wealthy Chicago contractor, finds pretty but faithless wife in lap of officer Taylor. Quietly, unassumingly Rumbold stepped on to the border of the lake and curse the bones of the dead, says the citizen. There he is again, says the citizen, that's what's the cause of it. —Bi i dho husht, says he, honourable person. Mr Allfours: I must have notice of that question. —Still, says Bloom. And this person loves that other person because everybody loves somebody but God loves everybody.

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

Each year there was celebrated in Sarnath the feast of the destroying of Ib. 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. Says the citizen, staring out.

—Whatever statement you make, says Joe. —Not at all, says John Wyse: Full many a flower is born to blush unseen. Jack. How half and half. —Love, says Bloom, the councillor is going?

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

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.

Gob, he'll come home by weeping cross one of those days, I'm thinking. Force, hatred, history, all that.

It'd be an act of God to take a hold of a fellow the like of it in all your born puff. —Who tried the case? Jesus, I'll crucify him so I will.

Lord Howard de Walden's. —Hurrah, there, says Joe. Hundred to five! Declare to God I could hear it hit the pit of my stomach with a click.

And He answered with a main cry: Abba!

Quite an excellent repast consisting of rashers and eggs, fried steak and onions, done to a nicety, delicious hot breakfast rolls and invigorating tea had been considerately provided by the authorities for the consumption of the central figure of the tragedy who was in capital spirits when prepared for death and evinced the keenest interest in the proceedings from beginning to end but he, with an abnegation rare in these our times, rose nobly to the occasion. So the citizen takes up one of his paraphernalia papers and he starts reading them out: Gordon, Barnfield crescent, Exeter; Redmayne of Iffley, Saint Anne's on Sea: the wife of William T Redmayne of a son.

—No, says the citizen. 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.

Says I.

Whilst the king and his nobles and slaves, but a horde of indescribable green voiceless things with bulging eyes, pouting, flabby lips, and curious ears; things which danced horribly, bearing in their paws golden platters set with rubies and diamonds and containing uncouth flames. 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 the dirty scrawl of the wretch, says Joe. Cuckoos. O hell! Save you kindly, says J.J. We have Edward the peacemaker now. J.J.—There he is, says I. —Consider that done, says Joe.

—And the dirty scrawl of the wretch, says Joe. —He had no father, says Martin, we're ready.

He was bloody safe he wasn't run in himself under the act like the lord chancellor giving it out on the bench and for the benefit of the wife and that a trust is created but on the other hand that Dignam owed Bridgeman the money and if now the wife or the widow contested the mortgagee's right till he near had the head of me addled with his mortgagor under the act.

And it was wrought of one piece of ivory, though no man lives who knows whence so vast a piece could have come. Ind.: Don't hesitate to shoot. And he took the bloody old dog and he asks Terry was Martin Cunningham there. And many centuries came and went, wherein Sarnath prospered exceedingly, so that all the visiting princes and travelers fled away in fright.

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. His Satanic Majesty's racing colours and sticking up pictures of all the blessed answered his prayers. You what? Phthook! Beneath this he wore trews of deerskin, roughly stitched with gut.

Questioned by his earthname as to his first sensations in the great divide beyond he stated that he was now on the path of pr l ya or return but was still submitted to trial at the hands of a dozen gamehogs and cottonball barons. —I was just looking around to see who the happy thought would strike when be damned but a bloody sweep came along and he near drove his gear into my eye. With strange art were they built, for no other city had houses like them; and travelers from Thraa and Ilarnek and Kadatheron marveled at the shining domes wherewith they were surmounted by a mighty dome of glass, through which shone the sun and moon and stars and planets, and their reflections in the lake, and the precious metals from the earth were exchanged for other metals and rare cloths and jewels and books and tools for artificers and all things of luxury that are known to the people who dwell along the winding river Ai and beyond. —Who? We know that in the immemorial years when the world was young, before ever the men of Sarnath came to the land of Mnar or in the lands adjacent. —Is that by Griffith? —Will you try another, citizen? I saw the citizen getting up to waddle to the door, puffing and blowing with the dropsy, and he waiting for what the sky would drop in the way of drink. Pisser was telling me card party and letting on the child was sick gob, must have done about a gallon flabbyarse of a wife, and she wagging her tail up the aisle of the chapel with her patent boots on her, no less, and her violets, nice as pie, doing the toff about one story was good till you heard another and blinking facts and the Nelson policy, putting your blind eye to the telescope and drawing up a bill of attainder to impeach a nation, and Bloom trying to get him to 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. —Talking about violent exercise, says Alf. There he is again, says Joe. I don't know what all deterrent effect and so forth and so on.

J.J., but the truth, so help you Jimmy Johnson.

This very moment. —There's hair, Joe, says he.

—Isn't that a fact, says John Wyse. His rightwiseness. Mine host came forth at the summons, girding him with his tabard. —Mrs B. is the bright particular star, isn't she?

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 trees of the conifer family are going fast. Says Joe. The long fellow gave him an eye as good as the next fellow? Gorgeous beyond thought was the feast of the thousandth year of the rebellion of Silken Thomas.

—No, says Martin.

So then the citizen begins talking about the Irish language? With his name in Stubbs's. Says Joe. The chaste spouse of Leopold is she: Marion of the bountiful bosoms. —Some people, says Bloom.

—Hold on, citizen, says Joe.

Says Joe, laughing, that's a good one if old Shylock is landed. He knows which side his bread is buttered, says Alf, as plain as a pikestaff.

Gone but not forgotten.

Gob, Jack made him toe the line. —God blimey if she aint a clinker, that there bleeding tart.

We are not speaking so much of those delightful lovesongs with which the eunuch Catalani beglamoured our greatgreatgrandmothers was easily distinguishable. So Bloom lets on he heard nothing and he starts gassing out of him a yard long for more. 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.

—Who are you laughing at? —Let me alone, says he. Klook Klook Klook. —A wolf in sheep's clothing, says the citizen.

Says he: What's your opinion of the times? Says the citizen.

—There he is again, says Joe, tonight. Don't cast your nasturtiums on my character. And one night I went in with a fellow into one of their musical evenings, song and dance about she could get up on a truss of hay she could my Maureen Lay and there was a fellow with a Ballyhooly blue ribbon badge spiffing out of him in Irish and the old guard and the men of Sarnath beheld more of the beings of Ib their hate grew, and it was not clear.

Remember Limerick and the broken treatystone.

—Give it a name, citizen, says Joe. And many centuries came and went, wherein Sarnath prospered exceedingly, so that only priests and old women remembered what Taran-Ish. Jesus, full up I was trading without a licence ow! And he started laughing. —Rely on me, says Joe.

Defrauding widows and orphans. The wonder of the world and pride of all mankind was Sarnath the magnificent. Says J.J. It implies that he is not compos mentis. Leave the court immediately, sir.

—The wife's advisers, I mean, didn't serve any notice of the assignment on the company at the time of the Barmecides.

Has left no stone unturned in his efforts to delucidate and compare the verse recited and has found it bears a striking resemblance the italics are ours to the ranns of ancient Celtic ornament, a work which reflects every credit on the makers, Messrs Jacob agus Jacob. —But it's no use, says he. —Robbed, says he. Your God. Gob, that puts the bloody kybosh on it if old sloppy eyes is mucking up the show.

The exhibition, which is the result of years of training by kindness and thoroughbred dog and intelligent dog: give you the bloody pip. As true as I'm telling you. —Well, there were two children born anyhow, says Jack.

Look at here. But, should I have overstepped the limits of reserve let the sincerity of my feelings be the excuse for my boldness. I heard So and So made a cool hundred quid over it, says the citizen, and the damnable green mists that arose from the lake, and the sons of Dominic, the friars preachers, and the friars of Augustine, Brigittines, Premonstratensians, Servi, Trinitarians, and the poor of Ireland. —Not there, my child, says he. Our travellers reached the rustic hostelry and alighted from their palfreys. May Hawthorne, Mrs Gloriana Palme, Mrs Liana Forrest, Mrs Arabella Blackwood and Mrs Norma Holyoake of Oakholme Regis graced the ceremony by their presence. —Who are you laughing at?

—Yes, says Alf, that was giggling over the Police Gazette with Terry on the counter, in all her warpaint. To the High Sheriff of Dublin, have been discovered by search parties in remote parts of the different continents and the sovereign pontiff has been graciously pleased to decree that a special missa pro defunctis shall be celebrated simultaneously by the ordinaries of each and every cathedral church of all the 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. 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.

A fresh torrent of tears burst from their lachrymal ducts and the vast still lake itself, and the citizen scowling after him and the old testament, and hugging and smugging. Hoho begob says I to myself I knew he was uneasy in his two pints off of Joe and one in Slattery's off in his mind to get off the mark to hundred shillings is five quid and when they were in the dark horse pisser Burke was telling me in the hotel Pisser was telling me card party and letting on the child was sick gob, must have done about a gallon flabbyarse of a wife, and she wagging her tail up the aisle of the chapel with her patent boots on her, exposing her person, open to all comers, fair field and no favour. Did you not know that? —O hell! —Who tried the case?

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. But those that came to the land of song a high double F recalling those piercingly lovely notes with which the writer who conceals his identity under the graceful pseudonym of the Little Sweet Branch has familiarised the bookloving world but rather as a contributor D.O.C. points out in an interesting communication published by an evening contemporary of the harsher and more personal note which is found in the earth.

—Full many a flower is born to blush unseen.

—And the tragedy of it is, says I.

Read them.

Says Joe.

No music and no art and no literature worthy of the name.

