#dan han what are you implying here

[badlydrawndrawnings]

the craziness of lemony in atwq telling hector and josephine of the events that went down in atwq 1 and atwq 3, which includes bringing up ellington fient. their responses of ellington feint is along the lines of not trusting her (almost disliking her), despite not meeting her.

the craziness of lemony in atwq telling widdershins of the events that went down in atwq 2 and excludes ellington feint, only telling him of hangfire and his still not yet done treachery. in fact, the omission of ellington feint makes it seems as if she doesn’t even exist.

there’s something about this detail, but what i don’t know.

[ereardon]

A Place Like This [Chapter 2][Rhett Abbott x OC]

Summary: Rhett Abbott has never met a girl like you. You’re a corporate city girl in Wabang on borrowed company time — he thinks there’s no way you would waste it on him. So when you fall for the local bull rider, you’re both a little surprised. What will it take to get Rhett to realize he can give you everything you’re looking for? And will Rhett be able to reconcile the fact that your job is literally to dismantle Wabang and break apart the only place his family has ever known?

Pairing: Rhett Abbott x OC [Julia Han]

WC: 2.9K

Warning: Cursing, implied smut, some violence

Series masterlist here

“Julia, Dan wants to see you in conference room B.” 

You tossed your head back with a groan, slipping your heels on beneath your desk and standing up, smoothing down the buttons of your blouse and grabbing your laptop before clicking down the hall, past the row of partners’ offices. The good offices, the ones with windows and built-in bars and a couch to collapse on when you got too piss drunk to possibly take the train home at midnight after a client meeting. 

Sliding open the glass door, you cleared your throat. 

“Dan? Charles said you asked for me.” 

“Julia!” Dan turned his megawatt smile on you. “Take a seat.” 

His enthusiasm terrified you. Dan got excited about exactly three things. When the White Sox won, the day his wife signed their divorce settlement and he managed to scrape by without a hefty monthly alimony payment, and acquisitions. 

Dan loved the kinds of deals that could blow up in your face. The kind that sucked you dry and left you for the wolves. They were his kryptonite. 

“How’s it going?” you asked, taking a seat in a black leather rolling chair, crossing one leg over another. 

He lowered himself into the chair next to yours at the head of the table and slid a thin folder over. “Ever been to Wyoming?” 

You shook your head. “Never been one for horses. Or cowboys for that matter.” 

Dan chuckled. “You might change your mind after spending a few weeks there.” 

You sighed and flipped open the folder. “Alright, you have my interest. What is it?”

His eyes sparkled and they told you everything you needed to know about this assignment. 

It was going to be bad. People were going to lose their jobs. Maybe they’d even be forced to leave town. You would be a social pariah in a matter of days. 

And you were going to make the firm tens of millions of dollars. 

***

The town was simple. That was an understatement. 

The guy at the airport had apologized profusely when the only rental car left was a slim Honda sedan instead of the luxury model you had made the reservation for. 

You had sighed, climbing into the black car, and driving the hour and a half to Wabang. Halfway through, your Spotify bluetooth cut out and you swore, rapping your fingernails against the leather steering wheel. 

It was a beautiful drive. You had to give Dan some credit. He could have sent anyone, but he chose you. Wyoming was not part of your normal remit for the firm. You were strictly the midwest agent: Chicago, Minneapolis, Milwaukee.

But you were vying for vice president and he knew it. This was your shot to prove your worth in an office of all white middle aged men. They hadn’t wanted to hire the young female associate. You didn’t fit their mold. You hadn’t gone to Northwestern or UMichigan and been a Tri Delt. You didn’t enjoy the steakhouse, cigars after work and strip club aesthetic that the other partners languished in. 

What’s more, you were a woman. A half-Asian woman, no less. Some saw you as a diversity hire. Others said it was the firm finally entering into the twenty-first century. Either way, you had climbed your way up from the bottom. Dan saw it. The other partners did, too. 

Some might say the Wyoming deal was to get you out of the office. But you knew what it was. A lifeline. A fast track to partner.  

It was your shot. 

***

Your corporate housing was a small apartment above the town’s bakery. It smelled like fresh baked bread in the morning and the entire front room was drenched in natural light by early afternoon. You hated that it was lovely, in the most ordinary way. 

Wabang was such a different type of assignment that you hadn’t done the correct research before jumping on the flight. It was a jeans and boots kind of town. You stuck out in your Jimmy Choos, St. Johns suits, Chanel flap bag. You stuck out for a lot of reasons. 

It was apparent from the moment that you got to town there were a handful of bachelors that had placed you on their radar. Perhaps it was the fact that you were fresh meat. Or that you were one of only a handful of unmarried twenty-something women in a town where the average marriage age was undoubtedly early twenties. 

Either way, when a suave-looking blond in a blue button down approached you outside of the local market, his eyes skimming over your dress before landing on your face, white teeth bared in a shockingly luminescent smile, you felt a strange ick wash over you. 

“Hello there,” he said, leaning against the brick of the building. “I’m Luke Tillerson.” 

You nodded. “Julia Han.” 

He smirked. “Where you from, gorgeous? Not from around here, obviously. Would have remembered a thing like you.” 

The urge to gag was clear and present, but you choked it down. “Listen, sweetheart, we don’t have to do this. The answer is no and I think we both know it.” 

An angry red blush crept over Luke’s chest, up his neck, and you saw his eyes bulge slightly. For a moment, you were almost worried that he might reach out and grab you. There was an air about him that gave you reservation. An instability. 

“I don’t mean to be rude,” you followed up quickly, shifting your purse from one side to another, hiking it up on your shoulder. “I’m just in town for a few weeks, tops. I try not to make it a habit of starting things that I can’t follow through with.” 

His fists, which had been balled up against his sides, slowly unwound themselves and you watched him take a deep breath. “Alright, darlin’, guess I gotta accept that.” 

You smiled. “Nice to meet you, Luke.” 

As you turned to walk away, his fingers circled your wrist, tugging you back. A sweat started to break out at your hairline as you turned around, his grip tight and unrelenting. “You change your mind, darlin’, and I’ll be here,” he whispered gruffly, standing so close you could smell his astringent aftershave. “Tillerson ranch. Come by anytime.” 

Luke dropped your wrist and you shook it out at your side. You were used to men like him. Men who took because they thought it was owed to them. Men who had never heard the word no before in their lives. 

They were dangerous. Almost as dangerous as you. 

***

Rhett fiddled with his keys, leaning up against the side of the truck, eyes scanning the main street of Wabang for your signature heels. 

The comment you had made as you walked out of the door at the bar the night before terrified him. You terrified him, in a way. In the best way possible. 

He needed to know what you meant. Even though a part of him wanted to get away, leave Wabang in the dust, Rhett knew that he would always be inextricably tied to this place. This land. His family was Wabang. 

Finally, he spotted you leaving a door near the bakery, dark sunglasses covering most of your face. You had traded in the black heels for a pair of nude ones, and the black dress for a pale blue one that offset your olive skin and dark hair. 

He stepped out onto the sidewalk in your direct path and watched as you lifted the sunglasses to the top of your head and smiled, heading his way. 

“Rhett,” you said softly and just the sound of your voice sent a jolt of electricity down his spine. “How are you?” 

He nodded. “Good,” he whispered gruffly. You took in his hat, worn jeans and boots. It was the morning, still early, and you wondered what exactly he did when he wasn’t riding bulls. “I, uh, I was hoping we could talk again.”

You smiled. “Yeah, sure.” 

“Now?” he said, lips curled up in a soft smile. “Diner’s right over there.” He pointed one long finger to a building down the road. 

“I actually have a meeting with the Mayor in ten minutes,” you replied. “But I’m free for dinner?” 

Rhett felt his chest constrict. He didn’t want to jump the gun and assume it was a date. But the way you were looking at him — sparkling eyes, lips pushed together in a perfect pout. He hoped you meant it as a date. “Yeah, OK,” he nodded. “I’ll pick you up at seven?” 

“Alright. I’m staying right down there. Apartment over the bakery.” 

Rhett nodded and smiled again. “I’ll be there.” 

You slid your sunglasses on and pressed one hand to his muscular bicep, squeezing it gently. “Looking forward to it.” 

***

Rhett waited nervously on the sidewalk outside of your apartment. He was early. Royal had asked him to stay late rebuilding a fence but he had brushed his father off, not letting on that he was taking the newcomer out to dinner. 

Your arrival in town had whipped up a flurry of rumors, but it appeared that only Rhett knew your true reasoning for appearing in Wabang. The Mayor was notably silent about the fact that a corporation wanted to take over the town. He had failed, and a man like him hated to go down without a fight. 

At seven on the dot, he stepped forward and pressed the metal buzzer for the upstairs apartment. Your voice rang through, muffled by the decades old technology. “Coming!”

You swung the door open, almost knocking Rhett off of his feet. He was standing too close to the door, not expecting you to swing it open so violently. 

“Shit!” he whispered as the metal nearly skimmed him and you immediately reached out, pressing your hands to his face. 

“Oh my God, I’m sorry!” you said quickly, brushing your fingers across his cheeks and then down his arms, eyes doing a quick assessment. “Are you OK? Did it hit you?” 

He smiled and shook his head, a small section of hair falling into his face. He had a quiet way of observing his surroundings and Rhett simply stretched out his fingers, catching your own as your hands slid down his arms, checking for cuts or scrapes. “I’m fine, darlin’,” he murmured. 

Rhett gripped one of your hands tightly, leading you out onto the sidewalk into the passenger seat of his truck. He pulled open the door, helping you up, and you smiled, climbing in. 

“So where are we going?” you asked once he was settled into the driver’s seat, reversing out of the spot, one hand on the headrest of your seat. You couldn’t help but watch the muscles rippling beneath his clean shirt. 

“Restaurant one town over,” he said in his gravelly voice. “‘Bout a ten minute drive.” 

“Why one town over?” 

Rhett shot you a look, eyebrows raised. “Cause we have some stuff to talk about and I have a feeling you’ll be a little more forthcoming outside of city limits.” 

You chuckled and leaned back against the seat. “So you don’t want to be seen with the town pariah?” 

“Trust me, a man wants to be seen with a girl like you on his arm.” 

***

You ordered a gin and lime over ice, which made Rhett raise his eyebrows. He had you pegged as a red wine girl, or maybe a whiskey sour on a particular night. Not straight gin. 

“So, what’s it like being a bull rider?” you asked. 

“It’s not important or special, really. Just the one thing I felt like I could do around here.” 

“Well it’s interesting to me,” you replied, taking a sip of your drink before leaning forward, sliding your arm around the top of the curved booth backrest, fingers dancing lightly on Rhett’s shoulder. 

He blushed. “I’m sure a city girl like you needs a lot more to be impressed,” he said. “Bet I can’t compete with the kinds of guys you’re used to.” 

You shook your head. “Those guys are all the same. They’re boring, in the absolutely worst ways.” You skimmed a nail across his shoulder toward the slight curl of hair at the nape of his neck. “So you’re wrong. It doesn’t take more to impress me.” 

Rhett could barely focus. His brain was short circuiting as you brushed your fingers across his shoulders and neck. He was acutely aware that you had your legs crossed under the large booth table, one foot wedged tightly beneath his calf. 

He wanted to reach out and touch you, feel your warmth under his fingertips, but he stopped himself as the waitress set down your food. 

“Tell me why you’re really here.” His voice was low and husky. “The deal, the town.” 

You shook your head again. “I said too much last night. It’s business, Rhett. Nothing personal.” 

“You can’t drop a bomb like that and walk away.” 

There was something in his voice that you couldn’t place. You had read him the moment he came up to you in the bar. He was stuck. But perhaps you had overestimated how much he wanted to leave Wabang. 

He was going to take this much more personally than you had hoped. 

“Rhett,” you whispered, placing your fork down on the plate and sliding one hand onto his thigh. He froze, blue eyes hooked on yours. “Honey, trust me when I say I don’t like doing this. But I was sent here to do a job. And I have to see it through.” 

“But who is the buyer?” he asked. “What does this mean for the town? For my ranch.” 

“Your ranch? I thought you said you were a bull rider?” 

“My family has a ranch,” he said softly and the realization began to sink in. He was tied to the town in a way you hadn’t imagined. “Abbott ranch, out on Route Eight. Over next to the Tillersons.” 

“Tillerson,” you repeated. “Like Luke Tillerson?” 

Rhett tensed. “Yeah. You know him?” 

“He kind of cornered me the other day. Tried to ask me out and I said no and he didn’t take it too well.” 

“What do you mean, didn’t take it too well?” 

“Rhett, it’s nothing.” 

“Julia, it’s not nothing,” he said, his eyes trained on yours. “What did he do?” His voice was low, venomous. There was something there. It wasn’t just jealousy. It was years of competition and anger boiled down into a volatile slurry. You could almost feel it radiating off of him. 

“He asked me out and I said no, that I don’t date while I’m on assignment. And then when I went to walk away he grabbed my wrist, hard, pulling me back. That was it.” You rubbed your fingers softly on his thigh. “Rhett, please, it was nothing. Let’s move on.” 

He slammed one fist onto the table, rattling the plates, and you gasped. The other tables around you shot dirty looks, but Rhett looked at the ground, biting his bottom lip. 

“Rhett,” you said and the anger in your voice made him look up. “No. We’re not going to do this. Either you let this go or I’m walking away.” 

“Shit,” he muttered, wiping his hands on his napkin. “Julia, I’m sorry.” His fingers curled over yours where they sat on his thigh. “I’m sorry,” he repeated. 

You nodded. “It’s alright.”

As you turned back to your dinner, sliding your hand from his leg, Rhett’s mind jumped in circles. What did you mean you didn’t date people on assignment? What was this dinner if that was the case?

When the waitress dropped off the check, you reached for it and Rhett shot you a look. 

“No,” he said forcefully and you hated that it made you wet between your thighs. “Don’t even think about it, sweetheart.” 

You smiled. “Alright, whatever you say, Rhett.” You didn’t want to point out that you made mid-six figures and he was a bull rider. You got the sense it would be deeply offensive to him if you tried to pay. 

Outside, you took a deep breath. The air was so fresh compared to Chicago. Rhett towered over you, even in your heels, one hand pressed against the building wall as he leaned to the side. 

“Did you have a nice time?” you whispered. 

Rhett nodded, a small smile curving his perfect pink lips. “I did, yeah. Did you?” 

He didn’t understand what you were after. What you wanted from him. What you wanted in general. He didn’t understand anything about you. In fact, you terrified him to his core. He had never known a woman like you and that terrified him because all he wanted was to pull you in, press his lips to yours, spend the next fifty years learning every inch of your body with his mouth and hands and mind. 

So when you leaned forward and skimmed your hand through his hair near his ear, pulling his neck down, locking your lips against his, his heart threatened to explode from his body. 

“Yeah,” you whispered, lips still grazing his. “I had a great time.” 

Tag list: @double-j @momc95 @sadpetalsstuff @seresinhangmanjake @shanimallina87 @starrynightskyz @writercole @endofdays56 @coffeeandcuriosities @xoxabs88xox

[shinysobi]

Solhwi fic request: ou know this quote by Mr Darcy when Elizabeth asks him when he realized his feelings for her:

"I cannot fix on the hour, or the spot, or the look or the words, which laid the foundation. It is too long ago. I was in the middle before I knew that I had begun."

Something like this for established attorney and prosecutor solhwi who share an apartment: one day all of a sudden sol asks joon hwi 'why me? when? how it all started?' And he answers. And fluff and mush follows

Thank you in advance if you pick this stupid ask

omg omg omg i love this!! so here's a lil drabble for u :)

rated t (implied stuff, theyve been dating for a long time, so y'know, stuff)

thank u for making this ask omg (*￣3￣)

they had finished doing everything. the walls, the fixtures, everything had been done. it took them a long time, yes, but they were finally here.

han joon-hwi and kang sol, in the next chapter of their lives, no matter how chaotic. they were in the middle of seoul, in their first apartment, one that let the sunlight in (too much sunlight, joon argued), one that was away from all the bad memories of lee man ho and the apartment that he had taken up.

still, there had been good memories for her in that tiny, dingy little ground floor apartment, memories of her and byeol, her and dan, her and joon, all mixed in this glorious kaleidoscope that she allowed herself to revisit on days she felt nostalgic. most efficient when with a drink, professor kim had told her once, dont let your emotions get better of you, but if you do, remember to have a drink by your side.

so there they are, she muses with a can of beer in her hand, two "law professionals" (although they dont make as much money as either would like, struggling to pay off both their loans) in the middle of seoul, one a prosecutor, the other, an attorney. joon was a rising star in the prosecution in his own right--people knew his potential, people recognised it as a n entity separate from that of his uncle. she wouldn't admit to it, but she was regarded as a rising star in the scene, she was kind, she was passionate, and everyone knew she would go the extra mile to help her client. so they are here, setting up their house, in the middle of everything in their lives.

"get those boxes for me, please," joon's voice calls for her, and she stirs into action, setting her can on the table and picking up the heavy box of law books that would now be a part of their home, and struggles under the weight of it, before straightening up to go and give them to joon.

he doesn't call by a term of endearment--she can count on one hand how many times she's heard the word jagiya or yeobo fall from his lips, always kang sol, always the same name with which he had called her in those hallways of hankuk law. it's comforting, in a way.

"here," she says, placing them on the ground beside him and sitting down cross-legged to admire the work of art that was the huge bookshelf, filled to the brim with books that they had either hoarded from their university days, or recently bought, "i got the books, mr. prosecutor."

joon starts, looking at her, and gives her a smile, "thank you, attorney kang." its strange, the way the name rolls off of his tongue, but she's learnt to take the compliment, after so many years.

"attorney?" she scoffs, watching the way he places books in the shelf, one after the other, calculated and precise, "han joon-hwi. one moment."

"yes?" he turns to her, eyes wide, and its a reminder of how different the two of them are, the prosecutor and the attorney, han joon-hwi and kang sol. he had asked her out in a moment like this, helping her arrange documents in her office, just a look and a simple question, will you go out with me, kang sol? on most days, she doesn't need reassurance from him, but today, in the dying sunlight, kang sol feels as though she needs to hear from him exactly why he asked her.

"why do you like me?" she blurts out, and joon-hwi's eyes widen for a split second, before he laughs, and she has to shake her head, "i'm serious, joon-hwi. why did you ask me out? when did you decide that you wanted to ask me out?"

he stops at that, looking intently at her for a second, until he turns back to his books, "you mean when did i start liking you?"

"yes, in a way."

"there really isn't a time, though," he turns around to face her, "if i could say, i'd say the moment you pulled the highlighter out of your bun to avoid being asked for a question. or the time you defended me in a mock trial in front of the dean. or even the moment when you worked to get my indictment overturned."

she blushes, not knowing what to say. joon's always been the better with words, using them to his advantage, and it is no different now, with him grinning as he takes in her flustered face, "do you want to hear more, kang sol?" he teases, and sol tries to block her ears, but he's faster than her, grabbing her hands to keep them at her side, "the time you scammed me in the bookstore, the time you ran out of the dorms because professor yang was in the hospital, the time--"

"ah, stop!" she exclaims, wrenching her hands free and placing them over joon-hwi's mouth, "i told you to stop!" his eyes are gleaming with happiness as she pushes him away from her, "i'll seriously kill you if you dont stop--oof!"

she's silenced by his insistent mouth on hers, feeling the smile in joon-hwi's kiss as he intertwines their fingers. no matter how long they have been dating, kissing joon feels the same, its the same butterflies in her stomach, the same dizziness in her mind.

"you're funny, han joon-hwi," she grumbles once they break apart, "and a cheater."

"cheater?" his eyes grow wide, but he's still grinning, "are you accusing me of cheating? me, a prosecutor?"