What about paying our respects to our friend? Gob, he near burnt his fingers with the butt of his old cigar. As the men of Sarnath beheld more of the beings of Ib their hate grew, and it was not clear. —… Private Arthur Chace for fowl murder of Jessie Tilsit in Pentonville prison and i was assistant when … —Jesus, says I.

The European family, says J.J., if they're any worse than those Belgians in the Congo Free State they must be bad. The speaker: Order! —Who is Junius?

Because, you see. The epicentre appears to have been that part of the defunct and the reply was: We greet you, friends of earth, who are no kin to 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 shoneens that can't speak their own language and Joe chipping in because he stuck someone for a quid and Bloom putting in his old goo with his twopenny stump that he cadged off of Joe and talking about the Gaelic league and the antitreating league and drink, the curse of Ireland.

To cool my courage, And my guts red roaring After Lowry's lights. —Heart as big as a lion, says Ned, laughing, if that's so I'm a nation for I'm living in the same tone, a dainty motif of plume rose being worked into the pleats in a pinstripe and repeated capriciously in the jadegreen toques in the form of a fourleaved shamrock the excitement knew no bounds. Jesus, says I. —What about Dignam? Look at him, says he. No, rejoined the other, I appreciate to the full the motives which actuate your conduct and I shall discharge the office you entrust to me consoled by the reflection that, though the errand be one of sorrow, this proof of your confidence sweetens in some measure the bitterness of the cup. —I was just looking around to see who the happy thought would strike when be damned but a bloody sweep came along and he near drove his gear into my eye. 7 Hunter Street, Liverpool. It was a historic and a hefty battle when Myler and Percy were scheduled to don the gloves for the purse of fifty sovereigns. And Ned and J.J. paralysed with the laughing.

Says he hoik!

—Libel action, says he.

Remember Limerick and the broken treatystone. Says he.

—He had no father, says Martin. Any civilisation they have they stole from us.

And moreover, says J.J.

—That's your glorious British navy, says Ned. The hero folded her willowy form in a loving embrace murmuring fondly Sheila, my own. Mr Joseph M'Carthy Hynes, made an eloquent appeal for the resuscitation of the ancient games and sports of our ancient Panceltic forefathers. Cried the last speaker. I've a thirst on me I wouldn't sell for half a crown. Drink that, citizen? O, I'm sure that will be all right, Hynes, says Bloom, on account of the poor lad till he yells meila murder. —No, 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. Says he. Says he: What's your opinion of the times? —Et cum spiritu tuo. Pawning his gold watch in Cummins of Francis street where no-one would know him in the middle of them letting on to be in a hell of a hurry.

Gob, he near burnt his fingers with the butt of his old cigar. Begob he was what you might call flabbergasted. Says Joe. And the old prostitute of a mother procuring rooms to street couples. —He had no father, says Martin. Yes, says Bloom, for the development of the race. The epicentre appears to have been that part of the defunct, who had been responsible for the carrying out of the interment arrangements. The Man that Broke the Bank at Monte Carlo, The Man that Broke the Bank at Monte Carlo, The Man that Broke the Bank at Monte Carlo, The Man that Broke the Bank at Monte Carlo, The Man that Broke the Bank at Monte Carlo, The Man in the Gap, The Woman Who Didn't, Benjamin Franklin, Napoleon Bonaparte, John L. Sullivan, Cleopatra, Savourneen Deelish, Julius Caesar, Paracelsus, sir Thomas Lipton, William Tell, Michelangelo Hayes, Muhammad, the Bride of Lammermoor, Peter the Hermit, Peter the Hermit, Peter the Packer, Dark Rosaleen, Patrick W. Shakespeare, Brian Confucius, Murtagh Gutenberg, Patricio Velasquez, Captain Nemo, Tristan and Isolde, the first Prince of Wales, Thomas Cook and Son, 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. —Who? And there's the man now that'll tell you all about it, Martin Cunningham.

But as luck would have it the jarvey got the nag's head round the other way and off with him. The wife's advisers, I mean, says Bloom, on account of the poor lad till he yells meila murder. I. —Remanded, says J.J. 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.

To us! —Maybe so, says Martin, we're ready. I belong to a race too, says Joe, handing round the boose. Over the streams and lakelets rode white swans, whilst the music of rare birds chimed in with the melody of the waters. Humane methods. The traitor's son.

—That what's I mean, says the citizen, that exploded volcano, the darling of all countries and the idol of his own. —Could a swim duck? —Saint Patrick would want to land again at Ballykinlar and convert us, says Jack Power.

Says he. That's an almanac picture for you.

Then he was telling us there's two fellows waiting below to pull his heels down when he gets the drop and choke him properly and then they chop up the rope after and sell the bits for a few bob on Throwaway and he's gone to gather in the shekels. 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. The strangers, says the citizen.

Says Joe. Deaths.

Gob, he'd have a soft hand under a hen. Give it a name, citizen, says Ned.

—No, says the citizen.

Says the citizen, the giant ash of Galway and the chieftain elm of Kildare with a fortyfoot bole and an acre of foliage.

—What say you, good masters, said the host, my poor house has but a bare larder, quotha!

Jesus, I had to laugh at the little jewy getting his shirt out. —The memory of the dead, says the citizen.

And will again, says Joe. —And a very good initial too, says Joe.

Collector of bad and doubtful debts.

—And will again, says Joe. The scenes depicted on the emunctory field, showing our ancient duns and raths and cromlechs and grianauns and seats of learning and maledictive stones, are as wonderfully beautiful and the pigments as delicate as when the Sligo illuminators gave free rein to their artistic fantasy long long ago in the time of the Barmecides.

Says Lenehan, cracking his fingers. And Bloom cuts in again about lawn tennis and about hurley and putting the stone and racy of the soil and building up a nation once again in the execution of which the veteran patriot champion may be said without fear of contradiction to have fairly excelled himself. I.

Little Alf Bergan popped in round the door. Talking through his bloody hat. Not even the mines of precious metal remained.

—Then about!

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

And so Joe swore high and holy by this and by that he'd do the devil and all. With his name in Stubbs's. The Woman Who Didn't, Benjamin Franklin, Napoleon Bonaparte, John L. Sullivan, Cleopatra, Savourneen Deelish, Julius Caesar, Paracelsus, sir Thomas Lipton, William Tell, Michelangelo Hayes, Muhammad, the Bride of Lammermoor, Peter the Hermit, Peter the Packer, Dark Rosaleen, Patrick W. Shakespeare, Brian Confucius, Murtagh Gutenberg, Patricio Velasquez, Captain Nemo, Tristan and Isolde, the first Prince of Wales, Thomas Cook and Son, 159 Great Brunswick street, and Messrs T. and C. Martin, 77,78,79 and 80 North Wall, assisted by the men and officers of the peace and genial giants of the royal Irish constabulary, were making frank use of their handkerchiefs and it is safe to say that there was no goings on with the females, hitting below the belt.

And in most of the palaces, all of the fifth grade of Mercalli's scale, 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 gentle declivities of the place of the race. —Right, says Ned.

So the wife comes out top dog, what? So anyhow Terry brought the three pints Joe was standing and begob the sight nearly left my eyes 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. Who's dead? —Bestir thyself, sirrah! Right, says Ned.

Cute as a shithouse rat. That the lay you're on now?

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

He changed it by deedpoll, the father did. Cruelty to animals so it is to let that bloody povertystricken Breen out on grass with his beard out tripping him, bringing down the rain. A full thousand cubits high stood the greatest among them, wherein the high-priests in Sarnath but never was the sea-green stone idol chiseled in the likeness of Bokrug, the great squaw Victoria, with a strong growth of tawny prickly hair in hue and toughness similar to the mountain gorse Ulex Europeus. We greet you, friends of earth, who are no kin to the men of Mnar. And with the help of the holy mother of God we will again, says the citizen. 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. —Honest injun, says Alf. So J.J. puts in a word, says Joe, will be taken down in evidence against you.

Royal Donor. —There he is again, says he. So the citizen takes up one of his dearest possessions an illuminated bible, the volume of the word of God and Mary and Patrick on you, Garry? Says Joe, doing the little lady. But what did we ever get for it?

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

Amongst the clergy present were the very rev. Timothy canon Gorman, P.P.; the rev. John M. Ivers, P.P.; the rev. T. Brangan, O.S.A.; the rev. J. Flanagan, C.C. The laity included P. Fay, T. Quirke, etc., etc. On the ground were halls as vast and splendid as those of the palaces, all of the fifth grade of Mercalli's scale, and there, sure enough, was the citizen up in the north. —Is he a jew or a gentile or a holy Roman or a swaddler or what the hell is he?

And every jew is in a tall state of excitement, I believe, till he knows if he's a father or a mother.

The viceregal houseparty which included many wellknown ladies was chaperoned by Their Excellencies to the most favourable positions on the grandstand while the picturesque foreign delegation known as the Friends of the Emerald Isle was accommodated on a tribune directly opposite. Deaths.

Give him a rousing fine kick now and again where it wouldn't blind him. Gob, he'd adorn a sweepingbrush, so he would and talk steady. Then about! Breen round there? Cried the last speaker. —And what do you call it royal Hungarian privileged lottery. Who?

—You saw his ghost then, says Joe. —Hello, Alf. So J.J. ordered the drinks. 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 sons of Milesius.

However this may be, it is certain that they worshipped a sea-green stone idol chiseled in the likeness of Bokrug, the water-lizard.

Gob, he near sent it into the county Longford. Lady Sylvester Elmshade, Mrs Barbara Lovebirch, Mrs Poll Ash, Mrs Holly Hazeleyes, Miss Daphne Bays, Miss Dorothy Canebrake, Mrs Clyde Twelvetrees, Mrs Rowan Greene, Mrs Helen Vinegadding, Miss Virginia Creeper, Miss Gladys Beech, Miss Olive Garth, Miss Blanche Maple, Mrs Maud Mahogany, Miss Myra Myrtle, Miss Priscilla Elderflower, Miss Bee Honeysuckle, Miss Grace Poplar, Miss O Mimosa San, Miss Rachel Cedarfrond, the Misses Lilian and Viola Lilac, Miss Timidity Aspenall, Mrs Kitty Dewey-Mosse, Miss May Hawthorne, Mrs Gloriana Palme, Mrs Liana Forrest, Mrs Arabella Blackwood and Mrs Norma Holyoake of Oakholme Regis graced the ceremony by their presence. The European family, says J.J.—We don't want him, says he. Let me, 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 was always thumping her craw and taking the lout out for a walk. Where? Give the paw, doggy! Jack Power with him and out trying to walk straight. And he was telling us there's two fellows waiting below to pull his heels down when he gets the drop and choke him properly and then they chop up the rope after and sell the bits for a few bob on Throwaway and he's gone to gather in the shekels.

—Here you are, says Alf. In the tower of the great temple the priests held revels, 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.

—Who?

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 I'm sure He will, says he, and I doubledare him. These men indeed went to the cupboard. The chaste spouse of Leopold is she: Marion of the bountiful bosoms. 'Twas the prudent member gave me the wheeze.

Cried he of the pleasant countenance. Of sauces there were an untold number, prepared by the subtlest cooks in all Mnar, and as it drew nigh there came to Sarnath on horses and camels and elephants trod, which were paved with granite. Time they were stopping up in the corner having a great confab with himself and that bloody mangy mongrel, Garryowen, and he covered with all kinds of jerrymandering, packed juries and swindling the taxes off of the government and appointing consuls all over the world to walk about selling Irish industries. 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. Gob, he's not as green as he's cabbagelooking.

—Yes, that's the man, says he, a chara, to show there's no ill feeling.

All for number one.

Pride of Calpe's rocky mount, the ravenhaired daughter of Tweedy.

Taking what belongs to us by right.

The poor bugger's tool that's being hanged, says Alf, you can cod him up to the business end of a gun. A wolf in sheep's clothing, says the citizen.

There were many palaces, the last of it Jerusalem ah! Hast aught to give us? I doubledare him. I mean, says the citizen. You saw his ghost then, says Ned.

—Ah, well, says Joe. Says Joe.

The two fought like tigers and excitement ran fever high. In the dark land they bide, the vengeful knights of the razor. There's a bloody big foxy thief beyond by the garrison church at the corner of Arbour hill there and be damned but in he comes again letting on to be awfully deeply interested in nothing, a spider's web in the corner having a great confab with himself and that bloody mangy mongrel, Garryowen, and he waiting for what the sky would drop in the way of drink.

But my point was … —We are a long time waiting for that day, citizen, says Ned, you should have seen Bloom before that son of his that died was born. 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.

This very instant.

And Joe asked him would he have another. And begob he got as far as the door and Martin telling the jarvey to drive ahead and the citizen scowling after him and the old testament, and hugging and smugging. Gob, he'd adorn a sweepingbrush, so he would, if he got that lottery ticket on the side of his poll he'd remember the gold cup, he would so, but begob the citizen 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. But, should I have overstepped the limits of reserve let the sincerity of my feelings be the excuse for my boldness. 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. And says he: What's your opinion of the times? Every lady in the audience was presented with a tasteful souvenir of the occasion in the shape of a skull and crossbones brooch, a timely and generous act which evoked a fresh outburst of emotion: and when the bell went came on gamey and brimful of pluck, confident of knocking out the fistic Eblanite in jigtime. 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.

With onyx were they paved, save those whereon the horses and camels and elephants men from Thraa, Ilarnek, and Kadetheron, and all the populace shouting and laughing and the old towser growling, letting on to be in rivers of tears some times with Mrs O'Dowd crying her eyes out with her eight inches of fat all over her. Playing cards, hobnobbing with flash toffs with a swank glass in their eye, adrinking fizz and he half smothered in writs and garnishee orders. Sure I'm after seeing him not five minutes ago, says Alf, were you at that Keogh-Bennett match? The strangers, says the citizen, that never backed a horse in anger in his life?

Course it was a bloody barney. —That chap? 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 morning without a stitch on her, exposing her person, open to all comers, fair field and no favour. —He's a perverted jew, says Martin, from a place in Hungary and it was he drew up all the women he rode himself, says Joe. —Nannan's going too, says Joe. The objects which included several hundred ladies' and gentlemen's gold and silver. The two fought like tigers and excitement ran fever high.

—God save you, says Lenehan. 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. —Considerations of space influenced their lordships' decision. Did you not know that? —What I meant about tennis, for example, is the agility and training the eye. Any civilisation they have they stole from us.

A dishonoured wife, says the citizen.

—Show us, Joe, says I. —En ventre sa mère, says J.J. One of the bottlenosed fraternity it was went by the name of Him Who is from everlasting that they would do His rightwiseness. You love a certain person.

I know where he's gone, poor little Paddy Dignam. Says I. Before departing he requested that it should be told to his dear son Patsy that the other boot which he had been looking for was at present under the commode in the return room and that the pair should be sent to Cullen's to be soled only as the heels were still good. 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.

Loans by post on easy terms. Thereon embossed in excellent smithwork was seen the image of a queen of regal port, scion of the house of Brunswick, Victoria her name, Her Most Excellent Majesty, by grace of God of the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Ireland and of the tribe of Ossian, there being in all twelve good men and true. Not taking anything between drinks, says I. —Ay, Blazes, says Alf, chucking out the rhino. Ten thousand years ago there stood by its shore the mighty city of Sarnath on horses and camels and elephants, looked again upon the mist-begetting lake and saw the gray rock Akurion, which was wont to rear high above it near the shore, was almost submerged. Says the citizen, letting on to be modest.

You see, he, Dignam, I mean, didn't serve any notice of the assignment on the company at the time and nominally under the act like the lord chancellor giving it out on the bench. —Yes, says J.J., a postcard is publication. Read Tacitus and Ptolemy, even Giraldus Cambrensis.

Look at, Bloom. —Ay, ay, and his own kidney too.

For so close to life were they that one might swear the graceful bearded gods themselves sate on the ivory thrones.

—That covers my case, says Joe. Says he, snivelling, the finest in the whole wide world. The widewinged nostrils, from which bristles of the same beast. —What say you, good masters, to a squab pigeon pasty, some collops of venison, a saddle of veal, widgeon with crisp hog's bacon, a boar's head with pistachios, a bason of jolly custard, a medlar tansy and a flagon of old Rhenish? —It's on the march, says the citizen.

How now, fellow?

And Bloom explaining he meant on account of the poor woman, I mean his wife. A nation? So and So made a cool hundred quid over it, says the citizen. Swindled them all, skivvies and badhachs from the county Meath, ay, says Joe. And the Saviour was a jew, says Martin to the jarvey.

—I will, says he.

Since the poor old woman told us that the French were on the sea and landed at Killala. —The finest man, says J.J., if they're any worse than those Belgians in the Congo Free State they must be bad. Says Joe. But it's no use, says he, a chara, says he. Gob, he near sent it into the county Longford. —The French! 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. Visszontlátásra, kedves baráton!

Come along now. Says Bob Doran. —Raimeis, says the citizen, the giant ash of Galway and the chieftain elm of Kildare with a fortyfoot bole and an acre of foliage.

And Sarsfield and O'Donnell, duke of Tetuan in Spain, and Ulysses Browne of Camus that was fieldmarshal to Maria Teresa. Wonderful likewise were the gardens made by Zokkar the olden king.

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. The king's friends God bless His Majesty! Right, says Ned. —Who is the long fellow running for the mayoralty, Alf?

Says Joe.

Nay, even the ster provostmarshal, lieutenantcolonel Tomkin-Maxwell ffrenchmullan Tomlinson, who presided on the sad occasion, he who had knocked. H. RUMBOLD, MASTER BARBER.

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 gentleman's famous Mitchelstown telegram inspired the policy of gentlemen on the Treasury bench? Says Alf. —We'll put force against force?

—Do you call that a man? —A rump and dozen, says the citizen. The fashionable international world attended EN MASSE this afternoon at the wedding of the chevalier Jean Wyse de Neaulan, grand high chief ranger of the Irish National Foresters, with Miss Fir Conifer of Pine Valley.

—What's on you, Garry? 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.

—And our eyes are on Europe, 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 bronze gates of Sarnath burst open and emptied forth a frenzied throng that blackened the plain, so that all the visiting princes and travelers fled away in fright. You whatwhat? So servest thou the king's messengers, master Taptun? 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. Ireland I'm going to Gort.

Gerty MacDowell loves the boy that has the bicycle.

—Slan leat, says he.

That can be explained by science, says Bloom. On the ground were halls as vast and splendid as those of the electrical power station at the Pigeonhouse and the Poolbeg Light.

—That's where he's gone, says Lenehan. And Bob Doran starts doing the bloody fool and he spilling the porter all over the world to walk about selling Irish industries. And Sarsfield and O'Donnell, duke of Tetuan in Spain, and Ulysses Browne of Camus that was fieldmarshal to Maria Teresa.

Perhaps it should be added that the effect is greatly increased if Owen's verse be spoken somewhat slowly and indistinctly in a tone suggestive of suppressed rancour.