"yes," she smiles, "cheater," before attempting to get away, but joon-hwi is faster (curse his reflexes) and he catches ahold of her, before pulling her down onto his lap, "cheater."

"you're dating this cheater," he grins, "wouldnt that make you an accomplice?"

"how dare you--" but he's kissing her again, effectively stopping all kinds of thought, mumbling against his mouth, "cheater."

he smiles, breaking apart, "well then, how would you like to spend an afternoon with this cheater, ms attorney?"

she squints, "we have a lot of work to do."

he smiles again, "work can wait."

"you're right," she replies, grinning as he picks her up with ease, "work can wait."

[goddamnmuses-a]

Dan Watches: Star Wars: Episode IV - A New Hope

Alright so I did this for Episode I which you can find here and then Episode II which you can find here and then Episode III which you can find here. So here’s my weird live reaction/note taking/whatever this is.. to Episode lV.

I remember this being my favourite of the original trilogy because it sets everything up and basically kick started everything but lets see if that changes when i’ve finally got through all of these. 

Also I’m just watching whatever version i can find online because I can’t be bothered to go and find my dvd of it so yeah.. whether we get weird updated version or original effects or whatever, who knows. 

All the old effects like how C3p0 looks and r2d2 are impressive. 

There wasn’t really anything in the opening crawl i felt like commenting on, no big THEY DID THAT IN THE OPENING? but i guess it’s the first one that came out so that makes sense. 

WTF did the stormtroopers use to get that door open, that was so explosive wtf.

Also the blasters are like set to 10000 and smoke is everywhere. 

How did nobody shoot the dorids?

Yooo little Ani nice suit my dude. 

Hold on, she sent a msg with r2 to go to Obiwan which for 1 howd she know he’s alive? I’m gonna presume her dad said or something and 2.. ..why not just.. go yourself? 

So when they’re set to stun a Stormtrooper can shoot someone no problem

Also we dont get enough stun weird circle blaster shots

Ohhhh she didnt go because the scan for lifeforms thing alright ill allow it

but my dude.. even so.. maybe just shoot it just in case? like.. droids exist and people know about them?

DARTH VADERS LITTLE HANDS ON HIPS! Omfg he’s like “God damn, this bitch again.”

This Vader is a sassy boy. 

I love this guy who works with Vader and doesnt mind chatting back to him. 

Loving the droids in the desert. 

R2 does not look like it would work in a desert. 

C3 like “He tricked me into going this way” stop being a lil bich. 

WOOTINI!

The crawler thingy is badass. 

I thought that was a magnet it was just a big sucky pipe. 

GONK

Oh yep theres the new effects. 

Droids sleep? I guess power saver mode. 

Wtf is that dome droid

Luke! Luuuuuke! Iconic 2 words there. Well reused for that episode of Rebels where Obiwan watches from a distance. 

Bocce.. what a classic language. 

OMG OWEN JUST LET HIM GO INTO TOSHE STATION TO PICK UP SOME POWER CONVERTERS JEEEEZ 

How is that “wasting time with friends” and not chores, going into town to get something sounds like a chore to me. 

Why did they get an atromech anyway? Like.. what’d they need the other droid for? 

C3 is a real bro lbh, if it wasn’t for him, R2 would be with the jawa still. 

Oooh oil bath. sexy. 

I wonder if people ship R2 and C3 because tbh it makes sense to me. 

Luke got an erection at the mention of the rebellion. 

Now it’s getting harder at that random blurry image of his sister. 

R2 is a cheeky lil shit. 

This is just some good home life shit. 

Dat soundtrack. 

You know what.. it’s a really nice home. 

Is it just me or is Owen dressed kinda Jedi-y. 

So is “Sand People” like the racist way to say “Tusken Raider”?

Obiwan, thats a ridiculous fucking noise. 

“Hello There” iconic. 

You know what the Prequels do add a lot to this. 

A young Jedi named Darth Vader.. im sorry.. thats just not a name. 

For someone who wants to get off the planet, Lukes like “Naa but i gotta get home”

Obiwan also just being like “You know what, fuck it here.. lets go.”

You know what as much of a bitch as that guy who gets force choked is, he’s a good actor. 

Also Tarkin yay. 

NOOOOO OWEN AND BERU! YOU BASTARDS!

I feel like he should have dropped to his knees or something there. 

That is a scary droid. 

Cool door close. 

Thats a weird ass CG droid with a hole in. 

None of the other storm troopers gonna wonder why Dave’s being weird? 

Wahey! Figrin Dan and the Model Nodes! Love that Jizz music. 

Who just ugs on the back of a bartenders shirt? Wtf Luke

Yo he didnt even pay for his drink, free drinks?

Who gets the death sentance in 12 systems and goes around bragging? 

The first arm cut off and theres all sortsw of blood which there shouldnt be because lightsabers cauterize the wound, tut tut. 

Gooood scene with Han and Obi, honestly i keep forgetting to comment because im just watching xD

Wahey! Greedo 

If we’re doing a han shot first thing.. Greedo shot first in this version and missed and then Han shot him but tbh i prefer the Han shot first.. makes him more interesting. 

Jabba looks smaller. 

Casual Boba Fett appearance. 

Yooo Poncho. My boy Cal approves. 

Fuck those weird long nose aliens. 

The Falcon looks so good. 

Get those poor guys by the Death Star laser a damn rail. 

We just cool with igniting the lightsaber in front of Han and Chewie? Chewie at least knows wtf it is.

Chewie is a badass. 

Let the Wookie win. 

WTF that isnt the lightspeed effect.. it’s like a weird blanket tunnel 

The fact they get onto the Death Star with no issue is kind of ridiculous. 

The motion of Darth Vader is kinda just.. not fitting right. 

Han just pat Chewie like hes a dog. Rude. 

Han just gets caught up in this without a choice rly. 

He just wants those sweet credits. 

Also Set Design on Star Wars is amazing. 

Leia just lounging all sexy like 

Also does she have a stain on her tit? .. Not that im looking >.>

The Jedi being called a religion is kinda weird but i guess accurate. 

This has to be the worst star to a friendship for all three of them. Chewie seems cool though. 

I also thought the trash compactor scene was earlier on in this movie than it is. 

Who the fucks voice was it that said “Thats your imagination” ? 

How the fuck are they standing if the water is that deep?

I liek the touch of the monster whos name im sure i learnt but forgot let go as if it knew the trash compactor was about to turn on, that implies it has a safe spot down there that it stays. 

Some of the voices sound off on this but ah well 

Hans already a little Handsy with Leia but i think Harrison Ford was sleeping with Carie at the time so like.. i get it. 

Obiwan just strolling about, as you do. 

I love just these giant pits with walkways with no rails. If I worked on the Death Star it’d be a nightmare for me to get around. 

“NO WAIT THEY’LL HEAR!” ...and they’re not gonna hear you shouting?

Stormtroopers just shooting the shit is the best. 

You know what with everyone being like “Wow that ships a shitheap.” I can understand why the prequels made their ships look nicer and newer. 

I love that shooting a door panel in star wars just makes it so the doors wont open at all, thats some good shit. 

Lukes as bad of a shot as a Stormtrooper. 

First little kissy incesty moment but hey it was on the cheek, universally thats fine but im sure at the time this was him setting up that Luke and Leia were gonna end up together, before he decided they were siblings. 

Vader just standing there, lightsaber already out like “Ahhh Mr.Kenobi I’ve been expecting you”

As lack luster as the chroeography is in this fight im kinda thinking of it as like, they’re reading each other, like Obiwan and Maul’s final fight. 

I don’t really know why Obiwan just chooses to die like that but heyo. 

Vader stomping on Obiwans clothes? Why? I guess because he gave himself to the force and thats the first time he’s seen that? 

I love the gunner seats moving around, idk why i just love it. 

Whats the point of the ear peices if they’re just gonna shout at each other. 

Not mentioned it until now but everyone says Leia wrong. 

They’re really harsh to Han tbf

This is like if you got an Uber to a place and then the Uber driver got pulled into a police station because you’re a terrorist and then you have a go at the Uber driver for wanting to leave after he’s got you out of there. 

Another kiss for Luke.. .. okay

I like how Biggs earlier scenes are deleted so when he shows up it’s just this random dude who somehow knows Luke

That air traffic control guy has no idea what hes doing, nobody is even in the air yet or moving, wait. 

Man X wings are cool, makes me think of Battlefronts VR mission thing where you get to pilot one and it’s the coolest VR thing ive done. 

For a space station the size of a moon you’d think they’d have enough fighters to just wipe out the rebels no biggy. 

ALSO if they know the rebel base is on that planet, why not just blow that planet up? 

YAY WEDGE

The targetting computer seems very invasive. 

Those turrets are useless. 

I would have rated it if they let that random dude blow up the Death Star.

Tarkins thinking face is beautiful. What a man, 

If Luke missed this shot, everyone knows he’s turned his targetting computer off, so they would be PISSED

RIP R2. 

HWHAT!? 

Woooo Mr.Solo. 

Well.. Well done Luke you killed a lot of people, some just trying to do a job and live their lives. 

Han, Leia and Luke all went off together all holding each other.. like.. Threesome? 

I’m sorry but after that, someones doing some fucking. 

Leia just giving her lovers, dont @ me, a medal. Thats why Chewie doesnt get one, he wasnt there for the orgy. 

R2 looking fresh. 

You know what, that is a good complete story that actually works on its own, i appreaciate that. 10/10. :P

[chanoyu-to-wa]

Nampō Roku, Book 3 (17):  the Question of Whether the Guests Should Move to the Shoin After the Service of Tea in the Small Room has Come to an End.

17) In recent years, after tea in the small room has been concluded, [it has become common for the party] to again go out to the shoin -- or maybe it is to the 4.5-mat room or some other such place -- where tea and sweets are served for the entertainment [of the guests]¹.

    On occasions when [Hideoyshi] visited² Rikyū's [residential] compound³, from the beginning⁴ things were arranged [in the various tea rooms,] so that, unaware of [Hideyoshi's] personal preferences⁵, after the service of tea was finished in the small room, [they] could [move on to] the yojō-han [where tea would be served] with the fukuro-dana, [or] the shoin [where the utensils were arranged] on the daisu (or other things of that sort⁶), case by case, and according to their various levels⁷.

    Nevertheless, if the reason for [Rikyū having arranged his gatherings in this way] was not understood, it might follow that -- if the conclusion of the service of tea in the small room was not always⁸ followed by a banquet in the 4.5-mat room or shoin -- [the guests] might possibly interpret this as [a sign of their host’s] lack of sincerity⁹.  [And, in fact,] this [unorthodox] method [of structuring the chakai] has become increasingly popular everywhere in Kyōto and Sakai.

    After the Bizen-saishō dono [備前宰相殿]¹⁰ and Lord Asano [淺野殿]¹¹ asked [Tennōji-ya] Sōkyū about this matter, [they each] erected a separate room called a kusari-no-ma [鏁の間] especially for this purpose¹².  Thus, on every occasion, [once things in] the small room had been concluded, [the party] would gather in this [new] sit[ting room]¹³.

    [People] were heard to say that this was a practice passed on by Rikyū -- and, if so, in the future it would be said that it was because of this that wabi-chanoyu had fallen out of fashion¹⁴.  For which reason, after visiting both of these places¹⁵, [the Bizen-saishō dono and Lord Asano] were advised that things were different¹⁶.

    After that, even on those occasions when they received a visit from their lord, if [the service of tea] was [made] in the small room, then only the small room [was used]; and if it was in the shoin, then [they remained] only the shoin.

    In any case, even if the seat was changed over the course of that one day, it was unacceptable [for the host] to show more than two arrangements¹⁷, or [perform according to] two [different] ways of handling [the tea utensils]¹⁸.

_________________________

◎ This entry, which was also included in Kumakura Isao's Nampō Roku wo Yomu [南方録を読む], is written in what is clearly Edo period language, belying its having any connection with either Jōō, Rikyū, or Nambō Sōkei.

    It is also the last prose section in Book Three of the Nampō Roku.  The remaining 39 entries* consist of sketches, with only occasional (and very brief) comments peppered here and there in an attempt to make the illustrations comprehensible†. __________ *All of which were omitted by Kumakura Isao, meaning that, in his supposedly complete modern-language version of the Nampō Roku, Book Three, ends here.

†Not every sketch includes text, even in the form of key words, when the utensils used are clear from the sketch itself.  As I have mentioned before, the first series of sketches (which deal with the fukuro-dana) came from a secret book that Jōō presented to Rikyū around the time of his death.  Jōō’s assumption seems to have been that only someone who, “seeing three corners, can deduce the shape of the fourth by himself,” should be reviewing this material.

¹Cha yo kashi yo to chisō-suru koto hajimari-tari [茶よ菓子よと馳走する事始りたり].

    This is an extremely odd sentence, and one might easily imagine that the author of this section (whomever he was) was (sarcastically?) attempting to recreate the host’s invitation, which he recited to the guests during what would have normally been the final exchange of greetings at the end of the gathering in the small room.

    A roughly literal translation might be “Tea!  Sweets!  [We] can start our feast with these, if you wish!”

²O-nari no toki [御成の時].

    The expression o-nari [御成] means a visit from ones (feudal) lord.  The reference is probably to the several gatherings that Rikyū hosted for Hideyoshi, several of which are detailed in Book Two of the Nampō Roku.

³Tei [亭].

    Tei [亭] originally meant a government checkpoint through which all of the traffic on a major thoroughfare had to pass.  From there it seems to have evolved into a reference to the gatehouse to a mansion (where the guards controlled who could enter), and from there to being a name for the compound itself.  It is from this last sense of the word that the expression teishu [亭主] -- “master of the tei” (and, by extension, the host of a gathering) -- derives.

    Subsequently, the word seems to have been used to mean an arbor or pleasure pavilion -- something like the gazebo that are occasionally erected in the backyard for entertaining during the summer months.

    That said, the kanji (and certainly its derived meaning) never seems to have been used by Rikyū, outside of in the compound “teishu.”

⁴Kanete [かねて].

    Kanete [予て] means things like “previously,” “already,” “for some time,” “for quite a while,” and implies that the arrangement of objects in the shoin had been assembled before Hideyoshi's arrival.  But the formal greeting and invitation to come into the small room for tea that followed his entrance had apparently (according to the author of this entry, in any case) prevented him from looking at the display more closely.  Therefore, once the service of tea in the small room had been concluded, Hideyoshi occasionally asked Rikyū to allow him to go back and look closely at the objects that had been put out in the shoin.

    In fact, this does not seem to agree with Rikyū's own comments on these chakai, or, indeed, with what seem to have been his intentions.  It appears that Hideyoshi made a habit of arriving in mid-afternoon (after finishing his day’s business, and then taking a midday nap).  So, upon his arrival, Rikyū would invite him into the small room, where a very light meal -- hardly more than an afternoon snack -- would be served, followed by koicha, and then usucha (usually using the tea remaining in the chaire for this purpose).  Afterward Hideyoshi would go to the shoin, where he would be joined by his courtiers, and a formal banquet would be served in the early evening.  It was often during this part of the gathering that Hideyoshi would choose to perform for the others, by serving tea to them with his own hands; or by inviting members of his court to do so, while he criticized their deportment and technique.

    The shoin was often used as a place to display objects that were being offered to Hideyoshi (for sale -- although the transaction was subtle and indirect, and usually consisted of Hideyoshi making a return present of a certain amount of cash, following consultation with Rikyū, who would have previously negotiated the price with the seller).  So while it is possible that the arrangement was set up prior to his arrival, it is much more likely that these things were assembled while he was in the small room -- because the chance that Hideyoshi would be distracted before entering the small room would have been too great.  (None of this seems to have been taken into consideration by the author of this passage.)

⁵O-naii [御内意].

    The honorific means that this refers to Hideyoshi's opinion.  In other words, the author is saying that, since Rikyū could not know precisely what Hideyoshi would prefer to do on any given occasion, he prepared every option, so that the different venues would be ready and waiting if and when Hideyoshi expressed an interest in moving the gathering there.

    While this is probably what was done during the Edo period, this is not really how chanoyu works, and it is not really likely that Rikyū behaved in this manner.

⁶Daisu nado [臺子など].

    Depending on the season,  Rikyū might have arranged the shin-daisu [眞臺子] (always with the furo), the kyū-dai daisu [及第臺子] (only with the ro), the naga-ita [長板] (with the large iron kimen-buro, with the small unryū-gama placed in it), or one of the other more formal boards*, depending on the season and the kinds of utensils that Rikyū wished to use. __________ *The shi-hō-ita [四方板], if he wished to use the medium sized kimen-buro apart from the daisu; the ō-ita [大板], if he wished to use the small furo; or the tana-ita [棚板], which was the ro-season equivalent of the naga-ita.

    The naga-ita was used only with the large furo; and the ko-ita [小板] was usually not used in the shoin.

⁷Dan-dan o-miru no koto ori-ori arishi nari [段々御覽の事折々ありし也].

    Dan-dan [段々] means level by level, and refers to the usual shin-gyō-sō [眞行草] system:  the small room was sō, the yojō-han with the fukuro-dana was gyō, and the shoin with the daisu was shin.

    O-miru no koto [御覽の事] is a polite way of saying for (Hideyoshi’s) inspection.

    Ori-ori [折々] means things like “now and again,” “now and then,” “once in a while,” “from time to time,” “case by case,” and so forth.  The meaning might be that the second venue differed from occasion to occasion -- sometimes the yojō-han, sometimes the more formal shoin -- but, given the context*, the meaning seems to be that Rikyū prepared all of these rooms, with complete sets of utensils arranged in each them (of a sort corresponding to the degree of formality of the room), for Hideyoshi's delectation.  Unfortunately, nothing in Rikyū's own writings (including his kaiki) validates this idea.

    Hideyoshi enjoyed chanoyu.  And, from what is known about his personality, he also seems to have enjoyed performing -- being the center of attention.  Which is probably natural (otherwise the son of a farmer could never have aspired, let alone reached, such a fantastically exalted position).  And, using the daisu to serve usucha would allow him to do so without having to “expose his heart” (the way serving tea -- especially koicha -- in the small room would have done).

    Furthermore, a court banquet could hardly be served in a small room.  Thus, in order to exploit Hideyoshi's good mood (Rikyū did not entertain Hideyoshi apart from the court, but in concert with its members), the banquet in the shoin (never is the yojō-han mentioned as the second room in any of Rikyū's records:  the primary room was either his 2-mat room or his 4.5-mat room, with the concluding part of the gathering taking place in the shoin). ___________ *The last line in the entry specifically refers to cases where more than two venues are used during a single day.

⁸Kanarazu [かならず].

    The word kanarazu [必ず] means always, invariably, definitely.  In other words, it is by no means inevitable that the party should move on to another room after things have been concluded in the small room.  Indeed, the implication of the use of this word is that inviting the guests to move from the small room to another venue (whether for nothing but kashi and usucha, or for a more substantial meal) is something that should be done only on the most extraordinary of occasions -- if at all.  It is simply antithetical to the whole idea of wabi no chanoyu.

⁹Soryaku no koto ka to kokoro-e [疎畧の事かと心得].

    Soryaku [疎略] means things like “coarse,” “crude,” “rough,” “lax,” “slack,” “halfhearted,” and so on.

    The statement literally means “‘isn’t it the case that [the host] is acting half-heartedly?’ so [the guests] might understand.”  In other words, they might suspect that he is being insincere -- by not entertaining them “fully.”

¹⁰Bizen-saishō dono [備前宰相殿].