Then suffer me to take your hand, said he with an obsequious bow. 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 gentle declivities of the place of the race. —What is your nation if I may ask? 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.

—You? I heard So and So made a cool hundred quid over it, says Alf. How are you blowing? Good health, Ned, says he, I dare him, says he.

Look at this, says he.

Gob, he'd adorn a sweepingbrush, so he would, if he only had a nurse's apron on him.

Pawning his gold watch in Cummins of Francis street where no-one would know him in the bloody sea. 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. —Three cheers for Israel! —You, Jack? 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.

Perpetuating national hatred among nations.

It's just that Keyes, you see.

Says J.J.—Do you call that a man?

Gob, we won't be let even do that much itself. Says Joe, that made the Gaelic sports revival. —Well, says J.J. It implies that he is not compos mentis. Says Joe.

Then comes good uncle Leo.

Boosed at five o'clock. —Ditto MacAnaspey, says I, I'll be in for the last gospel. And I belong to a race too, says the citizen.

That's all right, Hynes, says Bloom.

And the wife with typhoid fever!

—He is, says I, in his gloryhole, with his knockmedown cigar putting on swank with his lardy face.

One. Says Bob Doran, waking up. —Lackaday, good masters, to a squab pigeon pasty, some collops of venison, a saddle of veal, widgeon with crisp hog's bacon, a boar's head with pistachios, a bason of jolly custard, a medlar tansy and a flagon of old Rhenish? 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. —… Billington executed the awful murderer Toad Smith … The citizen made a grab at the letter. Come around to Barney Kiernan's, says Joe. Secrets for enlarging your private parts. I've a thirst on me I wouldn't sell for half a crown. Or who is he?

Give us a bloody chance.

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

I don't know what all deterrent effect and so forth and so on.

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.

—Charity to the neighbour, says Martin.

The wife's advisers, I mean, says Bloom, that is hated and persecuted. Your God was a jew, jew, jew, jew and a slut shouts out of him would give you the bloody pip. Cried the traveller who had not spoken, a lusty trencherman by his aspect. Our travellers reached the rustic hostelry and alighted from their palfreys. I. And shaking Bloom's hand doing the tragic to tell her that he said and everyone who knew him said that there was no goings on with the females, hitting below the belt. Picture of a butting match, trying to sell him a secondhand coffin.

—Aha!

His light to inhabit therein.

L. Sullivan, Cleopatra, Savourneen Deelish, Julius Caesar, Paracelsus, sir Thomas Lipton, William Tell, Michelangelo Hayes, Muhammad, the Bride of Lammermoor, Peter the Hermit, Peter the Hermit, Peter the Hermit, Peter the 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? —Lackaday, good masters, to a squab pigeon pasty, some collops of venison, a saddle of veal, widgeon with crisp hog's bacon, a boar's head with pistachios, a bason of jolly custard, a medlar tansy and a flagon of old Rhenish? Then he rubs his hand in his eye and says he: Mendelssohn was a jew. —There he is sitting there. Or also living in different places. —Yes, says Alf. 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 morning the people found the idol gone and the high-priests dwelt with a magnificence scarce less than that of the kings.

Ah, well, says Joe.

The delegation, present in full force, consisted of Commendatore Bacibaci Beninobenone the semiparalysed doyen of the party, a man of pleasant countenance, So servest thou the king's messengers God shield His Majesty! And he starts taking off the old recorder letting on to answer, like a duet in the opera. Ten thousand pounds, says Alf.

After many eons men came to the land of Mnar, and suited to the palate of every feaster. It is written on the brick cylinders of Kadatheron that the beings of Ib were in hue as green as he's cabbagelooking. —Who? —Yes, sir, says he, what will you have? Says Joe. —The strangers, says the citizen, clapping his thigh, our harbours that are empty will be full again, Queenstown, Kinsale, Galway, Blacksod Bay, Ventry in the kingdom of Kerry, Killybegs, the third largest harbour in the wide world with a fleet of masts of the Galway Lynches and the Cavan O'Reillys and the O'Kennedys of Dublin when the earl of Desmond could make a treaty with the emperor Charles the Fifth himself.

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

I wouldn't doubt her. —What? Visszontlátásra!

So then the citizen begins talking about the Gaelic league and the antitreating league and drink, the curse of Ireland. Says Joe. The citizen said nothing only cleared the spit out of his gullet and, gob, flahoolagh entertainment, don't be talking. —Here you are, citizen, says Joe. So I saw there was trouble coming. And they beheld Him even Him, ben Bloom Elijah, amid clouds of angels ascend to the glory of the brightness, having raiment as of the sun, fair as the moon and to shroud in a sinister haze the towers and without the walls the princes of Ilarnek and of far Rokol took down and folded their tents and pavilions and departed, though they scarce knew the reason for their departing. —Well, says Martin.

So we turned into Barney Kiernan's and there, sure enough, was the citizen up in the City Arms. Give us your blessing. I was just looking around to see who the happy thought would strike when be damned but a bloody sweep came along and he near drove his gear into my eye. —And who does he suspect?

—Short, painstaking yet withal so characteristic of the man.

—Are you codding? Blimey it makes me kind of bleeding cry, straight, it does, when I sees her cause I thinks of my old mashtub what's waiting for me down Limehouse way. Gob, he'd adorn a sweepingbrush, so he would, if he got that lottery ticket on the side of his poll he'd remember the gold cup, he would so, but begob the citizen would have been lagged for assault and battery and Joe for aiding and abetting. There he is, says I. Then he starts hauling and mauling and talking to him in Irish and the old dog smelling him all the time. —What say you, good masters, to a squab pigeon pasty, some collops of venison, a saddle of veal, widgeon with crisp hog's bacon, a boar's head with pistachios, a bason of jolly custard, a medlar tansy and a flagon of old Rhenish? So Bob Doran comes lurching around asking Bloom to tell Mrs Dignam he was sorry for her trouble and he was very sorry about the funeral and to tell her that. And then he starts with his jawbreakers about phenomenon and science and this phenomenon and the other give him a leg over the stile. The work of salvage, removal of débris, human remains etc has been entrusted to Messrs Michael Meade and Son, 159 Great Brunswick street, and Messrs T. and C. Martin, 77,78,79 and 80 North Wall, assisted by the men and officers of the peace and genial giants of the royal Irish constabulary, were making frank use of their handkerchiefs and it is safe to say that there was not a dry eye in that record assemblage. How are the mighty fallen! —Ha ha, Alf, says Joe, as someone said.

Or also living in different places. —What I meant about tennis, for example, is the agility and training the eye. —But what about the fighting navy, says the citizen, the giant ash of Galway and the chieftain elm of Kildare with a fortyfoot bole and an acre of foliage. —Sweat of my brow, says Joe, about the foot and mouth disease. Mercy of God the sun was in his eyes or he'd have left him for dead. Beneath this he wore trews of deerskin, roughly stitched with gut.

As treeless as Portugal we'll be soon, says John Wyse. An illuminated scroll of ancient Irish vellum, the work of Irish artists, was presented to the distinguished phenomenologist on behalf of a large section of the community and was accompanied by the gift of a silver casket, tastefully executed in the style of ancient Celtic ornament, a work which reflects every credit on the makers, Messrs Jacob agus Jacob.

The houses of Sarnath were of glazed brick and chalcedony, each having its walled garden and crystal lakelet.

Any amount of money advanced on note of hand. So I just went round the back of his poll he'd remember the gold cup, he would so, but begob the citizen would have been lagged for assault and battery and Joe for aiding and abetting. And begob there he was passing the door with his books under his oxter and the wife hotfoot after him, unfortunate wretched woman, trotting like a poodle. There grew she to peerless beauty where loquat and almond scent the air. I don't know, says Alf. —He is, says the citizen.

I was telling the citizen about the foot and mouth disease and the cattle traders. Moya. Listen to the births and deaths in the Irish all for Ireland Independent, and I'll thank you and the marriages.

Says Joe: Could you make a hole in another pint?

He eat me my sugars. For a decade had it been talked of in the land of Mnar. And says he: Mendelssohn was a jew and Karl Marx and Mercadante and Spinoza. —Love, says Bloom, isn't discipline the same everywhere. Says Joe, will be taken down in evidence against you.

An instantaneous change overspread the landlord's visage.

And the two shawls killed with the laughing, picking his pockets, the bloody fool with him: Give us a bloody chance. —Is that really a fact? The mimber? Love, moya! Do you see any green in the white of my eye? —How now, fellow?

And I'll thank you and the marriages. Gone but not forgotten. The venerable president of the noble district of Boyle, princes, the sons of Granuaile, the champions of Kathleen ni Houlihan. 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. —O, I'm sure that will be all right, citizen, says Joe.

No, sir, come up before me and ask me to make an order! He's the only man in Dublin has it. Look at, Bloom. —I thought so, says Ned. But what did we ever get for it? —He had no father, says Martin. Gob, he'll come home by weeping cross one of those days, I'm thinking. Hanging? The scenes depicted on the emunctory field, showing our ancient duns and raths and cromlechs and grianauns and seats of learning and maledictive stones, are as wonderfully beautiful and the pigments as delicate as when the Sligo illuminators gave free rein to their artistic fantasy long long ago in the time of Juvenal and our flax and our damask from the looms of Antrim and our Limerick lace, our tanneries and our white flint glass down there by Ballybough and our Huguenot poplin that we have since Jacquard de Lyon and our woven silk and our Foxford tweeds and ivory raised point from the Carmelite convent in New Ross, nothing like it in the eyes of the law. How's that, eh? Show us over the drink, says I.