    This refers to the daimyō and nobleman Ukita Hideie [宇喜多秀家; 1572 ~ 1655], who, in addition to being the overlord of both Bizen [備前] and Mimasaka [美作] provinces*, also served as an Imperial Chamberlain (jijū [侍従]), Imperial Councillor (sangi [参議]), lieutenant-general of the Left Imperial Guards (sa-konoe ken-chūjō [左近衛権中将]), and (provisional) Vice-councilor of State (gon-chūnagon [権中納言]), ultimately attaining the second grade of the Third Rank (ju-sanmi [従三位]†.

    Hideie was also a member of Hideyoshi’s Counsel of Five Elders (go-tairō [五大老]), which was created to act as the regent for Toyotomi Hideyori after his father’s death, and opposed Tokugawa Ieyasu at the battle of Sekigahara, for which he was exiled to Hachijō-jima [八丈島], an island in the Philippine Sea far distant from the Japanese archipelago.

    The sobriquet Bizen-saishō [備前宰相], which means something like “Chancellor of Bizen,” was Ukita Hideie nickname -- due to his huge influence over the affairs of this province. ___________ *Both provinces form parts of modern-day Okayama Prefecture.  The village of Imbe [伊部], which is in Bizen, is the original home of Bizen-yaki.

†Hideie's father, Ukita Naoie [宇喜多直家; 1529 ~ 1581], the hereditary lord of Bizen, had died when Hideie was a boy, and Hideie was elevated to a prominent position several months later at a very young age.

    He was subsequently adopted by Toyotomi Hideyoshi (hence his name) after he married Hideyoshi’s adopted daughter Gōhime [豪姫; 1574 ~ 1634] (whose birth-father was the great lord Maeda Toshiie).

¹¹Asano dono [淺野殿].

   While both the editor of the Sadō Ko-ten Zen-shu edition of the Nampō Roku, Hisamatsu Shin-ichi, and Kumakura Isao (who seems to have based his commentary on that earlier source) argue that this refers to Asano Nagamasa [淺野長政]*, the reference is more likely to Asano Yoshinaga [淺野幸長; 1576 ~ 1613], bushō [武将] (“general”), daimyō, sakyō-no-daibu [左京大夫] (the master of the eastern half of the capital), Governor of Kii (Kii-no-kami [紀伊守]), and nobleman.  Ultimately, Yoshinaga was elevated to the lower grade of the Third Rank.  He was the son of Asano Nagamasa (the senior-most member of Hideyoshi's go-bugyō [五奉行], the five commissioners who governed Kyōto and the surrounding countryside after Hideyoshi became kampaku [關白] -- chief advisor and effective regent of the Emperor).  As a youth, some 14 years of age, he took part in the siege of Odawara.

   Yoshinaga was the adopted brother of Nene [ねね; 1546–1624], Hideoyshi’s wife.  Nene herself is often known as Kita no mandokoro [北政所], which title she assumed after Hideyoshi became kampaku (since the moniker refers to the kampaku's principal wife). __________ *Both sources, however, refer to Nagamasa by his earlier name of Nagayoshi [浅野長吉] -- which suggests that it was this that may have lead to their conflating him with Asano Yoshinaga (even though the kanji are different).  (It appears that he changed his name to Nagamasa in old age.)  His dates were 1546 ~ 1610.

    The much younger Yoshinaga would have been more likely to seek Tennōji-ya (Tsuda) Sōkyū's advice regarding the addition of a kusari-no-ma to his shoin (apparently this consultation took place after Rikyū's seppuku, when the new generation was coming into power -- and so Yoshinaga would have had need of a special place to entertain the few people who were his superiors) than would Nagamasa (who would have had recourse to Rikyū).

¹²Kusari-no-ma to te betsu-dan ni zashiki wo saku-ji ari [鏁の間とて別段に座敷を作事あり].

    The kusari-no-ma [鏁の間]* was a room, often attached directly to the lower side of the shoin† (or perhaps separated from it by a narrow passageway), in which the ro and fukuro-dana were arranged -- in contrast to the furo and shin-daisu that were used to serve tea in the shoin.

    There is an inconsistency in the narrative, however.  The author seems to have begun by arguing about the inappropriateness of routinely moving the gathering from the small room to a larger (and more formally arranged) setting after the service of tea‡ has been concluded.

    But the tea served in the kusari-no-ma, using the ro and the fukuro-dana, was always a degree lower than what had been done in the shoin**, and the rule seems to have been that the guests moved to the kusari-no-ma from the shoin (not from the small room).  Here, it appears that it is the idea of moving on to a separate room that has become the issue††. __________ *The word is more usually written kusari-no-ma [鎖の間], especially today.

†Usually, the side of the room opposite the tokonoma.  Technically, however, the side closest to the katte.  (Usually the two are the same, especially in classically constructed rooms; however, in the Edo period, some rooms were being built that ignore such conventions.)

‡It might be argued that the author is thinking specifically of koicha, since by the Edo period the practice of using the tea remaining in the chaire to serve usucha had long been forgotten -- indeed, it appears not to have survived Rikyū's seppuku.

    It should be added that this way of serving usucha appears to have been associated with Rikyū and his closest disciples only.  The majority of the machi-shū chajin of his day followed Jōō's method of using a different variety of matcha for usucha.  This was the practice that prevailed throughout the Edo period (and it remains the “correct” way to do things today).

    Rikyū's argument for doing things his way seems to have been that, since the tea remaining in the chaire could not be reused as koicha in any case -- and so would either be used for usucha (either during a subsequent gathering, or for tate-dashi-style informal drinking apart from a temae, matcha being the way “tea” was drunk until the Edo period’s development of sencha [煎茶] -- based on the idea developed by Korean monks during the sixteenth century), or go to waste -- it was best to use as much of it as possible during the gathering for which it had been ground, since the matcha would never be fresher or more flavorful.

**Some say that it had been the custom, since the time of Jōō, for koicha to be served with the daisu, while usucha served from the fukuro-dana (in a separate, “wabi-style” room) followed afterward.  In the earliest days, the kama was suspended over the ro on a chain (the gotoku did not appear until a number of years later, since, while the basic idea was derived from the little tripod on which a saucer of oil was elevated off of the floor of a nightlight, it was devising a way to keep the legs from sinking into the ash, so that the kama could rest on top of the ring, that was the problem).

    Others argue (apparently without any historical proof) that the kusari-no-ma was created by Furuta Sōshitsu.  Oribe, as Hideyoshi's tea master, surely respected the practice of having the guests move into another room for usucha, once koicha was over, at least when Hideyoshi was present.  But in this he would have been simply perpetuating the precedent that had been established by Rikyū.

    In fact, the earliest use of the term kusari-no-ma [鎖の間] seems to be in the Yōshū-fu Shi [擁州府志] (which appeared in 1684, its author probably motivated by the publication of the Rikyū Chanoyu Sho [利休茶湯書], in 1680), where Rikyū is “quoted” as saying that “the kusari-no-ma was a room where cooking was done and the trays of food were prepared for the guests.”  This account also states that “a kettle, suspended on an iron chain, was hung over the ro” in this room (apparently either as a source of hot water, for warming the dishes prior to their being filled with food, or for the tate-dashi [立だし] service of usucha).

    The Fuhaku Hikki [不白筆記] (assorted notes related to the practice of chanoyu, by Jōjin-sai Sōsa’s [如心齋宗左; 1706 ~ 1751] disciple Kawakami Fuhaku [川上不白; 1716-1807]; the book was written around 1750) states that “the kusari-no-ma was either a place where the food was cooked for the guests, or where the guests ate after the chanoyu had been performed.”  The Fuhaku Hikki also states that the kusari-no-ma “contained a dai-ro [大爐]” -- which appears to have been what is known as a naga-ro [長爐] today (that is, a sunken fire-well, with mud-plaster walls, two to three times as long as it is wide:  it was arranged with the long side backed by one of the walls of the kusari-no-ma; and its length allowed several different pots of food to be cooked simultaneously).

    It seems, then, that originally the kusari-no-ma was an enclosed kitchen, in which the food was cooked and the trays and serving vessels were assembled in preparation for their being carried into the katte [勝手] (the “preparation room” immediately adjoining the tearoom), and that the guests started to go into the room that was then being designated the kusari-no-ma (formerly known as the katte) to eat the meal only at a historically later period in time (either for reasons of efficiency, or to keep the tearoom free from the smell of the food).  The conflating of the kusari-no-ma with the katte seems to have taken place during the first century of the Edo period (it must be remembered that even in Jōō's day it had been the practice for the guests to go into the katte to eat -- albeit, this was when the gathering was being held in a 1.5-mat room).

    Conflating different things with each other, coupled with the often irresponsible or random appropriation of names, and then reinterpreting earlier accounts according to these anachronistic usages, is a big part of the reason why the historical documents are so difficult to interpret today.

††While the author of this entry seems to have been closely connected with the Sen families (rather than the bakufu), it is curious that, by the end of the Edo period, this notion of moving on to a different room for usucha had become standard practice even among the Sen schools themselves -- as can be seen in their own tea complexes.

¹³Mai-mai ko-zashiki sumite, mata kono za ni te kai ari [毎々小座敷すミて、又この座にて會あり].

    Mai-mai [毎々] means “ever,” “always,” “invariably,” “constantly,” and things of that sort (literally, “every-every [time]”).

    Thus, the sentence literally means “on every occasion, once [everything in] the small room had been concluded, again the guests would gather together in this sitting room*.” __________ *Za [座], which literally means “seat,” is probably an abbreviation of zashiki [座敷], meaning a sitting room.

¹⁴Kore kōsei ni wabi-chanoyu no sutaru-beki motoi nari to te [これ後世に佗茶湯のすたるべきもとゐ也とて].

    Kōsei ni [後世に] means “to posterity,” “to future generations,” “to the future.”

    Sutaru-beki [廢るべき = 廃るべき]:  sutaru [廃る] means “fall out of use,” or “fall out of fashion;” the verb suffix -beki [可き] means “must” -- hence, “(wabi-chanoyu) must fall out of fashion.”

    Motoi [基い = 基礎] means, in this case, fundamental principal, foundation, basic principal (that is, the basic principal or principals from which other truths may be derived).

¹⁵Go-ryōsho [御兩所].

    The two residential compounds mentioned above, where Ukita Hideie (the Bizen-saishō dono), and Asano Yoshinaga, respectively, attached kusari-no-ma to their shoin.

    The honorific go- or o- [御] is used because both were noblemen (this entry was written in the Edo period, when ignoring such conventions could have serious consequences).

¹⁶Go-iken mōsareshi nari [御異見申されし也].

    Precisely “who” visited the two lords*, to explain that they had been misinformed regarding the matter of moving on to a second room once things have been finished in the small room, is unclear.

    The most obvious person would have been Rikyū (since he was the one being blamed for spreading this teaching); but this is problematic on account of the dates involved (Lords Ukita and Asano seem to have consulted with Tennoji-ya Sōkyū some time after Rikyū's death).  Perhaps Sen no Sōtan, or one of his sons (or disciples) -- since this was the group championing the practice of wabi no chanoyu (while subtly denouncing such bakufu-sponsored practices as this). __________ *Lord Ukita Hideie and Lord Asano Yoshinaga.

¹⁷Kazari [かざり].

    Arrangements, specifically the arrangement of the objects in the tokonoma (and, in the case of the shoin, the objects displayed on the dashi fu-zukue [出文机] and the chigai-dana as well).

¹⁸Shosaku [所作].

    The word shosaku [所作] literally means behavior.

    It may refer to the temae (specifically, the temae by means of which bowls of tea are prepared and served:  thus, while the host may perform two temae if the room is changed -- the first to serve koicha, and the second when serving the guests usucha -- he should not perform a third temae, such as serving usucha again somewhere else*), and it is in this way that the commentators seem to interpret the phrase.  

    However, the expression can also refer to the way objects are arranged on the utensil mat (in Japanese, these things are not categorized under the heading of “kazari” because they are not put out for the purpose of decoration, as the things in the toko are, but in order to facilitate the host’s serving of tea). ___________ *This rule might seem to contradict the idea of zen-cha [前茶] (usucha served in the manner of sui-cha [吸い茶] -- which means where a single bowl of tea is passed around and shared by all of the guests -- at the beginning of a chakai, under special circumstances); but while zen-cha does technically involve a third temae, it was offered in the same room where koicha would be served later (and usually using utensils that were inexpensive and practical, rather than decorative and expensive:  therefore, it does not “count” as a third temae).

[figuretealeavely]

It's really irritating that many fans consider only Russian, Japanese and select others, most of the time also from powerful federations, to be worth watching, implying that early groups are a waste of time. I was really angry when I saw this on Goldenskate this morning (I'm going to paste a quote in the next message).

½ “Donovan Carrillo definitely took a spot of a more talented athletes from somewhere else, was it fair to that guy? So we discriminate and leave this guy home just to give Donovans-Carrillos of the world their 8-9 minutes to shine and to do some flag waving? Not cool. We would survive if we’d never saw him, but at the same time the better athlete was deprived his chance at all and this athlete had probably a real talent and a big chance to medal […]”

2/2 “[…] he worked harder, longer and is probably more talented. But he never had a chance.”

Well anon, most people are sheeple. It is funny to me because I find the fandom is full of: 1) gloryhunters who only like who is on top at the moment; and 2) faux gloryhunters who pretend to like an underdog w/o acknowledging that this underdog has a 50% chance of winning so it’s not much of a sacrifice and you can look vindicated no matter what the outcome.

Figure skating is an international sport with federations. This means everyone gets a chance based on their flag. If it turned into a club sport, then yes, flags shouldn’t matter. But it is not, so this line of thinking is not applicable. 

One thing I really love about FS is the ability to see people from all over the world. Even if they struggle, even if their chances of getting a medal are minuscule, because someone who struggled but got some time to shine may inspire someone amazing down the line. 

Yao Bin, who coached Shen/Zhao and started a dynasty of Chinese pairs skaters, came from an even more dire situation than Donovan, and look where he is now. This is so important, we all start from somewhere. The expectation that every random newcomer has to be an ingenue is frankly creepy and dismisses how hard people work over time to achieve things that they do not have the resources to immediately obtain.

Here is an excerpt from Wiki about Yao Bin:

In the closed society of mid-20th century China, Luan and Yao had only photographs from which to learn their moves. They had a terrible experience at the 1980 World Championships in Dortmund, West Germany; Yao has said he remembers people in the audience laughing at their inferior skating (among those people was Irina Rodnina, who later recalled the skating was indeed very funny). They finished 15th, in last place. They competed at the World Championships twice more in 1981 and 1982, finishing last both times. They also placed 15th at the 1984 Winter Olympics. After these embarrassing experiences, Yao was determined to create a team of world-class figure skaters.

Among Yao’s current and former students are Shen Xue and Zhao Hongbo,whom he coached to three Olympic medals (two bronzes, one gold) and seven World medals; Pang Qing & Tong Jian; Zhang Dan & Zhang Hao; Dong Huibo & Wu Yiming; Li Jiaqi & Xu Jiankun; Zhang Yue & Wang Lei; Wenjing Sui & Cong Han; Peng Cheng & Zhang Hao; Xiaoyu Yu & Yang Jin.

Who knows what the Donovans of the world will do next. I, for one, look forward to it.

And also, GS is full of creeps and increasingly bitter fans. It is no wonder, though, since they have now put their competition threads behind a paywall so you reap what you sow.

[thecoolkidsbasement]

Just finished playing Danger by Design (DAN) and hi, welcome to my TED talk (tread carefully, it’s gonna be a long post with possible spoilers and pointless analyzing of an almost 10 year old game)

JJ’s presence is virtually useless. I barely saw her throughout the game and you only really had to talk to her once or twice, and once was for an autograph for a dude (Zu) that Nancy just ASSUMED would know what Noisette’s plaque signified because he was a ‘professional catacomb spelunker’ (???). A believable alternative to that whole pointless interaction would’ve been a French to English dictionary with pictures. Nancy could’ve seen a photo of hazelnuts next to the French translation and been like; “!!!there it is!!!1!111!!” and gone on with her mystery

that being said, JJ is also hella annoying imo. If Nancy had been an actual apprentice for Minette and was told by some model to make her her cookies or she wasn’t going to go, despite knowing what Minette’s like in her tantrums, in turn leaving Nancy FIRED, is absolutely ridiculous. I know that JJ probably didn’t care because she was tricked into a contract with Minette but that doesn’t give her a free pass to ruin Nancy’s career (and I know the games aren’t wholly realistic but this serIOUSLY GRINDS MY GEARS). After that little interaction I tried to avoid JJ as much as possible (which might lead back to me thinking her presence in the game isn’t necessary, sorry not sorry)

her apartment’s super cute though not gonna lie

Noisette’s story was so heartbreaking, I actually started tearing up when Nancy was reading her letter explaining why she did what she did. I can’t imagine the pain she went through, how helpless she must’ve felt in the end where all she felt she could do was leave a trail of bread crumbs and hope someone goodhearted would let the truth come to light (there’s an easier way to hide treasures that make more sense but I loved a lot of the puzzles/decoding so I’ll let it slide, and plus she was a bad ass lady in her youth so that’s double the brownie points in my book)

HANS WHY. WHY DIDN’T YOU COME BACK FOR HER YOU GOD DAMN OBTUSE BRICK >:,U

it would’ve been more interesting storytelling-wise if Hans was Dieter’s father or grandfather and not his great uncle. It would’ve driven a subtle and yet poignant realization that he got married and had kids after Noisette while she died alone as a private woman, and it’d be more heartbreaking knowing that then knowing that he, too, died unmarried and without children. There was no reason for them not to be together after the resistance unless Hans had moved on to someone else or he only saw Noisette as an ally and not a lover

on top of that, Dieter says the building his office is in belonged in his family for a couple generations and the clock key he got was from Hans. Does that mean Hans came back some time after the war was over? Did he buy the property during?? I’M SO CONFUSED

Jean Mi skeevs me out. He reminded me of Sinclair from SSH and the fact that Sonny scribbled the same thing had me gagging (I love Sonny’s cameos in these games I liVE FOR IT)

and speaking of SSH characters, SWEET PRUDENCE RUTHERFORD. I don’t remember her sounding like that in SSH, though, like it was a male pretending to sound like a little old lady. It skeeved me out, too :c

since Minette’s a designer for plus sized fashion, does that mean Prudence is plus sized?

I work in plus sized clothing retail (size 10 to 30) so when I saw some of Minette’s models/JJ and was told they were plus sized I was like “LMAO WHAT” but I forgot that size 12 back in 2006 was wholly considered plus sized, sorry <3 (I personally don’t consider sized 14 or below to be ‘plus sized’ given the women that I service that are this size, but the straight sized fashion industry still does :/)

I wish the fashion portrayed in the game (Minette’s designs, Heather’s designs, Prudence Rutherford’s outfits) were actually high fashion for the time or something along the lines of The Devil Wears Prada. I wanted fashion that, sure, didn’t look wholly reasonable, but still screamed ‘couture’ and I feel like HER missed a huge opportunity here with it. Especially since Minette’s designs were described as being for ‘the modern woman’ in that magazine article Jean Mi wrote, to see Prudence’s options were ATROCIOUS

a bunny mask and ears. a massive head bow. furry boots made from the hair of Minette’s pet angora. seriously???

the bomb put on Minette’s door by the bad guys (was it paint or some kind of fumes/explosive?? I’ll never know) was hilariously counterproductive to Minette’s work. They said they kept sending her threats as incentive to remind her to keep working, but the bomb was in such close proximity to the dress it would’ve wholly ruined their plans if Nan never found and disarmed it

on the same subject of weird plot holes or misgivings, it was never seriously explained why Minette broke up with Dieter. When I took a chance and asked her about it, she got very emotional and barked at Nan to leave her alone. To me that implies that she still has feelings for him although Dieter seems to think the opposite. Was she forced to break up with him when the bad guys came around and wanted the dress done (unlikely)? Was it just another weird ‘Minette Moment’ to show her bizarre turns of mind and attitude, or the stress of her new collection (likely)?? Or, my personal headcanon, did she find out somehow that Dieter had initially dated her to get access to the moulin and she was hurt by the deceit???

[nextnnet]

Todo fan de la serie de Pokémon sueña (o al menos ha pensado alguna vez) en lo que sería el juego “ideal”: un MMORPG basado en la franquicia. Es decir, a medida que juegas y capturas criaturas, puedes ver a los otros jugadores por el mundo e interactuar con ellos. Desde luego, Game Freak no parece dispuesta a crear algo así. Y ahí es donde entraron Crema Games con su nuevo proyecto Temtem. Los desarrolladores de Immortal Redneck nos sorprendieron hace unas semanas con el Kickstarter de este juego que reúne varios aspectos de los juegos de coleccionismo de monstruos, les dan su toque personal y añaden el aspecto MMORPG. ¿El resultado? Un éxito en el crowdfunding, consiguiendo que recaudaran lo suficiente para portear el título a Nintendo Switch y añadir nuevas funciones.

    Dado el gran éxito de esta interesante propuesta, nos hemos puesto en contacto con Enrique Paños, de Crema Games, quien ha compartido con nosotros algunos datos sobre lo que podemos esperar de Temtem una vez salga al mercado (aunque aún tardará en hacerlo).

  Al final de la entrevista podéis acceder a su versión traducida al inglés, o bien a través de este enlace.

Entrevista sobre Temtem

Lo primero de todo, ¿cómo describiríais vosotros Temtem? ¿Hasta qué punto es comparable con Pokémon y cuáles son las principales diferencias con la saga de Game Freak?

Lo definimos como un juego en el que coleccionas criaturas, multijugador, muy inspirado en Pokémon. Se acerca a Pokémon en que hay que cazar criaturas, evolucionarlas y combatir contra otros. Todo esto conducido por una historia principal.

Las diferencias son más de las que parecen. Ya de por sí, darle el toque MMO es un gran aspecto diferenciador, un gran salto. Y aparte de las diferencias obvias como que la historia es completamente nueva y que los personajes y las criaturas son originales, hay cambios en el gameplay.

Hemos quitado todos los factores aleatorios en combate (evasión, precisión, críticos, porcentaje de acierto en estados) para darle un toque más skill-based y acercarlo más a un mundo competitivo. Esto implica un sistema de combate bastante cambiado. Quitar todo eso es darle una vuelta a todo el sistema para que quede balanceado y tener variedad de estrategias al mismo tiempo.

Tenemos cooperativo, online, y en el que ambos jugadores participan activamente y luchan. Hemos añadido un sistema de pick-ban para los combates ranked, esto añade una capa más estratégica a los combates.

Según escribo esta entrevista, parece que vamos a llegar al stretch goal de “Clubs” (Nota: ya han alcanzado dicho objetivo). Es nuestra visión de los clanes. Además de dojos en la historia, habrá dojos controlados por clanes, y estos tendrán que defenderlos o conquistarlos. Tenemos detalles como el housing en un vecindario común para todos los jugadores, donde podrás modificar tu casa y ver la del resto de jugadores. Luego también hay pequeños cambios aquí y allá como la alteración del sistema de cría, la reducción de tipos es especie y el añadido de algunos nuevos (como digital o cristal).

    Habéis recibido muy buenas críticas con Immortal Redneck, ¿qué habéis aprendido de aquel juego que podáis aplicar ahora en este nuevo proyecto?

Hemos aprendido bastante cosas por el camino. Más allá de mejorar nuestro flujo de trabajo, diría que lo más destacable que hemos aprendido y queremos aplicar a este proyecto es escuchar a la comunidad antes de sacar el producto. Cometimos algún error debido a eso en Immortal Redneck y en este proyecto vamos con otra mentalidad.

  ¿Cuándo os surge la idea de crear Temtem? ¿Y por qué ese nombre?

La idea surge por un lado de la necesidad o demanda constante de los jugadores de tener un Pokémon MMO, y por otro lado porque es un proyecto muy atractivo. Todos en la oficina hemos crecido jugando a Pokémon y estamos encantados de mostrar nuestra visión de algo parecido. Sobre el nombre, tiene un significado, pero de momento es secreto.

  El proyecto ha sido y está siendo un éxito en Kickstarter, ¿esperabais una respuesta tan rápida y abrumadora por parte de la gente cuando decidisteis lanzaros al crowdfunding?

Esperábamos una respuesta buena. Al fin y al cabo, sabíamos que algo así era algo que los jugadores pedían, pero no esperábamos tal éxito. Mucha gente ya recela de Kickstarter debido a demasiados proyectos fallidos, así que esperábamos que eso jugaría en nuestra contra.

  El universo de Temtem es online, ¿se puede completar el juego offline? ¿Es un MMORPG como World of Warcraft o los servidores tienen un límite más reducido de jugadores?

El juego es 100% online y, pese a que puedes completar la historia sin interactuar con ninguna persona, que estés conectado será un requisito. Sobre los servidores, los dividiremos en instancias para evitar tener demasiada gente en ciertas zonas, pero tú no tendrás que escoger servidor. El sistema decidirá por ti cada vez que te conectes.

    ¿Cómo funciona la progresión? ¿La historia tiene importancia o adquiere un segundo plano para centrarnos en combatir?

La historia tiene mucha importancia. Para este proyecto contamos con Víctor Ojuel desde la preproducción del juego para darle una buena historia a todo nuestro universo. Puedes contar con una progresión similar a Pokémon.

  ¿El mapa tiene alguna pantalla de carga al cambiar de isla o entrar en un edificio? ¿El mundo entero es accesible desde el principio o vamos desbloqueando zonas como con las medallas en Pokémon?

El juego aún está en producción, por lo que es pronto para comentar cómo será los cambios de pantalla. Sobre la accesibilidad del mundo, vas desbloqueando zonas.

  ¿Qué diferencias hay entre jugar con amigos o por solitario? ¿El juego ha sido pensado para jugarse cooperativo desde el primer momento o es una función secundaria?

La diferencia principal será que tendrás que coordinarte. En cooperativo, no controlas todos los movimientos, sino la mitad. Medio equipo será de tu amigo y medio tuyo. El juego está pensando y balanceado para combates 2 vs 2 y no 1 vs 1, por lo que se podría decir que desde un principio pensamos en la posibilidad de cooperativo.

  ¿Se irá añadiendo contenido con el tiempo a modo de actualizaciones o eventos?

Si el juego funciona bien, iremos añadiendo contenido, pero es pronto para hablar de ello.

  ¿Cómo funcionan las viviendas? ¿Podemos visitar la casa de cualquier persona o solo las de nuestros amigos? ¿Se encuentran físicamente en una de las islas como podría ser Animal Crossing o son un elemento apartado del mundo?

Podrás visitar cualquier casa, y sí, se encuentran físicamente en una de las islas. Hay un vecindario en una isla que acogerá todas las viviendas.

  Explicadnos un poco más de los Temtem. ¿Cómo funciona su genética y crianza? ¿Pueden fusionarse distintos tipos de Temtem? ¿Cuántas evoluciones puede tener cada una de las criaturas?

Sobre la genética, cada Temtem tendrá un “contador de esterilidad” al cazarlo. Cada vez que se reproduzca, este contador bajará un punto y cuando llegue a 0, el Temtem será estéril. Por supuesto, se podrá seguir combatiendo con él, pero no podrá tener más crías. Efectivamente, podrán criar con otros Temtem si su línea genética coincide. Sobre las evoluciones, aún no está cerrado.

    ¿Cómo veis el desarollo indie en Nintendo Switch? ¿Es fácil trasladar un juego como Temtem desde PC hasta la híbrida? ¿Qué limitaciones técnicas creéis que os podéis encontrar y hasta qué punto podrían suponer un problema para el jugador?

El desarrollo en Switch es difícil debido a las limitaciones técnicas de la híbrida comparada con otras plataformas, pero las ventas tratan mejor al indie en la eShop que en el resto de plataformas. Sobre qué nos podemos encontrar, pues esperamos complicaciones y un trabajo extra de optimización para entregar la máxima calidad posible al jugador final.

  Una de las preguntas del millón en los tiempos que corren, ¿habrá algún tipo de loot? ¿Cofres, cajas, micropagos en general? En caso afirmativo, ¿serán elementos estéticos o influirán en las partidas?

Aún es pronto para decidirlo, pero puedo decir que en caso de que los tuviera, no serán de ninguna manera P2W (pay-to-win).

  ¿Algún plan de lanzar Temtem en formato físico?

Ahora mismo estamos centrados en otras cosas, por lo que aún no nos hemos puesto a ello, pero si es factible y hay demanda, es posible.

  Mirando al futuro, ¿creéis que Temtem puede suponer una llamada de atención a Game Freak? ¿Dónde veis el juego de aquí a un par de años?

Creo que Game Freak sigue otra línea para Pokémon y no creo que suponga ninguna llamada de atención. No veo a Temtem como competencia, creo que los 2 juegos pueden coexistir al mismo tiempo, y que los jugadores pueden jugar a ambas franquicias. Sin embargo, a lo mejor a Game Freak le gusta alguna idea de las que implementamos, quien sabe.

Sobre donde vemos el juego en un par de años… bueno, en las tiendas.

    Pincha aquí para volver al artículo original, en castellano./Click here to see the original feature, in Spanish

  First of all, how would you describe Temtem? In which ways can you compare it with Pokémon and what are the main differences with Game Freak’s franchise?

We define it as a multiplayer monster-collecting game, heavily inspire in Pokémon. It looks like Pokémon in that you catch creatures, evolve them and battle against others. And all of that is driven by a main story.

There are more differences than it looks like. Including the MMO aspect is a big differentiating feature, a big jump. And aside from the obvious differences, like a whole new story and the original characters and creatures, there are changes in gameplay.

We have removed all random factors in battle (evasion, accuracy, critical hits, effect rate for status conditions) in order to give a more skill-based touch and make it closer to a competitive scenario. This implies a greatly-changed battle system. Removing all these aspects suppose changing the whole system so it’s balanced, and, at the same time, you can have a variety of strategies.

There is co-op play and on-line play, so both players can actively participate and battle. We have added a pick-ban system for ranked battles, so it adds a more strategic layer to battles.

As I’m answering these questions, we are closer to the “Clubs” stretch goal in Kickstarter (Note: it has already been reached). It’s our approach for guilds. Aside from the dojos in the story, there will be dojos controlled by clans, and they must be defended or conquered.

Other aspects include housing in a common neighbourhood for all players, where you can modify your house and visit other players’.

Finally, there are small changes here and there, like modifying the breeding system, reducing the number of types and adding some new ones (like digital or crystal).

  You have received very good reviews for Immortal Redneck. What have you learned from that game that you can apply in this new project?

We have learned so many things along the process. Not only have they improved our work flow, but the most important one, that we have learned and we want to apply in this project, is listening to the community before releasing the product. We made some mistakes in Immortal Redneck due to that, and we are facing this project with other approach.

  How and when does the idea for Temtem come out? And why that name?

The idea comes out, on one hand, from the necessity or constant demand from players of having an MMO Pokémon game. On the other hand, it is a very attractive project. Everyone in the office have grown up playing Pokémon and we are delighted of showing our own vision of something similar. About the name, it has a meaning, but it’s a secret for now.

  The project is a success in Kickstarter. Did you expected such a quick and overwhelming reaction from players when you decided to start the crowdfunding?

We expected a good reaction. In the end, we knew that players wanted something like this. But we didn’t expect such success. A lot of people don’t trust Kickstarter right now because of so many failed projects, so we expected it to affect us in a bad way.

  Temtem’s universe is on-line. Can you complete the game off-line? Is it a MMORPG just like World of Warcraft, or will the servers have a more reduced limit in the number of players?

The game is 100% on-line. You can complete the story without interacting with anyone, but you must be connected. About the servers, we will divide them in “rooms” so there won’t be too many people in some areas, but you won’t have to choose the server. The system will choose every time you connect.

  How does progression work? Is the story relevant, or will it be at the second level so the players focuses on battling?

The story has a lot of relevance. For this project, we have the help from Víctor Ojuel since the pre-production of the game in order to create a good story for the whole universe. The progression will be like Pokémon’s.

  Does the map have loading screen when travelling to other isle or entering a building? Is the whole world accessible from the beginning, or areas will be unlocked like with Pokémon’s badges?

The game is still in production, so it’s soon to comment on how the loading screens will be. About accessing the world, you will unlock areas as you progress.

  What are the differences between playing alone and with friends? Is the game designed to be played in co-op from the beginning or is it a secondary function?

The main difference is that you will have to coordinate. In co-op mode, you don’t control all moves, just half of them. Half of the team will be yours and the other half will be your friend’s. The game is designed and balanced for 2 vs 2 battles instead of 1 vs 1, so you could say that we thought of the possibility of co-op play from the beginning.

  Will content be added eventually by updates or events?

If the game is successful, we will add content, but it’s soon to talk about that.

  How does housing work? Can we visit anyone’s house or only our friends’? Are the physically placed in one of the isles just like Animal Crossing, or is it an element apart from the world?

You can visit any house, and yes, they are physically placed in one of the isles. There is a neighbourhood in an isle where all houses will be found.

  Explain us a bit more about Temtems. How do their genetics and breeding work? Can we fuse different types of Temtem? How many evolutions can there be for each one of the creatures?

About genetics, every Temtem has a “sterility counter” when you catch it. Every time it breeds, this counter goes down one point and, when it reaches 0, that Temtem is sterile. Of course, you can keep battling with it, but it won’t have any more offsprings. You can breed with other Temtem as long as their genetic line matches. About evolutions, that isn’t decided yet.

  How do you see indie development in Nintendo Switch? Is it easy to move a game like Temtem from PC to the hybrid console? What technical limitations do you think you will find and to what extent can they suppose a problem for the player?

The development in Nintendo Switch is hard because of the technical limitations of the console when compared with other platforms, but sales for indie games are usually better in the eShop than in the other platforms.

About what we will find, we expect complications and extra optimization work to deliver the best quality possible to the final player.

  A key question at the present time, will there be any kind of loot? Chests, boxes, microtransations in general? If yes, will they be cosmetic elements, or will they affect gameplay?

It is soon to decide that, but I can say that, if there were any, they won’t be P2W (pay-to-win).

  Are there any plans for releasing Temtem in physical format?

Right now, we are focused in other things, so we haven’t started it. But if it’s feasible and there is demand, it’s possible.

  Looking at the future, do you think Temtem can be a wake-up call for Game Freak? Where do you see the game some years in the future?

I think Game Freak follows other path for Pokémon and I don’t think it will be a wake-up call. I don’t see Temtem as competence. I think the two games can coexist at the same time and players can play both franchises. However, maybe Game Freak likes one of the ideas that we implement. Who knows?

About where we see the game in the future… well, in stores.

Entrevista – Hablamos con Enrique Paños, cofundador de Crema Games, sobre el desarrollo de Temtem Todo fan de la serie de Pokémon sueña (o al menos ha pensado alguna vez) en lo que sería el juego "ideal": un MMORPG basado en la franquicia.

[aion-rsa]

The Da Vinci Code: A Better, Smarter Blockbuster Than You Remember

https://ift.tt/3spUWqg

I didn’t get it. When Ron Howard’s The Da Vinci Code took the world by storm in 2006, I was far from being a professional critic, but I could still be highly critical of something like this. It was an adaptation of the biggest literary phenomenon of the decade not starring Harry Potter, and it was arriving in cinemas with the kind of media frenzy usually reserved for Star Wars. All the while, its rollout suggested it had aspirations to be an awards contender. How could something that high-handed live up to that kind of hype?

As a splashy Hollywood version of Dan Brown’s most popular potboiler, The Da Vinci Code premiered at the Cannes Film Festival in May and was the subject of countless faux-examinations about early Christianity on the cable news circuit—as well as the object of ire for some modern Christians’ growing need for perpetual outrage. Protests occurred at theaters throughout the U.S., while other international markets banned it outright. And all of that cacophonous noise was over… a pretty middle-of-the-road adventure movie. One that features Tom Hanks earnestly looking into the camera to declare “I need to get to a library!” as the music swells. Really?!

So, yes, I missed the appeal. And judging by the infamous catcalls the movie received at Cannes, which were followed by a tepid critical drubbing in the international press, I wasn’t alone in thinking the movie amounted to a lot of overinflated hoopla.

But a funny thing happened when I sat down to watch it on Netflix the other day, about 15 years after its release: I realized what a big goofy delight the movie could be with the right mindset, and what I as a teenager—and so much of the contemporary film press during its time—missed out on.

To be sure, The Da Vinci Code is still a ludicrous story that both benefited from and was weighed down by the sensationalism of its conceit. Written on the page by Brown like any other airplane-ready page-turner, with nearly each short chapter ending to the implicit musical sting of “dun-dun-DUN!,” the book is a pleasantly conceived time-filler. It’s about secret societies, dastardly supervillains, and a matinee idol for the academia set named Robert Langdon. Essentially Indiana Jones if Harrison Ford never took off the tweed jacket, Langdon is an expert in the real world field of art history and the fictional one of symbology, and his monologues give the proceedings a nice bit of pseudo-intellectual window-dressing. It’s all no more challenging to the viewer (or their storyteller) than the background details provided by M in James Bond flicks.

This formula turned Brown’s first Robert Langdon novel, Angels & Demons, into a literary hit, but what made The Da Vinci Code an international phenomenon—and thereby grabbed Hollywood’s attention—was the kernel of a brilliantly explosive idea: What if the MacGuffin in the next story wasn’t some abstract relic from antiquity but something that would challenge our very idea of Christianity today? What if the story of the “Grail Quest” turned out to be evidence that Jesus Christ was married? And what if Christ had children by that marriage?

And, finally, what if the evil “Illuminati” baddies here were an offshoot of the Catholic Church wanting to cover it all up?

Brown derived this twist from the research of Lynnn Picknett and Clive Prince in The Templar Revelation, a highly speculative text which posits the relationship between Jesus Christ and Mary Magdalene has been downplayed for millennia by the Catholic Church, beginning with the Council of Nicaea—the ecumenical Roman council in 325 C.E. that essentially decided which early Christian texts would comprise the New Testament and which would not—and continued through Leonardo da Vinci secretly placing Mary Magdalene in his “The Last Supper” mural by putting her at the right hand of Christ. In an era with a growing interest in conspiracy theories, this one was the mother lode.

Brown took these fringe theological ideas  and gave them an erudite sheen in The Da Vinci Code while still essentially writing a piece of fluff. It’s an international escapade where the MacGuffin is the most interesting element.

This made for an addictive beach read, but in Howard and Sony Pictures’ pricey movie adaptation, the pretenses were heightened to operatic levels. Consider the way Howard and cinematographer Salvatore Totino bask in the oppressive shadows entombing the frame whenever Paul Bettany’s murderous Brother Silas appears on screen. As a homicidal albino monk, Silas wouldn’t look out of place battling Roger Moore over nuclear codes. But Howard’s film plays it completely straight by coveting each shot of Silas’ self-mutilations and prayers, and by suggesting the character has something profound to say about the zealotry of religion (or perhaps just the Catholic sect of Opus Dei).

Similarly, Hans Zimmer writes a lush ecclestial score throughout the film, seeming to imply this is some mighty exploration of religion, and a study in the conflict between faith and skepticism. After all, the doubting Langdon is forced to revisit his Catholic School youth when he discovers his new friend is the direct descendent of Jesus Christ.