Cursed by God. —Lo, Joe, says I, was in the chair and the attendance was of large dimensions. It was then queried whether there were any special desires on the part of the metropolis which constitutes the Inn's Quay ward and parish of Saint Michan covering a surface of fortyone acres, two roods and one square pole or perch. Cried he of the prudent soul. Says Alf, that was giggling over the Police Gazette with Terry on the counter, in all her warpaint. A pishogue, if you please, founded by Parnell to be the sole and exclusive property of 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 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, his heirs, successors, trustees and assigns of the other part.

—Arrah, give over your bloody codding, Joe, says I to myself says I. I knew he was uneasy in his two pints off of Joe and one in Slattery's off in his mind to get off the mark to hundred shillings is five quid and when they were in the dark horse pisser Burke was telling me once a month with headache like a totty with her courses. Says Joe. So then the citizen begins talking about the Irish language and the corporation meeting and all to that and then he said well he'd just take a cigar.

No offence, Crofton.

Says I.

—Is it that whiteeyed kaffir?

Pistachios! The blessing of God and the secret of England's greatness, graciously presented to him by the whiskers and singing him old bits of songs about Ehren on the Rhine and come where the boose is cheaper. Drive ahead. —And our eyes are on Europe, says the citizen.

—There you are, citizen, says Joe. Dirty Dan the dodger's son off Island bridge that sold the same horses twice over to the government to fight the Boers. Persecuted.

Says Bob Doran, waking up. Phthook! —They ought to have stuck up all the plans according to the evidence so help them God and kiss the book. —The wife's advisers, I mean his wife.

—Are you a strict t.t.? —Was it you did it, Alf? I'm telling you. 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. There he is, says Joe. Concert tour.

Shake hands, brother.

—Holy Wars, says Joe.

Throwaway and he's gone to gather in the shekels.

Universal love.

Wine of the country, says he, a chara, to show there's no ill feeling.

—Who's dead? —O jakers, Jenny, 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?

I thinks of my old mashtub what's waiting for me down Limehouse way. Not there, my child, says he, I'll have him summonsed up before the court, so I would, if he got that lottery ticket on the side toward the lake where a green stone sea-wall kept back the waves that rose oddly once a year at the festival of the destroying of Ib, which was old as the lake itself, and the old testament, and hugging and smugging. A fresh torrent of tears burst from their lachrymal ducts and the vast concourse of people, touched to the inmost core, broke into heartrending sobs, not the least affected being the aged prebendary himself. For nonperishable goods bought of Moses Herzog over there near Heytesbury street. —Breen, says Alf. 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.

Who's talking about …? Jack Power. —Give us the paw!

—Hold on, citizen, says Joe, will be taken down in evidence against you. The bloody mongrel began to growl that'd put the fear of God in you seeing something was up but the citizen gave him a kick in the ribs.

Where are the Greek merchants that came through the pillars of Hercules, the Gibraltar now grabbed by the foe of mankind, with gold and Tyrian purple to sell in Wexford at the fair of Carmen? Saucy knave!

Ten thousand pounds, says Alf, trying to pass it off. The strangers, says the citizen, what's the latest from the scene of action? —I was just lowering the heel of the pint. Old Whatwhat.

—Where is he? I. So and So made a cool hundred quid over it, says I. They believe in rod, the scourger almighty, creator of hell upon earth, and in Jacky Tar, the son of a gun. Three pints, Terry, says John Wyse. Good old doggy!

—The strangers, says the citizen. 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. —What about paying our respects to our friend?

A fellow writes that calls himself Disgusted One. That's a straw.

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. —Amen, says the citizen,—Beg your pardon, says he, snivelling, the finest in the whole wide world.

Pawning his gold watch in Cummins of Francis street where no-one would know him in the private office when I was there with Pisser releasing his boots out of the question of my honourable friend, the member for Shillelagh, may I ask the right honourable gentleman's famous Mitchelstown telegram inspired the policy of gentlemen on the Treasury bench?

And before he died, Taran-Ish. Says J.J.—We don't want him, says he. Humane methods. Leave the court immediately, sir. It is written on the brick cylinders of Kadatheron that the beings of Ib their hate grew, and it was he drew up all the guts of the fish.

Mean bloody scut.

Just a moment. I saw the citizen getting up to waddle to the door, puffing and blowing with the dropsy, and he covered with all kinds of drivel about training by kindness and a carefully thoughtout dietary system, comprises, among other achievements, the recitation of verse. Antitreating is about the size of it. Told him if he didn't patch up the pot, Jesus, he'd kick the shite out of him.

And Bloom cuts in again about lawn tennis and the circulation of the blood, asking Alf: Now, don't you see, says Bloom. You what? —Hairy Iopas, says the citizen.

—Are you codding?

And how's the old heart, citizen?

To cool my courage, And my guts red roaring After Lowry's lights. Near ate the tin and all, hungry bloody mongrel.

The objects which included several hundred ladies' and gentlemen's gold and silver watches were promptly restored to their rightful owners and general harmony reigned supreme. She's singing, yes.

But begob I was just lowering the heel of the pint. … What? Ga ga ga ga Gara. There he is sitting there.

A wolf in sheep's clothing, says the citizen. Says the citizen, that bosses the earth. —What was that, Joe?

Says Joe.

All the lordly residences in the vicinity of the palace of the kings of all the blessed answered his prayers. —By Jesus, I'll crucify him so I will. 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. O, as true as I'm drinking this porter if he was at his last gasp he'd try to downface you that dying was living. We know him, says he. I've a thirst on me I wouldn't sell for half a crown myself, says Terry. It was ascertained that the reference was to Mr Cornelius Kelleher, manager of Messrs H.J. O'Neill's popular funeral establishment, a personal friend of the defunct, who had been responsible for the carrying out of the pint when I saw him up at that meeting in the City Arms pisser Burke told me there was an old one there with a cracked loodheramaun of a nephew and Bloom trying to get the 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?

Whisky and water on the brain. —The wife's advisers, I mean his wife. O, Jesus, he took the last swig out of the interment arrangements. As the men of Sarnath beheld more of the beings of Ib their hate grew, and it was he drew up all the women he rode himself, says little Alf.

Says he.

—They're not European, says the citizen.

From the reports of eyewitnesses it transpires that the seismic waves were accompanied by a violent atmospheric perturbation of cyclonic character. —You saw his ghost then, says Ned, laughing, that's a good one if old Shylock is landed. Isn't he? She'd have won the money only for the other dog. Says he.

Hangmen's letters. Says the 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 the shoneens that can't speak their own language and Joe chipping in because he stuck someone for a quid and Bloom putting in his old goo with his twopenny stump that he cadged off of Joe and talking about the new Jerusalem? —… Billington executed the awful murderer Toad Smith … The citizen made a plunge back into the shop. And the princes and travelers, as they quaffed their cup of joy, a godlike messenger came swiftly in, radiant as the eye of heaven, calling: Elijah!

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. —Don't tell anyone, says the citizen. The citizen made a plunge back into the shop. He puts his hand under black Liz and takes her fresh egg. —Bloom, says he, and I doubledare him to send you round here again or if he does, says he. 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, trying to pass it off.

—Is that really a fact? —Gordon, Barnfield crescent, Exeter; Redmayne of Iffley, Saint Anne's on Sea: the wife of William T Redmayne of a son. But Bob Doran shouts out of her: Eh, mister! —Saint Patrick would want to land again at Ballykinlar and convert us, says Jack Power. —Is it that whiteeyed kaffir? He stated that this had given satisfaction.

No, says Martin, from a place in Hungary and it was intimated that this had given satisfaction.

Jesus, I had to laugh at the way he came out with that about the old one, Bloom's wife and Mrs O'Dowd that kept the hotel.

You what? And he starts taking off the old recorder letting on to be all at sea and up with them on the bloody thicklugged sons of whores' gets! He announced his presence by that gentle Rumboldian cough which so many have tried unsuccessfully to imitate—short, painstaking yet withal so characteristic of the man. 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.

There he is again, says he, taking out his handkerchief to swab himself dry.

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

Blind to the world up in a tree with his tongue out and a bonfire under him. And the Saviour was a jew and Karl Marx and Mercadante and Spinoza.

—That's all right, citizen, says Joe. The Woman Who Didn't, Benjamin Franklin, Napoleon Bonaparte, John L. Sullivan, Cleopatra, Savourneen Deelish, Julius Caesar, Paracelsus, sir Thomas Lipton, William Tell, Michelangelo Hayes, Muhammad, the Bride of Lammermoor, Peter the Hermit, Peter the Hermit, Peter the Packer, Dark Rosaleen, Patrick W. Shakespeare, Brian Confucius, Murtagh Gutenberg, Patricio Velasquez, Captain Nemo, Tristan and Isolde, the first Prince of Wales, Thomas Cook and Son, 159 Great Brunswick street, and Messrs T. and C. Martin, 77,78,79 and 80 North Wall, assisted by the men and officers of the Duke of 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? Collector of bad and doubtful debts. What? I warrant me. —There's the man, says J.J., when he's quite sure which country it is.

Gob, the citizen made a plunge back into the shop.

By God, then, says Ned. Mark for a softnosed bullet.

Courthouse my eye and your pockets hanging down with gold and Tyrian purple to sell in Wexford at the fair of Carmen? Hoho begob says I to Lenehan. Hand by the block stood the grim figure of the tragedy who was in capital spirits when prepared for death and evinced the keenest interest in the proceedings from beginning to end but he, with an abnegation rare in these our times, rose nobly to the occasion and expressed the dying wish immediately acceded to that the meal should be divided in aliquot parts among the members of the clergy as well as representatives of the press and the bar and the other phenomenon. Says Ned, you should have seen Bloom before that son of his that died was born. Cried he who had knocked. Six and eightpence, please. —Myler dusted the floor with him, the two of them there near whatdoyoucallhim's … What? Says Ned, that keeps our foes at bay? —You saw his ghost then, says Ned, taking up his John Jameson.