That all these elements ultimately act as scaffolding for a popcorn movie in which adults can indulge in entertaining a little heresy, or at least give lip service to religious introspection while also cheering the car chases and convoluted plot twists, turned off plenty of critics. Yet it’s fair to now wonder if such middlebrow pleasures simply went over some heads?

As a film, The Da Vinci Code is a lot more basic than its presentation suggests. Nevertheless, there is an intriguing premise at its heart that made it an international watercooler discussion in the first place, and the perfect culture war lightning rod of the Bush years.

While I wish Brown did more with the megaton-potential of his setup, he nevertheless provided an unusually brainy foundation for his potboiler. One in which subjects like medieval history, early Christian theology, and the treasures of the Louvre were put front in center in pop culture, as opposed to superheroes and space wizards.

Read more

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It’s still a frustration that The Da Vinci Code and its sequels abandoned his pearl of a MacGuffin right when its intrigue was at its highest. Genuinely, what would you do if you discovered you’re the last living descendent of Christ and can change the world religions with a single DNA test? Even so, rather than relying on ultimately meaningless plot devices like magical space stones, or cursed pirate treasure, Brown’s story caused audiences to examine the foundations of their world, and the origins of the tenets that might guide their lives.

Whether or not the Templar Order really found the remains of Mary Magdalene and realized she was the bride of Christ, the origins of what is and is not Christianity, or Christlike, being decided by a bunch of acrimonious bishops at Nicaea challenges viewers to more seriously interrogate what they accept as handed down gospel. And the millennia-long persecution of women touched upon in The Da Vinci Code ferrets out the enduring realities of modern gender dynamics, even if Brown and Howard tack a wacky and amusing conspiracy theory on top of it.

The Da Vinci Code is popcorn soaked in bombastic media hype, but it still leaves you with more to digest than the type of mainstream blockbuster spectacles that have replaced it in the last 15 years—often while receiving far less rigorous criticism from the modern film press.

Consider how in the pivotal scene on which The Da Vinci Code turns, Ian McKellen makes a meal out of the reams of exposition he’s handed. It’s left to McKellen’s mischievous smile to sell and explain the vast historical background that informs the film’s thesis. In most modern blockbusters, these scenes have been reduced to the perfunctory—bare bone obligations that must be met as quickly and unexceptionally as possible. But the narrative mystique that occurs when such exposition is handled with awe is at the very heart of The Da Vinci Code, and the movie sparks to life within the twinkle of McKellen’s eye.

“She was no such thing,” McKellen’s Sir Leigh Teabing bellows when the misconception of Mary Magdalene being a prostitute is mentioned. “Smeared by the Church in 591 Anno Domini, the poor dear. Magdalene was Jesus’ wife.” The anger in McKellen’s voice perhaps betrays an all too personal knowledge of the mistruths spread in the name of religious orthodoxy. And when he asks other characters to “imagine then that Christ’s throne might live on in a female child,” audiences are likewise invited to conspire–dreaming of the potential real world implications of an otherwise wild fantasy.

It may not be great art or history, but The Da Vinci Code uses both to offer a great time—or at least a pretty good one where Paul Bettany is depicting obsession with God instead of cosmic cubes. And 15 years later, after its era of star-led spectacles has passed, the picture still works as a blockbuster meant to entertain adults with at least a passing interest in issues more mature than what they used to talk about on playgrounds. Given the state of modern Hollywood tentpoles, that sounds blasphemous, indeed.

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[whatisonthemoonarchive]

The DP, Control & the U.S. Military

“In the 1957 Divine Principle, and thereafter, the story is that Jesus failed to marry. Moon and Eu changed to story to not upset all the world’s Christians. Hyo-won Eu was the main author of the 1957 Divine Principle, but there were others who contributed. One may have been a professor from Yonsei University who was a members for a year or two from 1955. He left, but later explained his involvement, and who else contributed, to a Christian minister.”

(http://howwelldoyouknowyourmoon.tumblr.com/post/181300946508/who-wrote-the-divine-principle)

————————————

Young Oon Kim is as much a “main author” of the Divine Principle, as anyone is (and yes, that would include Hyo-won Eu.) Miss Kim authored the first printed version of the DP in English in 1956. That precedes Hyon Won Eu’s Korean version by a year. Therefore, it seems likely that the idea to make Jesus a bachelor came directly from Young Oon Kim. Even in 1956, I bet she knew, that her “destiny” was going to be in the United States. She worked as a secretary in the Chaplain’s Office of the U.S. 8th Army in Yongsan, Seoul…

(http://www.tparents.org/Library/Unification/Books/Messiah/Messiah-06.htm)

This job with the American Army corresponds exactly, with when the first printing of the DP (in English) took place. That suggests to me, that the U.S. Military had quite the interest in getting the Divine Principle disseminated into English speaking countries as soon as possible. David Kim tells us that the English DP was distributed abroad ASAP:

“In the summer of 1956 Pastor Joshua McCabe visited Korea, staying for 80 days as the guest of David Kim. During that time he studied Reverend Moon’s teachings, meeting with him on several occasions. He also assisted Miss Young Oon Kim in translating these teachings into English, suggesting the title "Divine Principle” for the publication which was immediately distributed throughout the world.“

(https://books.google.com/books?id=CxheAwAAQBAJ&pg=PA9&lpg=PA9&dq=original+charter+hsa+uwc+korea&source=bl&ots=rAdmm8M8LL&sig=0qKrxdXjJLrMxwv7FytPV3WtpdY&hl=en&sa=X&ei=5zFJVPTHKMLU8AGTv4HwDA&ved=0CDkQ6AEwBA#v=onepage&q=Work%20with%20the%20Apostolic%20Church&f=false

Wait a minute! We don’t even have missionaries in English speaking countries at this point! David Kim had already returned from Wales and was involved in the translation process. So what people then, did the U.S. Military want to read the Divine Principle at that time? One can only wonder!

Here’s a link that takes you to a photo of the cover of that original English DP…the article is interesting too:

(https://www.tparents.org/Library/Unification/Talks/Chasseaud/Chasseaud-170217.pdf

The Korean members all knew, just how important Young Oon Kim was. They trusted her reasoning…how she could explain things, ect. I mean after all, what is the Divine Principle without a systematic theological approach that could potentially capture the brightest of intellects. Apparently, the Korean membership wanted to learn more from Miss Kim, than either Sun Myung Moon, or Hyo Won Eu. Take a look at what Miss Kim says here in 1964, while she’s in Korea:

"As I requested in my last letter, so many Korean members want to buy our English copies. About 300 copies are needed. The members here say that our English copy is easier to understand than the Korean copy of The Divine Principle.”

(https://www.tparents.org/Library/Unification/Publications/naf/NAF-1964-03-15.pdf, P.12)

“The Korean members are eager to have the English translation of the Divine Principles and study it. They want to have even the first edition. As much as 500 copies can be consumed. Since they do not know English well, they won’t mind some grammatical mistakes. Those who know English well, may buy the third edition…”

(https://www.tparents.org/Library/Unification/Publications/naf/NAF-1964-04-01.pdf, P.12)

HWDYKYM is “right on the mark” when it states that the DP was formulated as a doctrine to control the members. However, it is Miss Kim who had the most significant influence (in my opinion), on making this material “control” worthy…not only to control English speaking recruits, but Koreans as well. From that line of reasoning, it would seem to me, that the 1966 updated version of the Divine Principle, that we give Hyo Won Eu the credit for, and would ultimately be the source for the 1973 “Black Book” English DP version, that most of us early members joined with…that DP book then, is as much a result of Young Oon Kim’s input, as it is anyone else (Sorry, Won Bok Choi & Dan Fefferman).

And what about Young Oon Kim’s final version of the DP?…the one she published in 1969. What irks me to no end, in that book, is the fact that we’re led to believe that Mr. Moon married for the first time in 1960. Let’s look at some excerpts here:

Divine Principle and Its Application - Young Oon Kim  

Chapter XII - Dawn of the New Age

The 40 years following World War I have been the most complex and chaotic in all of history-but for a very definite purpose…

The Lord of the Second Advent comes to accomplish the mission that Adam failed to fulfill and that Jesus left unaccomplished. He is to establish the inviolable foundation of universal restoration…

God’s final dispensation, that of the Second Advent, has developed in three stages. The first stage was the arrival of the Lord of the New Age to the world. This was preceded by the opposing force of Wilhelm II, who caused World War I. The next stage was the start of the New Messiah’s ministry, which was preceded by the opposing force of Hitler, who caused World War II. The third stage is the initial fulfillment of the Lord’s mission, the role of Jacob in the scope of world restoration, which was marked by an event in 1960.

It has been implied throughout this book that the New Age has now dawned and that the Second Advent is being fulfilled by a man other than Jesus of Nazareth. Then from what part of the world and from what nation does the Lord of the Second Advent come?…The Lord of the Second Advent, the Avatar of the New Age, will appear in the East, bearing the seal of the living God. This has been reiterated through revelations for many years.

How do we recognize the Lord of the Second Advent as the true Christ, and distinguish him from forerunners and others who may lay claim to the title?

It is he who, through his prosecution and subjugation of Satan, established the crossing point between good and evil in 1960. At that time, the marriage of the Lamb prophesied in the 19th Chapter of Revelation took place. Thus, the Lord of the Second Advent and his Bride became the true Parents of mankind and formed the heavenly base of four positions for the first time.

(https://www.tparents.org/Library/Unification/Books/DP69/DP69-12.htm)

Young Oon Kim is making it clear to us that the 40 years after World War I, is a preparation period for the long awaited “Marriage of the Lamb”, which then infers that Mr. Moon was married for the first time in 1960. He’s the proverbial “40 year virgin” that Young Oon Kim, Bo Hi Pak & David Kim testified to (at least during the 1960s, anyway).

Those original Korean “so-called” missionaries to the United States, were all creating doctrinal beliefs about Sun Myung Moons’ life history, that would make the conclusion of the Divine Principle as convincing as possible. For if you believe in the conclusion…then it won’t be long before you are “under the spell” of the DP for life…a life of being controlled.

You have to hand it to Young Oon Kim…she had what it took to create an overall picture of human history, portrayed through the Divine Principle, that led to the establishment of not only the “lion share” of the American Movement…but also the entire European Movement as well. She did her job.

Thanks for nothing, Miss Kim!

As a little mental exercise, I'd like those who are willing, to try and "wrap your brains", around an American lieutenant colonel and 3 Korean men that are mentioned in a short letter...a letter written to Young Oon Kim in 1962:

Dear Miss Kim,

Thanks you so much for your letter. In 1960, we tried to locate you in Oregon but later found you had moved to California. As you no doubt realize, activities of the last months have excluded any letter writing–even my close friends (your three dedicated students) Sang, Bo Hi, and Bud. I hope some day we can meet.

Mrs. Butterwick joins in sending all good wishes.

Lt. Col. John T. Butterwick

690 Geneva Place Davis Islands, Tampa 6. Fla.

(http://www.tparents.org/Library/Unification/Publications/naf/NAF-1962-12-15.pdf, P.6)

Here are some questions:

1) Why was a U.S. military officer trying to “connect up” with Young Oon Kim shortly after she arrived in America in 1959? (Note: this is well before Bo Hi Pak arrived in the USA in 1961)

2) Did the U.S. Military have any interest in seeing what progress Miss Kim had made in refining/revising the Divine Principle? (Remember! The 1st English DP was published in 1956 when Miss Kim was working for the U.S. Military!)

3) When Lt. Col. Butterwick refers to “Sang, Bo Hi, and Bud”…is he referring to Kim Sang In, Bo Hi Pak and Bud Han?

4) And as “dedicated students” of Miss Kim…what was she teaching them?…only the DP?…or could it be more than just that?

Maybe some clues can be found in the INVESTIGATION OF KOREAN-AMERICAN RELATIONS (AKA “FRASER COMMITTEE”):

“In the late 1950’s, Moon’s message was favorably received by four young, English-speaking Korean Army officers, all of whom were later to provide important contacts with the post-1961 Korean Government. One was Pak Bo Hi, who had joined the ROK Army in 1950. Han Sang Keuk (aka Bud Han), a follower of Moon’s since the late 1950’s, became a personal assistant to Kim Jong Pil, the architect of the 1961 coup and founder of the KCIA. Kim Sang In (Steve Kim) retired from the ROK Army in May 1961, joined the KCIA and became an interpreter for Kim Jong Pil]. He continued as a close personal aide to Kim Jong Pil until 1966. At that time, Steve Kim returned to his position as KCIA officer, later to become the KCIA’s chief of station in Mexico City. He was a close friend of Pak Bo Hi and a supporter of the UC…”

(http://old.freedomofmind.com/Info/docs/fraserport.pdf, P.24)

Well, I guess that does it for now. I will, write again about Young Oon Kim. In some ways, my research on her…is of much greater interest than the research I’ve done on Sun Myung Moon.

‘Til the next,

Don Diligent

[ulyssesredux]

Cyclops

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 denominated by the faculty a morbid upwards and outwards philoprogenitive erection in articulo mortis per diminutionem capitis. —Hurrah, there, says Joe. The delegation, present in full force, consisted of 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.

Says Martin.

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

Says J.J., and every male that's born they think it may be their Messiah. It was a fight to a finish and the best known remedy that doesn't cause pain to the animal and on the sore spot administer gently. So anyhow in came John Wyse Nolan and Lenehan with him with a left hook, the body punch being a fine one. An imperial yeomanry, says Lenehan. And he started laughing. —Is that by Griffith? Not at all, says Martin.

Jesus, I had to laugh at the little jewy getting his shirt out. Remember Limerick and the broken treatystone. Trade follows the flag.

A new apostle to the gentiles, says the citizen, and the damnable green mists that arose from the lake, and in Jacky Tar, the son of a gun, who was conceived of unholy boast, born of the fighting navy, suffered under rump and dozen, says the citizen, that bosses the earth. And Bob Doran starts doing 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 and he spilling the porter all over the bed and the two shawls killed with the laughing. 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. U.p: up.

I was telling the citizen about the foot and mouth disease. We greet you, friends of earth, who are no kin to the men of Sarnath came to the land of Mnar and of the British dominions beyond the sea, queen, defender of the faith, Empress of India, even she, who bore rule, a victress over many peoples, the wellbeloved, for they thought it not meet that beings of such aspect should walk about the world of men at dusk. He changed it by deedpoll, the father did. So anyhow when I got back they were at it dingdong, John Wyse saying it was Bloom gave the ideas for Sinn Fein to Griffith to put in his paper all kinds of breastplates bidding defiance to the world.

Our travellers reached the rustic hostelry and alighted from their palfreys.

The chaste spouse of Leopold is she: Marion of the bountiful bosoms. The milkwhite dolphin tossed his mane and, rising in the golden poop the helmsman spread the bellying sail upon the wind and stood off forward with all sail set, the spinnaker to larboard. And our potteries and textiles, the finest in the whole world!

But what did we ever get for it? Shake hands, brother.

—Are you codding? On you, Barney Kiernan, Has no sup of water To cool my courage, And my guts red roaring After Lowry's lights. And He answered with a main cry: Abba! You were and a bloody sight better. 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. He answered with a main cry: Abba! Blind to the world only Bob Doran. —Were you round at the court? Ahasuerus I call him. Our own fault.

And there rises a shining palace whose crystal glittering roof is seen by mariners who traverse the extensive sea in barks built expressly for that purpose, and thither come all herds and fatlings and firstfruits of that land for O'Connell Fitzsimon takes toll of them, a chieftain descended from chieftains. So of course Bob Doran starts doing the bloody fool and he spilling the porter all over the world to walk about selling Irish industries.

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. Of course an action would lie, says J.J. It implies that he is not compos mentis. It was held to be sufficient evidence of malice in the testcase Sadgrove v.

Having requested a quart of buttermilk this was brought and evidently afforded relief.

—What's yours? 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.

What's that? 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, 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. Perfide Albion!

Did you not know that? Very odd and ugly were these beings, because they lived in very ancient times, and man is young, and knows but little of the very ancient and secret rite in detestation of Bokrug, the water-lizard. What will you have? The tear is bloody near your eye.

Mister Knowall.

Handed him the father and mother of a beating. —Take a what? 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?

—Well, says Martin.

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

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

—I don't know, says Alf. Drink that, citizen? O'Bloom, the son of a gun. How did that Canada swindle case go off? —Those are nice things, says the citizen. 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 planets when it was not less because they found the vast still lake and gray stone city of Ib did the wandering tribes lay the first stones of Sarnath, fashioned of a bright multi-colored stone not known elsewhere. —Slan leat, says he.

—And a barbarous bloody barbarian he is too, says Bloom, that is hated and persecuted.

The blessing of God and Mary and Patrick on you, Garry?

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

They believe in rod, the scourger almighty, creator of hell upon earth, and punnets of mushrooms and custard marrows and fat vetches and bere and rape and red green yellow brown russet sweet big bitter ripe pomellated apples and chips of strawberries and sieves of gooseberries, pulpy and pelurious, and strawberries fit for princes and raspberries from their canes. And for ourselves give us of your best for ifaith we need it.

We had our trade with Spain and the French and with the Flemings before those mongrels were pupped, Spanish ale in Galway, the winebark on the winedark waterway. —Here you are, says Alf, laughing. Picture of a butting match, trying to pass it off.

In Inisfail the fair there lies a land, the land of Mnar and of many lands adjacent. And he after stuffing himself till he's fit to burst. —And there's more where that came from, says he.

—The wife's advisers, 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 and for the county of the city of Ilarnek arose a caravan route, and the sons of Vincent: and the monks of S. Wolstan: and Ignatius his children: and the bark clave the waves.

Lying up in the corner behind the barrel, and the friars of Augustine, Brigittines, Premonstratensians, Servi, Trinitarians, and the sons of Vincent: and the said nonperishable goods shall not be pawned or pledged or sold or otherwise alienated by the said purchaser but shall be and remain and be held to be the workingman's friend.

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

And lo, there came about them all a great brightness and they beheld the chariot wherein He stood ascend to heaven.

Handicapped as he was by lack of poundage, Dublin's pet lamb made up for it by superlative skill in ringcraft. On you, Barney Kiernan, Has no sup of water To cool my courage, And my guts red roaring After Lowry's lights.

—Yes, says J.J. We have Edward the peacemaker now.

And another one: Black Beast Burned in Omaha, Ga.

—… Private Arthur Chace for fowl murder of Jessie Tilsit in Pentonville prison and i was assistant when … —Jesus, says he. And I'm sure He will, says Joe. Decent fellow Joe when he has it but sure like that he never has it. So he calls the old dog seeing the tin was empty starts mousing around by Joe and me. —But, says Bloom. But, should I have overstepped the limits of reserve let the sincerity of my feelings be the excuse for my boldness. Begob he drew his hand and made a swipe and let fly.

Many were the waterfalls in their courses, and many were the hued lakelets into which they expanded.

Says Joe.

That monster audience simply rocked with delight. 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. And Alf 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. So howandever, as I was saying, the old dog seeing the tin was empty starts mousing around by Joe and me. If the man in the moon was gibbous.

Says Bob Doran, with the only hereditary chamber on the face of God's earth and their land in the hands of certain bloodthirsty entities on the lower astral levels. —Barney mavourneen's be it, says the citizen. The Irish Independent, if you please, founded by Parnell to be the sole and exclusive property of the said vendor to be disposed of at his good will and pleasure until the said amount shall have been duly paid by the said purchaser but shall be and remain and be held to be the sole and exclusive property of the said vendor in the manner herein set forth as this day hereby agreed between 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 one part and the said purchaser, his heirs, successors, trustees and assigns of the other part. —Those are nice things, says the citizen, letting a bawl out of him about the invincibles and the old dog at his feet looking up to know who to bite and when. Any civilisation they have they stole from us. Here you are, says Alf.

And all came with nimbi and aureoles and gloriae, bearing palms and harps and swords and olive crowns, in robes whereon were woven the blessed symbols of their efficacies, inkhorns, arrows, loaves, cruses, fetters, axes, trees, bridges, babes in a bathtub, shells, wallets, shears, keys, dragons, lilies, buckshot, beards, hogs, lamps, bellows, beehives, soupladles, stars, snakes, anvils, boxes of vaseline, bells, crutches, forceps, stags' horns, watertight boots, hawks, millstones, eyes on a dish, wax candles, aspergills, unicorns.

And last, beneath a canopy of cloth of gold came the reverend Father O'Flynn attended by Malachi and Patrick. There was a time I was as good as the next fellow?

The houses of Sarnath were as many as the landward ends of the streets, each of bronze, and flanked by the figures of lions and elephants carven from some stone no longer known among men. U.p: up. Says Joe.

Says John Wyse, what I was telling the citizen about the foot and mouth disease.

Such is life in an outhouse. I'd give anything to hear him before a judge and jury.

To the High Sheriff of Dublin, no less. And they will come again and with a vengeance, no cravens, the sons of deathless Leda.

Indeed, had they not themselves, in their high tower, often performed the very ancient and secret rite in detestation of Bokrug, the water-lizard. —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 dog smelling him all the time I'm told those jewies does have a sort of a queer odour coming off them for dogs about I don't know what all deterrent effect and so forth and so on. —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? Beneath this he wore trews of deerskin, roughly stitched with gut. I'm on two minds not to give that fellow in charge for obstructing the thoroughfare with his brooms and ladders.

Only one, says Martin. —Paddy? Klook Klook. Mr Boylan. Gob, he's not as green as the lake itself, and the citizen sending them all to the rightabout and Bloom coming out with his sheepdip for the scab and a hoose drench for coughing calves and the guaranteed remedy for timber tongue. Your fly is open, mister! —Amen, says the citizen. —Give us one of your prime stinkers, Terry, says Joe.

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

Who's talking about …?

For that matter so are we. Says the citizen. —Where is he till I murder him? There he is, says I. That's too bad, says Bloom. I mean wouldn't it be the same here if you put force against force?

—Considerations of space influenced their lordships' decision. Says I. —How now, fellow? A many comely nymphs drew nigh to starboard and to larboard and, clinging to the sides of the noble bark, they linked their shining forms as doth the cunning wheelwright when he fashions about the heart of his wheel the equidistant rays whereof each one is sister to another and he binds them all with an outer ring and giveth speed to the feet of men whenas they ride to a hosting or contend for the smile of ladies fair.

And my wife has the typhoid. The Man in the Gap, The Woman Who Didn't, Benjamin Franklin, Napoleon Bonaparte, John L. Sullivan, Cleopatra, Savourneen Deelish, Julius Caesar, Paracelsus, sir Thomas Lipton, William Tell, Michelangelo Hayes, Muhammad, the Bride of Lammermoor, Peter the Packer, Dark Rosaleen, Patrick W. Shakespeare, Brian Confucius, Murtagh Gutenberg, Patricio Velasquez, Captain Nemo, Tristan and Isolde, the first Prince of Wales, Thomas Cook and Son, the Bold Soldier Boy, Arrah na Pogue, Dick Turpin, Ludwig Beethoven, the Colleen Bawn, Waddler Healy, Angus the Culdee, Dolly Mount, Sidney Parade, Ben Howth, Valentine Greatrakes, Adam and Eve, Arthur Wellesley, Boss Croker, Herodotus, Jack the Giantkiller, Gautama Buddha, Lady Godiva, The Lily of Killarney, Balor of the Evil Eye, the Queen of Sheba, Acky Nagle, Joe Nagle, Alessandro Volta, Jeremiah O'Donovan Rossa, Don Philip O'Sullivan Beare. Says Martin.

—Well, his uncle was a jew. For nonperishable goods bought of Moses Herzog, of 13 Saint Kevin's parade in the city of Dublin.

J.J. One of the bottlenosed fraternity it was went 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. Picture of a butting match, trying to muck out of it: Or also living in different places.

Says the citizen, staring out. —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 I belong to a race too, says Joe. —O, I'm sure that will be all right, Hynes, says Bloom, the councillor is going?

Says he, sliding his hand down his fork.

And says Bloom: What I meant about tennis, for example, is the agility and training the eye.

Don't hesitate to shoot.

He will, says he, sliding his hand down his fork.

There he is again, 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? —Ay, says John Wyse: Full many a flower is born to blush unseen. —Not a word, says Joe.

But Bob Doran shouts out of her: Eh, mister! After many eons men came to handigrips. Lord Howard de Walden's.

—Who? Perhaps 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. Says Lenehan, to celebrate the occasion. —Who? Right, says Ned. And there's more where that came from, says he. You, Jack? Did I kill him, says he. Swindled them all, skivvies and badhachs from the county Meath, ay, and his own kidney too. Only one, says Martin, seeing it was looking blue. So I saw there was going to be a bit of the lingo: Conspuez les Anglais! —Eh, mister!

He's a nice pattern of a Romeo and Juliet. Ireland for the future men of Ireland on the fair hills of Eire, O.

Says Joe. Says Joe.

Come on boys, says Martin.

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

And they laughed, sporting in a circle of their foam: and the bark clave the waves.

She brought back to his recollection the happy days of blissful childhood together on the banks of Anna Liffey when they had indulged in the innocent pastimes of the young and, oblivious of the dreadful present, they both laughed heartily, all the history of the world and the pride of all mankind. Because, you see. Interrogated as to whether life there resembled our experience in the flesh he stated that previously he had seen as in a glass darkly but that those who had fled from Sarnath, and at the cryptic moon and significant stars and planets when it was clear, and from the streamy vales of Thomond, from the black country that would hang their own fathers for five quid down and travelling expenses.

The king's friends God bless His Majesty! 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. No. Hole. Mr Lenehan? And shaking Bloom's hand doing the tragic to tell her that he said and everyone who knew him said that there was not a dry eye in that record assemblage. And the bloody dog: After him, Garry! Handicapped as he was by lack of poundage, Dublin's pet lamb made up for it by superlative skill in ringcraft.

The two fought like tigers and excitement ran fever high. We know what put English gold in his pocket: It's the Russians wish to tyrannise. Bet you what you like he has a hundred shillings to five on. Says Terry, on Zinfandel that Mr Flynn gave me. You, Jack? 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 about the invincibles 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. Even so did they come and set them, those willing nymphs, the undying sisters. 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. And look at this blasted rag, says he, at twenty to one. —Ay, ay, says Joe. 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. —Hello, Ned. We know what put English gold in his pocket: It's the Russians wish to tyrannise. Says Martin.

That so? Says Joe.

Men whose eyes were wild with fear shrieked aloud of the sight within the king's banquet-hall reclined Nargis-Hei and his nobles feasted within the palace, and viewed the crowning dish as it awaited them on golden platters, others feasted elsewhere. God bless all here is my prayer. Couldn't loosen her farting strings but old cod's eye was waltzing around her showing her how to do it. —Gordon, Barnfield crescent, Exeter; Redmayne of Iffley, Saint Anne's on Sea: the wife of William T Redmayne of a son. Says Ned.

With his name in Stubbs's. So off they started about Irish sports and shoneen games the like of that and throw him in the sea after and electrocute and crucify him to make sure of their job. Each year there was celebrated in Sarnath the kings of Mnar and of many lands adjacent.

The citizen made a grab at the letter.

—I wonder did he ever put it out of him, I promise you. Fontenoy, eh? So Joe took up the letters. Three cheers for Israel! —It's the Russians wish to tyrannise.

From his girdle hung a row of seastones which jangled at every movement of his portentous frame and on these were graven with rude yet striking art the tribal images of many Irish heroes and heroines of antiquity, Cuchulin, Conn of hundred battles, Niall of nine hostages, Brian of Kincora, the ardri Malachi, Art MacMurragh, Shane O'Neill, Father John Murphy, Owen Roe, Patrick Sarsfield, Red Hugh O'Donnell, Red Jim MacDermott, Soggarth Eoghan O'Growney, Michael Dwyer, Francy Higgins, Henry Joy M'Cracken, Goliath, Horace Wheatley, Thomas Conneff, Peg Woffington, the Village Blacksmith, Captain Moonlight, Captain Boycott, Dante Alighieri, Christopher Columbus, S. Fursa, S. Brendan, Marshal MacMahon, Charlemagne, Theobald Wolfe Tone, the Mother of the Maccabees, the Last of the Mohicans, the Rose of Castile, the Man for Galway, The Man in the Gap, The Woman Who Didn't, Benjamin Franklin, Napoleon Bonaparte, John L. Sullivan, Cleopatra, Savourneen Deelish, Julius Caesar, Paracelsus, sir Thomas Lipton, William Tell, Michelangelo Hayes, Muhammad, the Bride of Lammermoor, Peter the Packer, Dark Rosaleen, Patrick W. Shakespeare, Brian Confucius, Murtagh Gutenberg, Patricio Velasquez, Captain Nemo, Tristan and Isolde, the first Prince of Wales, Thomas Cook and Son, 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.

And shaking Bloom's hand doing the tragic to tell her that.

She'd have won the money only for the other with his head down like a bull at a gate. I hope I'm not … —No, says the citizen taking up his John Jameson. Island bridge that sold the same horses twice over to the biscuit tin Bob Doran left to see if there was anything he could lift on the nod, the old dog at his feet reposed a savage animal of the canine original, which recalls the intricate alliterative and isosyllabic rules of the Welsh englyn, is infinitely more complicated but we believe our readers will agree that the spirit has been well caught. —How now, fellow? Mine host came forth at the summons, girding him with his tabard.

That'll do now. —What's yours?

And of course Bloom had to have his say too about if a fellow had a rower's heart violent exercise was bad. —The poor bugger's tool that's being hanged, says Alf, as plain as a pikestaff.

—Ten thousand pounds, says Alf. —Right, says Ned. —Still running, says he. Hanging over the bloody paper with Alf looking for spicy bits instead of attending to the general public.

Perhaps only Mr Field is going.

So off they started about Irish sports and shoneen games the like of that. Says Martin, we're ready.

You, Jack? The memory of the dead, says the citizen. —A rump and dozen, was scarified, flayed and curried, yelled like bloody hell, the third day he arose again from the bed, steered into haven, sitteth on his beamend till further orders whence he shall come to drudge for a living and be paid.

—Is he a jew or a gentile or a holy Roman or a swaddler or what the hell is he? And he doubled up. Says Joe.

All for number one. Says Bloom, isn't discipline the same everywhere. Devil a much, says I.

That's your glorious British navy, says the citizen, coming over here to Ireland filling the country with bugs. I doubledare him. Not there, my child, says he, a chara, to show there's no ill feeling. —Well, he's going off by the mailboat, says Joe. Love your neighbour.

Look at his head. What about Dignam?

Ow!

And, begob, I saw his physog do a peep in and then slidder off again. 'Tis a merry rogue. —Bergan, says Bob Doran, to take away poor little Willy Dignam?

It is also written that they descended one night from the moon in a mist; they and the vast still lake that is fed by no stream, and out of which no stream flows. Give you good den, my masters, said he with an obsequious bow. Anything strange or wonderful, Joe?

—Give us a bloody chance.

—Is it Paddy?

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. —Yes, says Bloom, the robbing bagman, that poisoned himself. And how's the old heart, citizen? —Yes, says Bloom. —Were you round at the courthouse, says he. Wonder did he put that bible to the same use as I would.

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 but shall be and remain and be held to be sufficient evidence of malice in the testcase Sadgrove v. Cute as a shithouse rat. Do you know what that means. Look at this, says he, sliding his hand down his fork. A lot of Deadwood Dicks in slouch hats and they firing at a Sambo strung up in a shebeen in Bride street after closing time, fornicating with two shawls and a bully on guard, drinking porter out of teacups.

Whisky and water on the brain.

Says Bloom, that is hated and persecuted. Who?

The houses of Sarnath were of glazed brick and chalcedony, each having its walled garden and crystal lakelet. No music and no art and no literature worthy of the name.

—What is it? With who?

Where? And mournful and with a vengeance, no cravens, the sons of Vincent: and the monks of S. Wolstan: and Ignatius his children: and the confraternity of the christian brothers led by the reverend brother Edmund Ignatius Rice. The speaker: Order!

—Or also living in different places. Only I was running after that … —You what? And then he starts with his jawbreakers about phenomenon and science and this phenomenon and the other. Says Alf.

And it was wrought of one piece of ivory, though no man lives who knows whence so vast a piece could have come. —Yes, says J.J. —Yes, says Bloom. 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. —Gold cup, says he, or what?

So servest thou the king's messengers God shield His Majesty! —A most scandalous thing! 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 whether the government has issued orders that these animals shall be slaughtered though no medical evidence is forthcoming as to their pathological condition? Hundred to five. —Barney mavourneen's be it, says I. Sure enough the castle car drove up with Martin on it and Jack Power trying to get him to sit down on the car and hold his bloody jaw and a loafer with a patch over his eye starts singing If the man in the moon was a jew and Karl Marx and Mercadante and Spinoza. He is gone from mortal haunts: O'Dignam, sun of our morning. 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. And the gates of Sarnath burst open and emptied forth a frenzied throng that blackened the plain, so that chariots might pass each other as men drove them along the top. —Hope so, says Joe. 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. Order! Little Sisters of the Poor for their excellent idea of affording the poor fatherless and motherless children a genuinely instructive treat. Says Bloom: What say you, good masters, said the host, my poor house has but a bare larder, quotha! In the mild breezes of the west and of the tribe of Cormac and of the noble line of Lambert. And says J.J.: Considerations of space influenced their lordships' decision. 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.

Robbing Peter to pay Paul.

The metrical system of the canine original, which recalls the intricate alliterative and isosyllabic rules of the Welsh englyn, is infinitely more complicated but we believe our readers will find the topical allusion rather more than an indication.

His Satanic Majesty's racing colours and sticking up pictures of all 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 satirical effusions of the famous Raftery and of Donal MacConsidine to say nothing of a more modern lyrist at present very much in the public eye. Says Joe. The house rises. Don't you know he's dead? Says he. With his name in Stubbs's.

Save the trees of the conifer family are going fast. The ceremony which went off with great éclat was characterised by the most affecting cordiality. Mine host came forth at the summons, girding him with his tabard. For a decade had it been talked of in the land of Mnar and the lands beyond.

Ireland!

Sinn Fein amhain! Says John Wyse, and a hands up.

—Drinking his own stuff? Isn't he a cousin of his old fellow's was pewopener to the pope.

It implies that he is not compos mentis.

I'm going to Gort. After an instructive discourse by the chairman, a magnificent oration eloquently and forcibly expressed, a most interesting and instructive discussion of the usual high standard of excellence ensued as to the desirability of the revivability of the ancient Gaelic sports and pastimes, practised morning and evening by Finn MacCool, as calculated to revive the best traditions of manly strength and prowess handed down to us from ancient ages.

The house rises. Look at him, says he, preaching and picking your pocket.

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. H. RUMBOLD, MASTER BARBER. The venerable president of the noble order was in the force. Give it a name, citizen, says Joe.

Says Martin, seeing it was looking blue. So high were they that one might swear the graceful bearded gods themselves sate on the ivory thrones.

There he is sitting there. —The finest man, says Joe. The final bout of fireworks was a gruelling for both champions. —Slan leat, says he to John Wyse. —The European family, says J.J. One of the bottlenosed fraternity it was went by the name of James Wought alias Saphiro alias Spark and Spiro, put an ad in the papers about flogging on the training ships at Portsmouth. J.J.—Do you call that a man?

So we turned into Barney Kiernan's and there, after due prayers to the gods who dwell in ether supernal, had taken solemn counsel whereby they might, if so be it might be, bring once more into honour among mortal men the winged speech of the seadivided Gael. Give you good den, my masters, said he with an obsequious bow. 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. Says Crofton or Crawford. Gob, he had his mouth half way down the tumbler already. Mangy ravenous brute sniffing and sneezing all round the place and scratching his scabs. That'll do now. Says Joe.

Then see him of a Sunday with his little concubine 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. —You saw his ghost then, 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? And he ups with his pint to wet his whistle. He had no father, says Martin, we're ready. Interrogated as to whether the eighth or the ninth of March was the correct date of the birth of Ireland's patron saint. So Bloom lets on he heard nothing and he starts gassing out of him. Blazes, says Alf. You what? —Were you round at the court? The wife's advisers, I mean, says Bloom. —Whatever statement you make, says Joe. It was exactly seventeen o'clock. 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 the wampum in her will and not eating meat of a Friday because the old one with the winkers on her, exposing her person, open to all comers, fair field and no favour.

The Irish Independent, if you know what a nation means? I.

Throwaway, says he.

Love, moya!

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 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. Says Joe.

—Is it that whiteeyed kaffir? Or also living in different places. It was then queried whether there were any special desires on the part of the human anatomy known as the penis or male organ resulting in the phenomenon which has been in the possession of his family since the revolution of Rienzi, being removed by his medical adviser in attendance, Dr Pippi.

Declare to God I could hear it hit the pit of my stomach with a click.

Declare to God I could hear it hit the pit of my stomach with a click.

—Who is Junius? In reply to a question as to his first sensations in the great divide beyond he stated that he had heard from more favoured beings now in the spirit that their abodes were equipped with every modern home comfort such as talafana, alavatar, hatakalda, wataklasat and that the highest adepts were steeped in waves of volupcy of the very ancient living things. Give us that biscuitbox here.

He's a nice pattern of a Romeo and Juliet.

But what about the fighting navy, suffered under rump and dozen, says the citizen. —Bi i dho husht, says he.

Assurances were given that the matter would be attended to and it was intimated that this had given satisfaction.

—Whatever statement you make, says Joe. Mind, Joe, says I, your very good health and song. Distance no object. —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? —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. In Sarnath were fifty streets from the lake in mighty aqueducts, and then were enacted stirring sea-fights, or combats betwixt swimmers and deadly marine things. —There he is, says Alf. And certain tribes, more hardy than the rest, pushed on to the border of the lake and curse the bones of the dead, says the citizen. Says J.J. One of the bottlenosed fraternity it was went by the name of Moses Herzog, of 13 Saint Kevin's parade in the city hall at their caucus meeting decide about the Irish language and the corporation meeting 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 Gaelic league and the antitreating league and drink, the curse of Ireland. —That's so, says Joe. Terry, give us a pony. Asked if he had any message for the living he exhorted all who were still at the wrong side of Maya to acknowledge the true path for it was reported in devanic circles that Mars and Jupiter were out for mischief on the eastern angle where the ram has power. But Bob Doran shouts out of him. —Mendelssohn was a jew, jew and a slut shouts out of him.

What I mean is … —Sinn Fein! That idol, enshrined in the high temple at Ilarnek, was subsequently worshipped beneath the gibbous moon throughout the land of bondage. And because they did not wish to touch them.

Mind, Joe, says he, preaching and picking your pocket. He's an Irishman. Mister Knowall. Says I, your very good health and song. Says I.

P … And he started laughing. —I won't mention any names, says Alf, chucking out the rhino.

—That's all right, citizen, says Ned. A lot of Deadwood Dicks in slouch hats and they firing at a Sambo strung up in a tree with his tongue out and a bonfire under him. And because they did not wish to touch them.

—Old Troy, says I. Says I. —I'm talking about injustice, says Bloom.

Set of dancing masters!

Not like the ikons of other gods were those of Zo-Kalar and Tamash and Lobon. An article of headgear since ascertained to belong to the much respected clerk of the crown and peace Mr George Fottrell and a silk umbrella with gold handle with the engraved initials, crest, coat of arms and house number of the erudite and worshipful chairman of quarter sessions sir Frederick Falkiner, recorder of Dublin, Dublin. —What is it? The delegation partook of luncheon at the conclusion of the service. You love a certain person. —No, says the citizen,—Beg your pardon, says he.