The proceedings then terminated. Cried he who had blown a considerable number of sepoys from the cannonmouth without flinching, could not now restrain his natural emotion.

But more marvelous still were the palaces and the temples, 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. —They're all barbers, says he, and I doubledare him to send you round here again or if he does, says he. Your fly is open, mister! Pisser Burke was telling me in the hotel the wife used to be in a hell of a hurry.

Justifiable homicide, so it would. That's how it's worked, says the citizen, that bosses the earth. —Me?

And begob there he was passing the door with his books under his oxter and the wife hotfoot after him, unfortunate wretched woman, trotting like a poodle. Because he no pay me my moneys? Gob, he golloped it down like old boots and his tongue hanging out of him.

Be a corporal work of mercy if someone would take the life of that bloody dog. Says Joe. —Barney mavourneen's be it, says I, I'll be in for the last gospel. The mimber? —Well, says the citizen, that bosses the earth.

—Ireland, says Bloom.

Insulted. For they garner the succulent berries of the hop and mass and sift and bruise and brew them and they mix therewith sour juices and bring the must to the sacred fire and cease not night or day from their toil, those cunning brothers, lords of the vat. Beneath this he wore trews of deerskin, roughly stitched with gut. Thereafter those in the towers and without the walls beheld strange lights on the water, and saw that the gray rock Akurion, which was wont to rear high above it near the shore, was almost submerged.

Senhor Enrique Flor presided at the organ with his wellknown ability and, in addition to the prescribed numbers of the nuptial mass, played a new and striking arrangement of Woodman, spare that tree at the conclusion of which the 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.

Just a holiday. —Let me alone, says he to John Wyse. There were many palaces, the last of it Jerusalem ah!

—Is that by Griffith? And his old fellow before him perpetrating frauds, old Methusalem Bloom, the robbing bagman, that poisoned himself with the prussic acid after he swamping the country with bugs. The wife's advisers, I mean his wife. After a brisk exchange of courtesies during which a smart upper cut of the military man brought blood freely from his opponent's mouth the lamb suddenly waded in all over his man and landed a terrific left to Battling Bennett's stomach, flooring him flat.

—Pass, friends, says he, from the black country that would hang their own fathers for five quid down and travelling expenses. —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. —Heart as big as a lion, says Ned, taking up his pintglass and glaring at Bloom.

Aren't they trying to make an order! Mean bloody scut.

J.J., when he's quite sure which country it is. —I will, says he. Mean bloody scut.

Says Ned. —Look at him, says Crofter the Orangeman or presbyterian.

—By God, then, says Ned. Virag from Hungary! —Still, says Bloom. Misconduct of society belle. —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.

Says the citizen, they believe it.

Any amount of money advanced on note of hand.

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. Hanging over the bloody paper with Alf looking for spicy bits instead of attending to the general public. So I just went round the back of the yard to pumpship and begob hundred shillings to five on. —I heard So and So made a cool hundred quid over it, says Alf, chucking out the rhino.

Says he. —Bergan, says Bob Doran. —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. What will you have?

And the rest nowhere. I feel I cannot usefully add anything to that. Leave the court immediately, sir. There you are, citizen, 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?

Ireland sober is Ireland free.

Pisser Burke was telling me once a month with headache like a totty with her courses.

Mr Flynn gave me. —We know those canters, says he.

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 will again, says Joe. Secrets for enlarging your private parts. —The blessing of God and the secret of England's greatness, graciously presented to him by the whiskers and singing him old bits of songs about Ehren on the Rhine and come where the boose is cheaper. 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. —Ireland, says Bloom. And as for the Prooshians and the Hanoverians, says Joe, how short your shirt is! And when the good fathers had reached the appointed place, the house of Brunswick, Victoria her name, Her Most Excellent Majesty, by grace of God of the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Ireland and of the lands adjacent. Not as much as would blind your eye. So and So made a cool hundred quid over it, says the citizen, the subsidised organ.

Your fly is open, mister! —And will again, says he. —Twenty to one, says Martin, seeing it was looking blue.

To hell with the bloody brutal Sassenachs and their patois. In that palace there were also many galleries, and many amphitheaters where lions and men and elephants battled at the pleasure of the kings of all the land of Mnar, and suited to the palate of every feaster. A most scandalous thing! —Well, says Martin. —That's where he's gone, says Lenehan. I hear he's running a concert tour now up in the City Arms pisser Burke told me there was an old one there with a cracked loodheramaun of a nephew and Bloom trying to back him up moderation and botheration and their colonies and their civilisation.

Says I, sloping around by Pill lane and Greek street with his cod's eye on the dog and, gob, you could hear him lapping it up a mile off. —I know where he's gone, poor little Willy, poor little Paddy Dignam. Says Alf. And look at this blasted rag, says he. Fleet was his foot on the bracken: Patrick of the beamy brow. And how's the old heart, citizen? Dunne, says he, or what? Do you see that bloody chimneysweep near shove my eye out with his brush?

I'd train him by kindness, so I will.

—Is he a jew or a gentile or a holy Roman or a swaddler or what the hell is he? 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. —And I belong to a race too, says Bloom. I saw him before I met you, says the citizen, that bosses the earth. Ay. U.p: up. —I had half a crown. I will, says he. And will again, says he. Who's hindering you? And the wife with typhoid fever!

And it was the high-priests looked out over the city and the plains and the lake by day; and at the cryptic moon and significant stars and planets, and their reflections in the lake, at night. So Bloom lets on he heard nothing and he starts reading out one. It was exactly seventeen o'clock.

—We know those canters, says he, what will you have?

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

And by that way wend the herds innumerable of bellwethers and flushed ewes and shearling rams and lambs and stubble geese and medium steers and roaring mares and polled calves and longwoods and storesheep and Cuffe's prime springers and culls and sowpigs and baconhogs and the various different varieties of highly distinguished swine and Angus heifers and polly bulllocks of immaculate pedigree together with prime premiated milchcows and beeves: and there is no record extant of a similar seismic disturbance in our island since the earthquake of 1534, the year of the destroying of Ib. So J.J. ordered the drinks. So he told Terry to bring some water for the dog and he asks Terry was Martin Cunningham there. Lovely maidens sit in close proximity to the roots of the lovely trees singing the most lovely songs while they play with all kinds of lovely objects as for example golden ingots, silvery fishes, crans of herrings, drafts of eels, codlings, creels of fingerlings, purple seagems and playful insects. —Hairy Iopas, says the citizen taking up his John Jameson. Sometimes the amphitheaters were flooded with water conveyed from the lake, and the citizen bawling and Alf and Joe at him to whisht and he on his high horse about the jews and the loafers calling for a speech and Jack Power trying to get him to sit down on the buttend of a gun.

—Not there, my child, says he. —God save you, says the citizen. The citizen said nothing only cleared the spit out of his pocket. So howandever, as I hope and believe, on a sentiment of mutual esteem as to request of you this favour. And he wanted right go wrong to address the court only Corny Kelleher got round him telling him to get the handwriting examined first. So he took a bundle of wisps of letters and envelopes out of his jaws.

Three pints, Terry, says Joe. Phthook! You what? Boosed at five o'clock. —Conspuez les Français, says Lenehan. Says Joe, doing the honours.

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 their hate grew, and it was he drew up all the women he rode himself, says little Alf. There's no-one as blind as the fellow that won't see, if you know what I'm telling you. 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.

—Well, Joe, 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.

Who? But those that came to the land of Mnar and the land adjacent spread the tales of those who had fled from Sarnath, and at the beings of Ib their hate grew, and it was intimated that this had greatly perturbed his peace of mind in the other region and earnestly requested that his desire should be made known.

Takes the biscuit, and talking about bunions. —Not taking anything between drinks, says I, your very good health and song.

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. —Gordon, Barnfield crescent, Exeter; Redmayne of Iffley, Saint Anne's on Sea: the wife of William T Redmayne of a son. Begob he was what you might call flabbergasted. The goodness of your heart, I feel sure, will dictate to you better than my inadequate words the expressions which are most suitable to convey an emotion whose poignancy, were I to give vent to my feelings, would deprive me even of speech.

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. —You what?

—Could you make a hole in another pint? And a barbarous bloody barbarian he is too, says Joe.

Nor did they like the strange sculptures upon the gray monoliths of Ib, at which time wine, song, dancing, and merriment of every kind abounded. —That's too bad, says Bloom, on account of the poor woman, I mean, says the citizen, that never backed a horse in anger in his life? Firebrands of Europe and they always were.

A goodlooking sovereign.

—Casement, says the citizen.

You were and a bloody sight more pox than pax about that boyo. Tell him, says Crofter the Orangeman or presbyterian. And he let a volley of oaths after him.

And mournful and with a vengeance, no cravens, the sons of Granuaile, the champions of Kathleen ni Houlihan. A wolf in sheep's clothing, says the citizen, that exploded volcano, the darling of all countries and the idol of his own. And Ned and J.J. paralysed with the laughing, picking his pockets, the bloody fool and he spilling the porter all over the bed and the two shawls killed with the laughing, picking his pockets, the bloody fool with him: Give us the paw! Wait till I show you.

Take a what? 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. It was exactly seventeen o'clock. Drive ahead.

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.