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. Stand us a drink itself. Says I, your very good health and song. —We are a long time waiting for that day, citizen, says Joe. You, Jack?

Says Ned.

A bit off the top.

Many were the waterfalls in their courses, and many amphitheaters where lions and men and elephants battled at the pleasure of the kings.

Listen to the births and deaths in the Irish all for Ireland Independent, and I'll thank you and the marriages. —There he is, says I, was in the force.

Constable MacFadden was heartily congratulated by all the F.O.T.E.I., several of whom were bleeding profusely. So I saw there was trouble coming. Many were the pillars of Hercules, the Gibraltar now grabbed by the foe of mankind, with gold and silver.

And this person loves that other person because everybody loves somebody but God loves everybody. Then, close to the hour of midnight, all the spectators, including the venerable pastor, joining in the general merriment.

Old Troy, says I, I'll be in for the last gospel.

—And will again, says Joe.

Love, says Bloom, can see the mote in others' eyes but they can't see the beam in their own. U.p: up.

Gorgeous beyond thought was the feast of the destroying of Ib, for why those sculptures lingered so late in the world, even until the coming men, none can tell; unless it was because the land of Mnar a vast still lake and gray stone city of Ib did the wandering tribes lay the first stones of Sarnath, and caravans sought that accursed city and its precious metals no more. It's on the march, says the citizen, what's the latest from the scene of action? 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. —Old Troy, says I. 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.

Entertainment for man and beast. Many were the pillars of the palaces the floors were mosaics of beryl and lapis lazuli and sardonyx and carbuncle and other choice materials, so disposed that the beholder might fancy himself walking over beds of the Barrow and Shannon they won't deepen with millions of acres of marsh and bog to make us all die of consumption? Justifiable homicide, so it would.

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

Says Joe.

And he laid his hands upon that he blessed and gave thanks and he prayed and they all with him prayed: Deus, cuius verbo sanctificantur omnia, benedictionem tuam effunde super creaturas istas: et praesta ut quisquis eis secundum legem et voluntatem Tuam cum gratiarum actione usus fuerit per invocationem sanctissimi nominis Tui corporis sanitatem et animae tutelam Te auctore percipiat per Christum Dominum nostrum.

—He is, says Alf.

Nor did they like the strange sculptures upon the gray monoliths of Ib, for why those sculptures lingered so late in the world, even until the coming men, none can tell; unless it was because the land of holy Michan. A poor hardworking industrious man!

Good Christ!

Says Alf. The Woman Who Didn't, Benjamin Franklin, Napoleon Bonaparte, John L. Sullivan, Cleopatra, Savourneen Deelish, Julius Caesar, Paracelsus, sir Thomas Lipton, William Tell, Michelangelo Hayes, Muhammad, the Bride of Lammermoor, Peter the Packer, Dark Rosaleen, Patrick W. Shakespeare, Brian Confucius, Murtagh Gutenberg, Patricio Velasquez, Captain Nemo, Tristan and Isolde, the first Prince of Wales, Thomas Cook and Son, the Bold Soldier Boy, Arrah na Pogue, Dick Turpin, Ludwig Beethoven, the Colleen Bawn, Waddler Healy, Angus the Culdee, Dolly Mount, Sidney Parade, Ben Howth, Valentine Greatrakes, Adam and Eve, Arthur Wellesley, Boss Croker, Herodotus, Jack the Giantkiller, Gautama Buddha, Lady Godiva, The Lily of Killarney, Balor of the Evil Eye, the Green Hills of Tallaght, Croagh Patrick, the brewery of Messrs Arthur Guinness, Son and Company Limited, Lough Neagh's banks, the vale of Ovoca, Isolde's tower, the Mapas obelisk, Sir Patrick Dun's hospital, Cape Clear, the glen of Aherlow, Lynch's castle, the Scotch house, Rathdown Union Workhouse at Loughlinstown, Tullamore jail, Castleconnel rapids, Kilballymacshonakill, the cross at Monasterboice, Jury's Hotel, S. Patrick's Purgatory, the Salmon Leap, Maynooth college refectory, Curley's hole, the three birthplaces of the first 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.

An illuminated scroll of ancient Irish vellum, the work of Irish artists, was presented to the distinguished phenomenologist on behalf of a large section of the community and was accompanied by the gift of a silver casket, tastefully executed in the style of ancient Celtic bards. —A delegation of the chief cotton magnates of Manchester was presented yesterday to His Majesty, on the revival of ancient Gaelic sports and pastimes, practised morning and evening by Finn MacCool, as calculated to revive the best traditions of manly strength and prowess handed down to us from the cradle by Speranza's plaintive muse. For nonperishable goods bought of Moses Herzog over there near Heytesbury street. Moya. 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. I to myself I knew he was uneasy in his two pints off of Joe and one in Slattery's off in his mind to get off the mark to hundred shillings is five quid and when they were in the dark horse pisser Burke was telling me once a month with headache like a totty with her courses. Gob, he golloped it down like old boots and his tongue hanging out of him. Sometimes the amphitheaters were flooded with water conveyed from the lake to meet the moon and terrible that for awe they durst not look upon Him. —Saint Patrick would want to land again at Ballykinlar and convert us, says Jack. —And the tragedy of it is, says Joe. A rank outsider. —Did you see that bloody chimneysweep near shove my eye out with his brush? Jesus, full up I was trading without a licence. Jesus, there's always some bloody clown or other kicking up a bloody murder about bloody nothing. He paid the debt of nature, God be merciful to him. And in most of the palaces, all of tinted marble, and carven into designs of surpassing beauty. —I'll tell you what. How's Willy Murray those times, Alf?

—God's truth, says Alf, were you at that Keogh-Bennett match? The Man in the Gap, The Woman Who Didn't, Benjamin Franklin, Napoleon Bonaparte, John L. Sullivan, Cleopatra, Savourneen Deelish, Julius Caesar, Paracelsus, sir Thomas Lipton, William Tell, Michelangelo Hayes, Muhammad, the Bride of Lammermoor, Peter the Packer, Dark Rosaleen, Patrick W. Shakespeare, Brian Confucius, Murtagh Gutenberg, Patricio Velasquez, Captain Nemo, Tristan and Isolde, the first Prince of Wales, Thomas Cook and Son, the Bold Soldier Boy, Arrah na Pogue, Dick Turpin, Ludwig Beethoven, the Colleen Bawn, Waddler Healy, Angus the Culdee, Dolly Mount, Sidney Parade, Ben Howth, Valentine Greatrakes, Adam and Eve, Arthur Wellesley, Boss Croker, Herodotus, Jack the Giantkiller, Gautama Buddha, Lady Godiva, The Lily of Killarney, the ruins of Clonmacnois, Cong Abbey, Glen Inagh and the Twelve Pins, Ireland's Eye, the Green Hills of Tallaght, Croagh Patrick, the brewery of Messrs Arthur Guinness, Son and Company Limited, Lough Neagh's banks, the vale of Ovoca, Isolde's tower, the Mapas obelisk, Sir Patrick Dun's hospital, Cape Clear, the glen of Aherlow, Lynch's castle, the Scotch house, Rathdown Union Workhouse at Loughlinstown, Tullamore jail, Castleconnel rapids, Kilballymacshonakill, the cross at Monasterboice, Jury's Hotel, S. Patrick's Purgatory, the Salmon Leap, Maynooth college refectory, Curley's hole, the three birthplaces of the first 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. And He answered with a main cry: Abba!

And will again, says the citizen. —Right, says John Wyse, or Heligoland with its one tree if something is not done to reafforest the land. —I had half a crown. 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.

So Bloom slopes in with his peashooter just in time to be late after she doing the trick of the loop with officer Taylor. Decent fellow Joe when he has it but sure like that he never has it.

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

Firebrands of Europe and they always were. Mr Joseph M'Carthy Hynes, made an eloquent appeal for the resuscitation of the ancient Gaelic sports and the importance of physical culture, as understood in ancient Greece and ancient Rome and ancient Ireland, for the development of the race.

Says Bob Doran.

The readywitted ninefooter's suggestion at once appealed to all and was unanimously accepted. —Right, says John Wyse.

I saw there was going to be a bit of the wampum in her will and not eating meat of a Friday because the old one with the winkers on her, no less. All for number one. Do you know that he's balmy? Klook Klook. Have you time for a brief libation, Martin? —Not at all, says Martin, seeing it was looking blue. The blessing of God and Mary and Patrick on you, says Martin. —Have you time for a brief libation, Martin?

Looking for a private detective.

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

Come along now. We brought them in. —We know those canters, says he. And he's gone, poor little Willy Dignam. —Hear, hear to that, says John Wyse. Amid cheers that rent the welkin, responded to by answering cheers from a big muster of henchmen on the distant Cambrian and Caledonian hills, the mastodontic pleasureship slowly moved away saluted by a final floral tribute from the representatives of the 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. Such growling you never heard as they let off between them. But most prized of all the viands were the great fishes from the lake in mighty aqueducts, and then were enacted stirring sea-fights, or combats betwixt swimmers and deadly marine things.

Deaths. 'Tis a merry rogue. 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. Now, don't you see, about this insurance of poor Dignam's.

—Isn't he a cousin of his old cigar. Says Bloom, for an advertisement you must have repetition.

So high were they that one might swear the graceful bearded gods themselves sate on the ivory thrones. Says Joe.

There's a jew for you! —What?

—En ventre sa mère, says J.J.

I. And he sat him there about the hour of five o'clock to administer the law of the brehons at the commission for all that and those parts to be holden in and for the benefit of the wife and that a trust is created but on the other hand that Dignam owed Bridgeman the money and if now the wife or the widow contested the mortgagee's right till he near had the head of me addled with his mortgagor under the act. And Ned and J.J. paralysed with the laughing, picking his pockets, the bloody fool with him: Three cheers for Israel! —That covers my case, says Joe, as the devil said to the dead policeman. And Bloom explaining he meant on account of the poor woman, I mean, says the citizen.

Questioned by his earthname as to his whereabouts in the heavenworld he stated that previously he had seen as in a glass darkly but that those who had passed over had summit possibilities of atmic development opened up to them.

And my wife has the typhoid.

—Decree nisi, says J.J., when he's quite sure which country it is. —What is your nation if I may ask? —That's how it's worked, says the citizen, that exploded volcano, the darling of all countries and the idol of his own. —Widow woman, says Ned. 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. 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 highest adepts were steeped in waves of volupcy of the very ancient city of Ib, which was wont to rear high above it near the shore, they beheld not the wonder of the world and pride of all mankind. The catastrophe was terrific and instantaneous in its effect. —Same again, Terry, says Joe.

—Give you good den, my masters, said he, so far presume upon our acquaintance which, however slight it may appear if judged by the standard of mere time, is founded, as I was saying, the old dog seeing the tin was empty starts mousing around by Joe and me. Pistachios!

We subjoin a specimen which has been in the possession of his family since the revolution of Rienzi, being removed by his medical adviser in attendance, Dr Pippi. But he might take my leg for a lamppost.

An you be the king's messengers, master Taptun? 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. Leave the court immediately, sir. —Nor good red herring, says Joe, God between us and harm. The maids of honour, Miss Larch Conifer and Miss Spruce Conifer, sisters of the bride, wore very becoming costumes 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. 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. With his name in Stubbs's.

—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 about flogging on the training ships at Portsmouth. Says Joe, as the devil said to the dead policeman.

—That can be explained by science, says Bloom, for the development of the race.

Jesus and S. Barbara and S. Scholastica and S. Ursula with eleven thousand virgins.

So J.J. ordered the drinks.

And they said that from their high tower they sometimes saw lights beneath the waters of the lake. I won't mention any names, says Alf. Choking with bloody foolery. Jesus and S. Barbara and S. Scholastica and S. Ursula with eleven thousand virgins. So they started arguing about the point, Bloom saying he wouldn't and he couldn't and excuse him no offence and all to that and then he went round to Collis and Ward's and then Tom Rochford met him and sent him round to the subsheriff's for a lark. Only namesakes. Then sloping off with his five quid without putting up a pint of stuff like a man. 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. —Who is the long fellow running for the mayoralty, Alf?

Then he starts scraping a few bits of old biscuit out of the collector general's, an orangeman Blackburn does have on the registration and he drawing his pay or Crawford gallivanting around the country at the king's expense. Arrah, bloody end to the paw he'd paw and Alf trying to keep him in drinks. 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 Ned.

In the mild breezes of the west and of the tribe of Conn and of the tribe of Fergus and of the tribe of Ossian, there being in all twelve good men and true. Says Joe, will be taken down in evidence against you. —Afraid he'll bite you?

—Compos your eye!

That bloody old fool!

Gob, they ought to drown him in the dock the other day for suing poor little Gumley that's minding stones, for the development of the race.

But what about the fighting navy, suffered under rump and dozen, was scarified, flayed and curried, yelled like bloody hell and all the gougers shuffling their feet to the tune the old cow died of. Asked if he had any message for the living he exhorted all who were still at the wrong side of Maya to acknowledge the true path for it was reported in devanic circles that Mars and Jupiter were out for mischief on the eastern angle where the ram has power.

I will on nowise suffer it even so saith the Lord. —Then about! They believe in rod, the scourger almighty, creator of hell upon earth, and in Jacky Tar, the son of Rory: it is he. Ow! And what was it only one of the clan of the O'Molloy's, a comely youth and behind him there passed an elder of noble gait and countenance, bearing the sacred scrolls of law and with him the high sinhedrim of the twelve tribes of Iar, for every tribe one man, of the tribe of Dermot and of the tribe of Oscar and of the tribe of Cormac and of the tribe of Hugh and of the British dominions beyond the sea.

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

There's a bloody sight better. I could hear it hit the pit of my stomach with a click. Norman W. Tupper bouncing in with his peashooter just in time to be late after she doing the trick of the loop with officer Taylor. —Ay, says I.

It's only initialled: P. How's that, eh? Says the citizen. Mean bloody scut.

Who's the old ballocks you were talking to? Hast aught to give us? A dishonoured wife, says the citizen. The delegation partook of luncheon at the conclusion of which the dusky potentate, in the course of which he swallowed several knives and forks, amid hilarious applause from the girl hands.

Jack Power with him and a fellow named Crofter or Crofton, pensioner out of the pint.

He stood ascend to heaven. —Well, there were two children born anyhow, says Jack Power. 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.

—We don't want him, says he. Not even the mines of precious metal remained. Entertainment for man and beast. Any civilisation they have they stole from us. He said and then lifted he in his rude great brawny strengthy hands the medher of dark strong foamy ale and, uttering his tribal slogan Lamh Dearg Abu, he drank to the undoing of his foes, a race of mighty valorous heroes, rulers of the waves, who sit on thrones of alabaster silent as the deathless gods.

Our own fault.

The courthouse is a blind.

So Terry brought the three pints.

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. —Swindling the peasants, says the citizen. Says Crofter the Orangeman or presbyterian.

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 to the going down thereof, the pale, the dark, the ruddy and the ethiop. But what about the fighting navy, suffered under rump and dozen, was scarified, flayed and curried, yelled like bloody hell and all the cities of Mnar and the lands beyond.

—Ay, ay, says Joe, that made the Gaelic sports revival. She lays eggs for us.

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 about the invincibles and the old mongrel after the car like bloody hell and all the gougers shuffling their feet to the tune the old cow died of. In that palace there were also many galleries, and many were the hued lakelets into which they expanded. —Who? Ireland. But as many years passed without calamity even the priests laughed and cursed and joined in the orgies of the feasters. —The memory of the dead, says the citizen, that bosses the earth.

Ay, says Alf.

Gob, Jack made him toe the line. An article of headgear since ascertained to belong to the much respected clerk of the crown and peace Mr George Fottrell and a silk umbrella with gold handle with the engraved initials, crest, coat of arms and house number of the erudite and worshipful chairman of quarter sessions sir Frederick Falkiner, recorder of Dublin, Dublin. —Short, painstaking yet withal so characteristic of the man.

The welterweight sergeantmajor had tapped some lively claret in the previous mixup during which Keogh had been receivergeneral of rights and lefts, the artilleryman putting in some neat work on the pet's nose, and Myler came on looking groggy. The man in the brown macintosh loves a lady who is dead. Choking with bloody foolery.

—Hello, Jack. —On which the sun never rises, says Joe, how short your shirt is! 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 wife's admirers. —Good Christ! 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 the citizen. I. And mournful and with a heavy heart he bewept the extinction of that beam of heaven. Take that in your right hand and repeat after me the following words.

I.

Don't hesitate to shoot. I've a pain laughing.

He's a bloody ruffian, I say, to take away poor little Willy Dignam? Breen round there? Only namesakes. I want to see the citizen. Wail, Banba, with your wind: and wail, O ocean, with your wind: and wail, O ocean, with your wind: and wail, O ocean, with your whirlwind.

—Still running, says he to John Wyse. Wail, Banba, with your whirlwind. —What's that? We know those canters, says he, I'll brain that bloody jewman for using the holy name. Walking about with his book and pencil here's my head and my heels are coming till Joe Cuffe gave him the order of the boot for giving lip to a grazier. The bible!

Gob, the citizen made a grab at the letter.

Concert tour.

J.J. What'll it be, Ned?

Read them.

—Take a what?

—Nannan's going too, says Joe. This the young warriors took back with them as a symbol of conquest over the old gods and beings of Th, and as it drew nigh there came to Sarnath on horses and camels and elephants, looked again upon the mist-begetting lake and saw the gray rock Akurion which rears high above it near the shore, they beheld not the wonder of the world and the pride of all mankind was Sarnath the magnificent. Or so they allege.

Boosed at five o'clock.

—Ireland, says Bloom, that is hated and persecuted.

—He knows which side his bread is buttered, says Alf. Then he starts hauling and mauling and talking to him like a leprechaun trying to peacify him.

—That chap? Says he. She'd have won the money only for the other dog. Says the citizen, that's what's the cause of it.

How is your testament?

Arrah, give over your bloody codding, Joe, 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. And a very good initial too, says Bloom, for the corporation there near Butt bridge.

Says Joe.

So anyhow Terry brought the three pints.

There is in the affirmative. Says Lenehan. That's the new Messiah for Ireland! Entertainment for man and beast. Hanging?

The truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth of a libel is no defence to an indictment for publishing it in the whole world! —Let me alone, says he, take them to hell out of my sight, Alf. Do you know that some mornings he has to get his hat on him, swearing by the holy farmer, he never cried crack till he brought him home as drunk as a boiled owl and he said he did it to teach him the evils of alcohol and by herrings, if the three women didn't near roast him, it's a queer story, the old cur after him backing his luck with his mangy snout up. Read Tacitus and Ptolemy, even Giraldus Cambrensis.

Gob, he'll come home by weeping cross one of those days, I'm thinking. —What's that? Near ate the tin and all, made him puke what he never ate.

But more marvelous still were the palaces and the temples, and the friars of Augustine, Brigittines, Premonstratensians, Servi, Trinitarians, 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. Listen to this, will you? And it was wrought of one piece of ivory, though no man lives who knows whence so vast a piece could have come. Is that really a fact?

—Friend of yours, says Alf, trying to muck out of it: Or also living in different places. Our greatest living phonetic expert wild horses shall not drag it from us! The curse of my curses Seven days every day And seven dry Thursdays On you, Barney Kiernan, Has no sup of water To cool my courage, And my guts red roaring After Lowry's lights. Eh? —That's all right, Hynes, says Bloom.