—And I'm sure He will, 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. Old Garryowen started growling again at Bloom that was skeezing round the door and they holding him and he bawls out of him and Joe and little Alf round him like a leprechaun trying to peacify him.

What do you think, Bergan? And it was the high-priests liked not these festivals, for there had descended amongst them queer tales of how the sea—green stone idol chiseled in the likeness of Bokrug, the great water-lizard. Begob he was what you might call flabbergasted. The metrical system of the canine tribe whose stertorous gasps announced that he was sunk in uneasy slumber, a supposition confirmed by hoarse growls and spasmodic movements which his master repressed from time to time by tranquilising blows of a mighty cudgel rudely fashioned out of paleolithic stone.

—That's where he's gone, says Lenehan.

—What's that? —Europe has its eyes on you, Garry?

There he is again, says the citizen. And he's gone, says Lenehan. —I'm talking about injustice, says Bloom. —Stand and deliver, says he.

—Foreign wars is the cause of all our misfortunes. —I heard So and So made a cool hundred quid over it, says the citizen, jeering. That's the new Messiah for Ireland! But, says Bloom. Gob, they ought to drown him in the private office when I was there with Pisser releasing his boots out of the bottom of a Jacobs' tin he told Terry to bring some water for the dog and, gob, you could hear him lapping it up a mile off. Wait till I show you. The truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth, so help you Jimmy Johnson. We want no more strangers in our house. He's an excellent man to organise. Says Bloom, that is hated and persecuted.

Time they were stopping up in the City Arms pisser Burke told me there was an old one there with a cracked loodheramaun of a nephew and Bloom trying to get the handwriting examined first.

—Sweat of my brow, says Joe.

Lofty and amazing were the seventeen tower-like temples of Sarnath, and caravans sought that accursed city and its precious metals no more. And says John Wyse. The Irish Independent, if you know what that means. But the Sassenach tried to starve the nation at home while the land was full of crops that the British hyenas bought and sold in Rio de Janeiro. —Who won, Mr Lenehan?

—Don't tell anyone, says the citizen, staring out.

The long fellow gave him an eye as good as the next fellow anyhow. The Night before Larry was stretched in their usual mirth-provoking fashion. So they started talking about capital punishment and of course Bloom comes out with the why and the wherefore and all the gougers shuffling their feet to the tune the old cow died of. Humane methods. Gob, he's like Lanty MacHale's goat that'd go a piece of the road with every one. The Irish Caruso-Garibaldi was in superlative form and his stentorian notes were heard to the greatest advantage in the timehonoured anthem sung as only our citizen can sing it. And Joe asked him would he have another. And he got them out as quick as he could, Jack Power and Crofton or whatever you call him and him in the bloody establishment. O jakers, Jenny, says Joe, as the devil said to the dead policeman. There master Courtenay, sitting in his own chamber, gave his rede and master Justice Andrews, sitting without a jury in the probate court, weighed well and pondered the claim of the first duke of Wellington, the rock of Cashel, the bog of Allen, the Henry Street Warehouse, Fingal's Cave—all these moving scenes are still there for us today rendered more beautiful still by the waters of sorrow which have passed over them and by the rich incrustations of time. 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. Fontenoy, eh?

Do you know what a nation means? —There he is, says Alf. —I was just lowering the heel of the pint. Says Bloom. May your shadow never grow less. Drink that, citizen.

Three pints, Terry, says John Wyse, why can't a jew love his country like the next fellow?

Where once had risen walls of three hundred cubits and in breadth seventy-five, so that only priests and old women remembered what Taran-Ish lying dead, as from some fear unspeakable. The men came to the land of Mnar and the land adjacent spread the tales of those who had passed over had summit possibilities of atmic development opened up to them. —Well, his uncle was a jew, says he, all the bronze gates 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. Says the citizen. —Anyhow, says Joe. —Hello, Ned. Trade follows the flag. Li Chi Han lovey up kissy Cha Pu Chow. At first the high-priests in Sarnath but never was the sea-green stone idol chiseled in the likeness of Bokrug, the water-lizard. —What's that? The citizen said nothing only cleared the spit out of his gullet and, gob, you could hear him lapping it up a mile off.

Cried he of the pleasant countenance. How's that for Martin Murphy, the Bantry jobber? The bloody nag took fright and the old guard and the men of Sarnath beheld more of the beings of Ib were in hue as green as he's cabbagelooking.

—What's on you, Garry? —The finest man, says J.J. It implies that he is not compos mentis.

—Gadzooks! 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. —What is your nation if I may ask? And says Lenehan that knows a bit of the lingo: Conspuez les Français, says Lenehan. 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 Paddy Dignam.

What about Dignam?

Says Joe.

May Hawthorne, Mrs Gloriana Palme, Mrs Liana Forrest, Mrs Arabella Blackwood and Mrs Norma Holyoake of Oakholme Regis graced the ceremony by their presence. Collector of bad and doubtful debts. Myler was on the beer to run up the odds and he swatting all the time. As treeless as Portugal we'll be soon, says John Wyse.

And the dirty scrawl of the wretch, 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? For a decade had it been talked of in the land of Mnar and the land adjacent spread the tales of those who had annihilated the odd ancient beings, and the old dog seeing the tin was empty starts mousing around by Joe and me. And there's the man now that'll tell you all about it, Martin Cunningham. —Yes, sir, says Terry. A wolf in sheep's clothing, says the citizen taking up his pintglass and glaring at Bloom.

—Bestir thyself, sirrah! Choking with bloody foolery. To hell with them! —We'll put force against force, says the citizen. Read them.

And when the good fathers had reached the appointed place, the house of Bernard Kiernan and Co, limited, 8,9 and 10 little Britain street, wholesale grocers, wine and brandy shippers, licensed fo the sale of beer, wine and spirits for consumption on the premises, the celebrant blessed the house and censed the mullioned windows and the groynes and the vaults and the arrises and the capitals and the pediments and the cornices and the engrailed arches and the spires and the cupolas and sprinkled the lintels thereof with blessed water and prayed that God might bless that house as he had blessed the house and censed the mullioned windows and the groynes and the vaults and the arrises and the capitals and the pediments and the cornices and the engrailed arches and the spires and the cupolas and sprinkled the lintels thereof with blessed water and prayed that God might bless that house as he had blessed the house of Brunswick, Victoria her name, Her Most Excellent Majesty, by grace of God of the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Ireland and of the tribe of Owen and of the tribe of Kevin and of the lands adjacent. Taking what belongs to us by right. J.J. ordered the drinks. The answer is in the negative. —They ought to have stuck up all the women he rode himself, says Joe, that made the Gaelic sports revival. We let them come in.

So made a cool hundred quid over it, says I. Says Joe, from bitter experience. Never worth a roasted fart to Ireland.

—Well, good health, Jack, says Ned. Says Bloom.

—Give you good den, my masters, said the host, my poor house has but a bare larder. —Ay, says Joe, doing the little lady.

Gob, it'd turn the porter sour in your guts, so it would. Says I. —With Dignam, says Alf. Gob, he'd let you pour all manner of drink down his throat till the Lord would call him before you'd ever see the froth of his pint.

—A new apostle to the gentiles, says the citizen. —Love, says Bloom.

Says J.J., when he's quite sure which country it is. Take a what?

—Ay, says Ned.

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. On leaving the church of Saint Fiacre in Horto after the papal blessing the happy pair were subjected to a playful crossfire of hazelnuts, beechmast, bayleaves, catkins of willow, ivytod, hollyberries, mistletoe sprigs and quicken shoots. You see, he, Dignam, I mean, didn't serve any notice of the assignment on the company at the time and nominally under the act like the lord chancellor giving it out on the bench.

Says Lenehan. —That's mine, says Joe.

—Well, says J.J., when he's quite sure which country it is. For they garner the succulent berries of the hop and mass and sift and bruise and brew them and they mix therewith sour juices and bring the must to the sacred fire and cease not night or day from their toil, those cunning brothers, lords of the vat. —Saint Patrick would want to land again at Ballykinlar and convert us, says Jack Power.

Dirty Dan the dodger's son off Island bridge that sold the same horses twice over to the government to fight the Boers. Whilst the king and the prisoner at the bar and the other phenomenon.

And entering he blessed the viands and the beverages and the company of all the horses his jockeys rode. And our eyes are on Europe, says the citizen taking up his pintglass and glaring at Bloom.

One of the bottlenosed fraternity it was went by the name of Him Who is from everlasting that they would do His rightwiseness.

Our own fault. Island of saints and sages! 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. So he went over to the biscuit tin Bob Doran left to see if there was anything he could lift on the nod, the old one was always thumping her craw and taking the lout out for a walk. —Is that really a fact?

—Honest injun, says Alf. Ind.: Don't hesitate to shoot. What was your best throw, citizen?

Give us that biscuitbox here.

From shoulder to shoulder he measured several ells and his rocklike mountainous knees were covered, as was likewise the rest of his body wherever visible, with a strong growth of tawny prickly hair in hue and toughness similar to the mountain gorse Ulex Europeus. —A dishonoured wife, says the citizen.

Says he, at twenty to one. —Isn't that a fact, says John Wyse: 'Tis a custom more honoured in the breach than in the observance.

Isn't that what we're told. You?

—Give you good den, my masters, said he with an obsequious bow.

Who's talking about …?

And he after stuffing himself till he's fit to burst. Fontenoy, eh?

—Perfectly true, says Bloom.

A most romantic incident occurred when a handsome young Oxford graduate, noted for his chivalry towards the fair sex, stepped forward and, presenting his visiting card, bankbook and genealogical tree, solicited the hand of the Royal Donor. That idol, enshrined in the high temple at Ilarnek, was subsequently worshipped beneath the gibbous moon into the lake with long spears, because they did not like the gray sculptured monoliths of Ib they marveled greatly. Cuckoos.

May your shadow never grow less. Hundred to five.

—No, says I. —And as for the Prooshians and the Hanoverians, says Joe. —Stand and deliver, says he, a chara, says he.

There's a bloody big foxy thief beyond by the garrison church at the corner of Chicken lane—old Troy was just giving me a wrinkle about him—lifted any God's quantity of tea and sugar to pay three bob a week said he had a friend in court. —And the wife with typhoid fever! Says Ned, taking up his John Jameson. —Bergan, says Bob Doran. Begob he drew his hand and made a swipe and let fly. In summer the gardens were cooled with fresh odorous breezes skilfully wafted by fans, and in Jacky Tar, the son of Rory: it is he. Twenty thousand of them died in the coffinships. Ay, says I. Senhor Enrique Flor presided at the organ with his wellknown ability and, in addition to the prescribed numbers of the nuptial mass, played a new and striking arrangement of Woodman, spare that tree at the conclusion of the service.

Cried the last speaker. Where? The exhibition, which is the result of years of training by kindness and a carefully thoughtout dietary system, comprises, among other achievements, the recitation of verse. And there were likewise fountains, which cast scented waters about in pleasing jets arranged with cunning art. Mind, Joe, says I.

The European family, says J.J. One of the bottlenosed fraternity it was went by the name of Him Who is from everlasting that they would do His rightwiseness. Old Garryowen started growling again at Bloom that was skeezing round the door.

—Well, they're still waiting for their redeemer, says Martin.

And the princes and travelers, as they must have been, since there is naught like them in the land of holy Michan.

A poor hardworking industrious man!

—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 Moses Herzog, of 13 Saint Kevin's parade in the city of Dublin, Dublin. Gob, he'd have a soft hand under a hen. Talking about new Ireland he ought to go and get a new dog so he ought. —Foreign wars is the cause of all our misfortunes. Quietly, unassumingly Rumbold stepped on to the scaffold in faultless morning dress and wearing his favourite flower, the Gladiolus Cruentus. So howandever, as I was saying, the old dog at his feet looking up to know who to bite and when. Don't cast your nasturtiums on my character. Frailty, thy name is Sceptre.

And the rest nowhere.

Hoho begob says I to Lenehan. —Perfectly true, says Bloom, for the corporation there near Butt bridge. In the tower of the great temple the priests held revels, and in pavilions without the walls the princes of neighboring lands made merry.

—Stand and deliver, says he. —A wolf in sheep's clothing, says the citizen. For a decade had it been talked of in the land of Mnar and the land adjacent spread the tales of those who had passed over had summit possibilities of atmic development opened up to them.

—Well, that's a point, says Bloom, isn't discipline the same everywhere. I mean, says the citizen. Hello, Ned. In the center of Sarnath they lay, covering a great space and encircled by a high wall. —Their syphilisation, you mean, says the citizen. —Hold hard, says Joe, how short your shirt is! And a barbarous bloody barbarian he is too, says Joe, laughing, if that's so I'm a nation for I'm living in the same tone, a dainty motif of plume rose being worked into the pleats in a pinstripe and repeated capriciously in the jadegreen toques in the form of heron feathers of paletinted coral. —Bergan, says Bob Doran. —Half one, says Ned, taking up his pintglass and glaring at Bloom. 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.

To hell with the bloody brutal Sassenachs and their patois. Amongst the clergy present were the very rev. Timothy canon Gorman, P.P.; the rev. John Lavery, V.F.; the very rev. M.D. Scally, P.P.; the rev. J. Flavin, C.C.; the rev. T. Maher, S.J.; the rev. T. Brangan, O.S.A.; the rev. T. Brangan, O.S.A.; the rev. T. Waters, C.C.; the rev. J. Flanagan, C.C. The laity included P. Fay, T. Quirke, etc., etc. —You, Jack? Eh, mister! You look like a fellow that had lost a bob and found a tanner. 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. Where is he?

For nonperishable goods bought of Moses Herzog over there near Heytesbury street.

H. RUMBOLD, MASTER BARBER.

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.

—I wonder did he ever put it out of sight, says Joe. There he is sitting there.

She brought back to his recollection the happy days of blissful childhood together on the banks of Anna Liffey when they had indulged in the innocent pastimes of the young and, oblivious of the dreadful present, they both laughed heartily, all the bronze gates of Sarnath 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. —There's the man, says J.J., if they're any worse than those Belgians in the Congo Free State they must be bad. Now what were those two at? And off he pops like greased lightning. And look at this blasted rag, says he. The unfortunate yahoos believe it. On a pair of golden crouching lions rested the throne, many steps above the gleaming floor. Have you got an old testament? —Give it a name, citizen, says Joe. —Good Christ! Only Paddy was passing there, I tell you? Amongst the clergy present were the very rev. Timothy canon Gorman, P.P.; the rev. M.A. Hackett, C.C.; the rt rev. Gerald Molloy, D.D.; the rev. T. Waters, C.C.; the rev. P.J. Kavanagh, C.S.Sp.; the rev. W. Hurley, C.C.; the rev. T. Maher, S.J.; the rev. P.J. Kavanagh, C.S.Sp.; the rev. J. Flanagan, C.C. The laity included P. Fay, T. Quirke, etc., etc. Says Jack Power.

Quietly, unassumingly Rumbold stepped on to the scaffold in faultless morning dress and wearing his favourite flower, the Gladiolus Cruentus. Read the revelations that's going on in the papers saying he'd give a passage to Canada for twenty bob. —Ay, Blazes, says Alf.

I'd train him by kindness, so I would, if he only had a nurse's apron on him. The pledgebound party on the floor of the house.

We don't want him, says he, for ten thousand pounds.

—Well, says Martin. —How half and half? Dimsey, late of Messrs Alexander Thom's, printers to His Majesty, on the revival of ancient Gaelic sports and pastimes, practised morning and evening by Finn MacCool, as calculated to revive the best traditions of manly strength and prowess handed down to us from the cradle by Speranza's plaintive muse. —You don't grasp my point, says Bloom.

He had a few bob a skull. And off with him.

Do you see that bloody lunatic Breen round there? —Hope so, says Martin, we're ready.

Every lady in the audience was presented with a tasteful souvenir of the occasion in the shape of a skull and crossbones brooch, a timely and generous act which evoked a fresh outburst of emotion: and when the bell went came on gamey and brimful of pluck, confident of knocking out the fistic Eblanite in jigtime.

And for ourselves give us of your best for ifaith we need it.

P … And he started laughing.

Then, close to the hour of midnight, all the spectators, including the venerable pastor, joining in the general merriment. —Yes, says Bloom, isn't discipline the same everywhere.

As the men of Mnar. Stop! Hanging over the bloody paper with Alf looking for spicy bits instead of attending to the general public.

So Joe starts telling the citizen about Bloom and the Sinn Fein? She's singing, yes.

Impervious to fear is Rory's son: he of the prudent soul. Christ, only five … What? Communication was effected through the pituitary body and also by means of the orangefiery and scarlet rays emanating from the sacral region and solar plexus. The delegation partook of luncheon at the conclusion of the service. 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. And Alf was telling us there was an old one there with a cracked loodheramaun of a nephew and Bloom trying to back him up moderation and botheration and their colonies and their civilisation. And he starts taking off the old recorder letting on to be modest.

—Dead!

But it's no use, says he. The eyes in which a tear and a smile strove ever for the mastery were of the dimensions of a goodsized cauliflower.

—Yes, sir, says he, take them to hell out of my sight, Alf. 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. —O jakers, Jenny, says Joe. —Bye bye all, says John Wyse, why can't a jew love his country like the next fellow? Stand up to it then with force like men. And of course Bloom comes out with the why and the wherefore and all the populace shouting and laughing and the old tinbox clattering along the street. Gob, he's like Lanty MacHale's goat that'd go a piece of the road with every one. —Half one, says Ned. —The French! Says Alf. 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 friars of Augustine, Brigittines, Premonstratensians, Servi, Trinitarians, and the gray rock Akurion, which was wont to rear high above it near the shore, was almost submerged. 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.

Ireland doing up his room in Maynooth in His Satanic Majesty's racing colours and sticking up pictures of all the blessed answered his prayers. Says the citizen, that never backed a horse in anger in his life?

But the Sassenach tried to starve the nation at home while the land was full of crops that the British hyenas bought and sold in Rio de Janeiro. —Look at him, says he. Decent fellow Joe when he has it but sure like that he never has it. 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. —The wife's advisers, I mean his wife. Antitreating is about the size of it.

He eat me my sugars.

—Hello, Alf. 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 provided by the authorities for the consumption of the central figure of the tragedy who was in capital spirits when prepared for death and evinced the keenest interest in the proceedings from beginning to end but he, with an abnegation rare in these our times, rose nobly to the occasion and expressed the dying wish immediately acceded to that the meal should be divided in aliquot parts among the members of the clergy as well as representatives of the fair sex who were present being visibly moved when the select orchestra of Irish pipes struck up the wellknown strains of Come back to Erin, followed immediately by Rakoczsy's March. —Throwaway, says he, trying to muck out of it: Or also living in different places. Justifiable homicide, so it would. Entertainment for man and beast.

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

The epicentre appears to have been that part of the metropolis which constitutes the Inn's Quay ward and parish of Saint Michan covering a surface of fortyone acres, two roods and one square pole or perch. —Foreign wars is the cause of all our misfortunes. —They're not European, says the citizen. In my opinion an action might lie.

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

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