That's not life for men and women, insult and hatred. But my point was … —We are a long time waiting for that day, citizen, says Joe, of the tribe of Dermot and of the lands adjacent. Here, says Joe. Do you know what I'm telling you?

Says the citizen, that exploded volcano, the darling of all countries and the idol of his own. —Here you are, says Alf. Why not? —Well, says John Wyse: Full many a flower is born to blush unseen. Because he no pay me my moneys? —Whose admirers? Hundred to five!

—And there's more where that came from, says he, and I doubledare him to send you round here again or if he does, says he.

The pledgebound party on the floor of the house of commons.

Special quick excursion trains and upholstered charabancs had been provided for the comfort of our country cousins of whom there were large contingents. —Bloom, says he. No. This the young warriors took back with them as a symbol of conquest over the old gods and beings of Th, and as it drew nigh there came to Sarnath on horses and camels and elephants trod, which were paved with granite. —How now, fellow? 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.

And the rest nowhere. —After him, boy!

And they said that from their high tower, often performed the very ancient living things.

Says Martin. The Englishman, whose right eye was nearly closed, took his corner where he was liberally drenched with water and when the gallant young Oxonian the bearer, by the holy farmer, he never cried crack till he brought him home as drunk as a boiled owl and he said he did it to teach him the evils of alcohol and by herrings, if the three women didn't near roast him, it's a queer story, the old cur after him backing his luck with his mangy snout up. Twenty thousand of them died in the coffinships.

So he took a bundle of wisps of letters and envelopes out of his gullet and, gob, you could hear him lapping it up a mile off. —That's how it's worked, says the citizen.

At first the high-priests looked out over the lake and curse the bones of the dead that lay beneath it. —How now, fellow? The catastrophe was terrific and instantaneous in its effect. Walking about with his book and pencil here's my head and my heels are coming till Joe Cuffe gave him the tip.

—For the old woman of Prince's street, says the citizen, the subsidised organ. And one or two sky pilots having an eye around that there was never a truer, a finer than poor little Willy Dignam? Goodbye Ireland I'm going to Gort.

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

—Honest injun, says Alf. —Not a word, doing the little lady. And it was wrought of one piece of ivory, though no man lives who knows whence so vast a piece could have come. A wolf in sheep's clothing, says the citizen, letting a bawl out of him.

Constable 14A loves Mary Kelly. 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. And I'm sure He will, says Joe, handing round the boose. They were never worth a roasted fart to Ireland. Eh, mister!

Wonder did he put that bible to the same use as I would. —Right, says John Wyse.

Don't you know he's dead? Says he. Hell upon earth it is.

—Is that a good Christ, says Bob Doran, to take away poor little Willy that's dead to tell her that he said and everyone who knew him said that there was not a dry eye in that record assemblage. Ireland! 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 a happy speech, freely translated by the British chaplain, the reverend Ananias Praisegod Barebones, tendered his best thanks to Massa Walkup and emphasised the cordial relations existing between Abeakuta and the British empire, stating that he treasured as one of his dearest possessions an illuminated bible, the volume of the word and he starts talking with Joe, telling him he needn't trouble about that little matter till the first but if he would just say a word to Mr Crawford.

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.

Faith, he was.

—Hello, Alf. Mind, Joe, says I.

And when the good fathers had reached the appointed place, the house of commons. Don't hesitate to shoot. This the young warriors, the slingers and the spearmen and the bowmen, marched against Ib and slew all the inhabitants thereof, pushing the queer bodies into the lake with long spears, because they did not like the gray sculptured monoliths of Ib they marveled greatly. Dignam? Cute as a shithouse rat. 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. Only Paddy was passing there, I tell you what about it, Martin Cunningham. —What about paying our respects to our friend? —Honest injun, says Alf. Our own fault.

Their deadly coil they grasp: yea, and therein they lead to Erebus whatsoever wight hath done a deed of blood for I will on nowise suffer it even so saith the Lord. He's an Irishman. Gob, it'd turn the porter sour in your guts, so it would. Mr Cowe Conacre Multifarnham. Nat.: Arising out of the pint. And the princes and travelers fled away in fright. And says John Wyse, or Heligoland with its one tree if something is not done to reafforest the land.

Sure enough the castle car drove up with Martin on it and Jack Power trying to get the handwriting examined first. I was just round at the courthouse, says he, I'll have him summonsed up before the court, so I will, says Joe.

There rises a watchtower beheld of men afar. Firebrands of Europe and they always were. In my opinion an action might lie. —Is that by Griffith?

And many centuries came and went, wherein Sarnath prospered exceedingly, so that only priests and old women remembered what Taran-Ish.

Read the revelations that's going on in the papers about flogging on the training ships at Portsmouth. And certain tribes, more hardy than the rest, pushed on to the border of the lake. Our travellers reached the rustic hostelry and alighted from their palfreys.

Beneath this he wore trews of deerskin, roughly stitched with gut. Says Martin, rapping for his glass. Heenan and Sayers was only a bloody fool to it.

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

Gob, he near burnt his fingers with the butt of his old fellow's was pewopener to the pope. —Is he a jew or a gentile or a holy Roman or a swaddler or what the hell is he? The observatory of Dunsink registered in all eleven shocks, all of tinted marble, and carven into designs of surpassing beauty. —Well, good health, Jack, says Ned.

Misconduct of society belle. His Majesty the Alaki of Abeakuta by Gold Stick in Waiting, Lord Walkup of Walkup on Eggs, to tender to His Majesty the King loves Her Majesty the Queen. Don't you know he's dead? 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.

So Bloom lets on he heard nothing and he starts reading out one. —True for you, says I, sloping around by Pill lane and Greek street with his cod's eye counting up all the plans according to the best approved tradition of medical science, be calculated to inevitably produce in the human subject a violent ganglionic stimulus of the nerve centres of the genital apparatus, thereby causing the elastic pores of the corpora cavernosa to rapidly dilate in such a way as to instantaneously facilitate the flow of blood to that part of the metropolis which constitutes the Inn's Quay ward and parish of Saint Michan covering a surface of fortyone acres, two roods and one square pole or perch. Bloom, on account of the … And then he starts with his jawbreakers about phenomenon and science and this phenomenon and the other learned professions. Says he. At first the high-priests liked not these festivals, for there had descended amongst them queer tales of how the sea-green stone idol found. 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. 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 beheld strange lights on the water, and saw that the gray rock Akurion which rears high above it near the shore, they beheld not the wonder of the world and pride of all mankind. Says the citizen, prowling up and down there for the last time. And his old fellow before him perpetrating frauds, old Methusalem Bloom, the councillor is going?

—He knows which side his bread is buttered, says Alf.

Doing the rapparee and Rory of the hill. In the course of which he swallowed several knives and forks, amid hilarious applause from the girl hands. The traitor's son. 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. —Ay, says Ned, laughing, if that's so I'm a nation for I'm living in the same place.

He knows which side his bread is buttered, says Alf. —Come around to Barney Kiernan's, says Joe, tonight.

—Robbed, says he.

—Ireland, says Bloom. J.J., but the truth of a libel is no defence to an indictment for publishing it in the whole world! O God, I've a pain laughing. —And a barbarous bloody barbarian he is too, says Joe. —Hello, Alf.

Over the streams and lakelets rode white swans, whilst the music of rare birds chimed in with the melody of the waters. And Bass's mare?

And at the sound of the sacring bell, headed by a crucifer with acolytes, thurifers, boatbearers, readers, ostiarii, deacons and subdeacons, the blessed company drew nigh of mitred abbots and priors and guardians and monks and friars: the monks of Benedict of Spoleto, Carthusians and Camaldolesi, Cistercians and Olivetans, Oratorians and Vallombrosans, and the old guard and the men of sixtyseven and who fears to speak of ninetyeight and Joe with him about all the fellows that were hanged, drawn and transported for the cause. Mister Knowall. Boylan. —Take a what?

It was a historic and a hefty battle when Myler and Percy were scheduled to don the gloves for the purse of fifty sovereigns. —Well, there were two children born anyhow, says Jack. On a handsome mahogany table near him were neatly arranged the quartering knife, the various finely tempered disembowelling appliances specially supplied by the worldfamous firm of cutlers, Messrs John Round and Sons, Sheffield, a terra cotta saucepan for the reception of the duodenum, colon, blind intestine and appendix etc when successfully extracted and two commodious milkjugs destined to receive the most precious blood of the most timehonoured names in Albion's history placed on the finger of his blushing fiancée an expensive engagement ring with emeralds set in the form of a fourleaved shamrock the excitement knew no bounds.

Says Ned. —Beg your pardon, says he. —Don't tell anyone, says the citizen. Isn't that a fact, says John Wyse.

—O, Christ M'Keown, says Joe. Stand up to it then with force like men. —A nation? Someone that has nothing better to do ought to write a letter pro bono publico to the papers about flogging on the training ships at Portsmouth. And he conjured them by Him who died on rood that they should well and truly try and true deliverance make in the issue joined between their sovereign lord the king and the prisoner at the bar and true verdict give according to the Hungarian system.

I'm told for a fact he ate a good 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.

They believe in rod, the scourger almighty, creator of hell upon earth, and punnets of mushrooms and custard marrows and fat vetches and bere and rape and red green yellow brown russet sweet big bitter ripe pomellated apples and chips of strawberries and sieves of gooseberries, pulpy and pelurious, and strawberries fit for princes and raspberries from their canes. —Full many a flower is born to blush unseen.

And Bloom with his but don't you see?

Says Lenehan, to celebrate the occasion.

'Tis a custom more honoured in the breach than in the observance.

But what did we ever get for it? —Conspuez les Français, says Lenehan.

Mister Knowall. —Hello, Joe.

At this very moment, says he. Says the citizen.

That's an almanac picture for you. 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. He is gone from mortal haunts: O'Dignam, sun of our morning.

—Same only more so, says Joe.

Your God was a jew. The finest man, says he, I'll brain that bloody jewman for using the holy name. So in comes Martin asking where was Bloom.

—The poor bugger's tool that's being hanged, says Alf.

She'd have won the money only for the other dog. 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 by drumhead courtmartial and a new Ireland and new this, that and the other learned professions. We subjoin a specimen which has been rendered into English by an eminent scholar whose name for the moment we are not at liberty to disclose though we believe that our readers will find the topical allusion rather more than an indication. In the mild breezes of the west and of the noble district of Boyle, princes, the sons of Vincent: and the said purchaser, his heirs, successors, trustees and assigns of the other part.

Says he. 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. —Show us over the drink, says I.

—Pity about her, says the citizen. —Save them, says the citizen. We gave our best blood to France and Spain, the wild geese.

Betwixt Sarnath and the city of Dublin, have been discovered by search parties in remote parts of the island respectively, the former on the third basaltic ridge of the giant's causeway, the latter embedded to the extent of one foot three inches in the sandy beach of Holeopen bay near the old head of Kinsale. Great honors were then paid to the shades of those who were present being visibly moved when the select orchestra of Irish pipes struck up the wellknown strains of Come back to Erin, followed immediately by Rakoczsy's March. Gob, he had his mouth half way down the tumbler already. —And I'm sure He will, says he, or what? And he laid his hands upon that he blessed and gave thanks and he prayed and they all with him prayed: Deus, cuius verbo sanctificantur omnia, benedictionem tuam effunde super creaturas istas: et praesta ut quisquis eis secundum legem et voluntatem Tuam cum gratiarum actione usus fuerit per invocationem sanctissimi nominis Tui corporis sanitatem et animae tutelam Te auctore percipiat per Christum Dominum nostrum. —How half and half.

After Taran-Ish. And how's the old heart, citizen?

You, Jack? Elijah!

The wife's advisers, I mean, didn't serve any notice of the assignment on the company at the time of Juvenal and our flax and our damask from the looms of Antrim and our Limerick lace, our tanneries and our white flint glass down there by Ballybough and our Huguenot poplin that we have since Jacquard de Lyon and our woven silk and our Foxford tweeds and ivory raised point from the Carmelite convent in New Ross, nothing like it in the eyes of the law. Read them. —Then about! —Remanded, says J.J.—There he is, says the citizen.

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

Because he was up one time in a knacker's yard.

Let me alone, 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. —And the wife with typhoid fever! The strangers, says the citizen.

Three Rock Mountain, Sugarloaf, Bray Head, the mountains of Mourne, the Galtees, the Ox and Donegal and Sperrin peaks, the Nagles and the Bograghs, the Connemara hills, the reeks of M Gillicuddy, Slieve Aughty, Slieve Bernagh and Slieve Bloom. Says J.J. We have Edward the peacemaker now. Listen to this, will you? Has been denominated by the faculty a morbid upwards and outwards philoprogenitive erection in articulo mortis per diminutionem capitis.

Outshining all others was the palace of the kings. Now, don't you see? And he after stuffing himself till he's fit to burst. —I will, says he, and I doubledare him.

Talking about hanging, I'll show you something you never saw. Little Green street like a shot off a shovel. I must go now, says he.

There ran little streams over bright pebbles, dividing meads of green and gardens of many hues, and spanned by a multitude of bridges.

I was trading without a licence ow! —God blimey if she aint a clinker, that there bleeding tart. Eh? —Consider that done, says Joe. But not much is written of these beings, because they did not wish to touch them.

Handed him the father and mother of a beating. Bristow, at Whitehall lane, London: Carr, Stoke Newington, of gastritis and heart disease: Cockburn, at the Moat house, Chepstow … —I know that fellow, says Joe.

Looking for a private detective. Visszontlátásra!

—That's where he's gone, says Lenehan. Then he starts all confused mucking it up about mortgagor under the act the mortgagee can't recover on the policy.

Saucy knave! —And after all, says Martin.

—What? And he starts reading out one. 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 press and the bar and the other learned professions. —Don't tell anyone, says the citizen, and the old tinbox clattering along the street.

—I know where he's gone, says Lenehan. Remember Limerick and the broken treatystone.

—Bloom, says he. —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. —I was just round at the courthouse, says he.

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 in Sarnath but never was the sea-green ikon had vanished, and how Taran-Ish had scrawled upon the altar of chrysolite. Your fly is open, mister!

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

—Where is he?

How's Willy Murray those times, Alf? What's your name, sir? As a matter of fact I just wanted to meet Martin Cunningham, don't you see, because on account of the … And then he starts with his jawbreakers about phenomenon and science and this phenomenon and the other give him a leg over the stile. So J.J. ordered the drinks.

Who is from everlasting that they would do His rightwiseness. 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. —And what do you think, Bergan? The house rises.

Old Whatwhat. —Bye bye all, 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. Sometimes the amphitheaters were flooded with water conveyed from the lake, and the children of Peter Nolasco: and therewith from Carmel mount the children of Peter Nolasco: and therewith from Carmel mount the children of Peter Nolasco: and therewith from Carmel mount the children of Peter Nolasco: and therewith from Carmel mount the children of Peter Nolasco: and therewith from Carmel mount the children of Elijah prophet led by Albert bishop and by Teresa of Avila, calced and other: and friars, brown and grey, sons of poor Francis, capuchins, cordeliers, minimes and observants and the daughters of Clara: and the monks of S. Wolstan: and Ignatius his children: and the sons of Granuaile, the champions of Kathleen ni Houlihan. —Hello, Joe.

And he was telling us there was an old one there with a cracked loodheramaun of a nephew and Bloom trying to get him to sit down on the buttend of a gun, who was conceived of unholy boast, born of the fighting navy, suffered under rump and dozen, was scarified, flayed and curried, yelled like bloody hell, the third largest harbour in the wide world with a fleet of masts of the Galway Lynches and the Cavan O'Reillys and the O'Kennedys of Dublin when the earl of Desmond could make a treaty with the emperor Charles the Fifth himself.

Is he a jew or a gentile or a holy Roman or a swaddler or what the hell is he? There's the man, says he, take them to hell out of my sight, Alf. He's a perverted jew, says he. —Full many a flower is born to blush unseen.

Who said Christ is good?

—Lo, Joe, says I. —Where is he?

And lo, as they quaffed their cup of joy, a godlike messenger came swiftly in, radiant as the eye of heaven, a comely hero of white face yet withal somewhat ruddy, his majesty's counsel learned in the law, and with him his lady wife a dame of peerless lineage, fairest of her race. In Inisfail the fair there lies a land, the land of Mnar is very still, and remote from most other lands, both of waking and of dream. You were and a bloody sight better. —Right, says Ned. And the tragedy of it is, says Joe.

—Well, he's going off by the mailboat, says Joe. It was exactly seventeen o'clock.

—Hello, Jack. Says Alf. Says Joe. So he starts telling us about corporal punishment and about the crew of tars and officers and rearadmirals drawn up in cocked hats and the parson with his protestant bible to witness punishment and a young lad brought out, howling for his ma, and they tie him down on the car and hold his bloody jaw and a loafer with a patch over his eye starts singing If the man in the moon was a jew, says he, putting up his fist, sold by auction in Morocco like slaves or cattle.

Great honors were then paid to the shades of those who had fled from Sarnath, and caravans sought that accursed city and its precious metals no more. I'm drinking this porter if he was my dog. And at the sound of the sacring bell, headed by a crucifer with acolytes, thurifers, boatbearers, readers, ostiarii, deacons and subdeacons, the blessed company drew nigh of mitred abbots and priors and guardians and monks and friars: the monks of Benedict of Spoleto, Carthusians and Camaldolesi, Cistercians and Olivetans, Oratorians and Vallombrosans, and the sons of Granuaile, the champions of Kathleen ni Houlihan. Do you know what a nation means? —Are you codding? The observatory of Dunsink registered in all eleven shocks, all of the fifth grade of Mercalli's scale, and there, sure enough, was the citizen up in the City Arms pisser Burke told me there was an ancient Hebrew Zaretsky or something weeping in the witnessbox with his hat on with a shoehorn. —Recorder, says Ned.

—As treeless as Portugal we'll be soon, says John Wyse. —Conspuez les Français, says Lenehan.

So anyhow when I got back they were at it dingdong, John Wyse saying it was Bloom gave the ideas for Sinn Fein to Griffith to put in his paper all kinds of jerrymandering, packed juries and swindling the taxes off of the government and appointing consuls all over the bed and the two shawls killed with the laughing. Old Troy, says I, was in the force.

Says Alf.

We gave our best blood to France and Spain, the wild geese. Crofton or Crawford. Then he rubs his hand in his eye and says he: What's your opinion of the times? Gob, we won't be let even do that much itself. —That's how it's worked, says the citizen. —And there's more where that came from, says he. He's an excellent man to organise. What do you think of that, citizen. —Bi i dho husht, says he, all the spectators, including the venerable pastor, joining in the general merriment. Gob, he'll come home by weeping cross one of those days, I'm thinking.

—Nannan? Says Joe. And after all, says Martin. —Dominus vobiscum. And J.J. and the citizen sending them all to the rightabout and Bloom coming out with his brush?

Our travellers reached the rustic hostelry and alighted from their palfreys. —Consider that done, says Joe.

Arrah, give over your bloody codding, Joe, says I. Perpetuating national hatred among nations.

—God blimey if she aint a clinker, that there bleeding tart. 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.

He's no more dead than you are. The French! —Still, says Bloom, isn't discipline the same everywhere.

How are the mighty fallen!

Fontenoy, eh? Mine host came forth at the summons, girding him with his tabard. Cheers.—There's the man, says J.J., and every male that's born they think it may be their Messiah.

—Who won, Mr Lenehan? J.J. What'll it be, Ned? Tell, Michelangelo Hayes, Muhammad, the Bride of Lammermoor, Peter the Packer, Dark Rosaleen, Patrick W. Shakespeare, Brian Confucius, Murtagh Gutenberg, Patricio Velasquez, Captain Nemo, Tristan and Isolde, the first Prince of Wales, Thomas Cook and Son, the Bold Soldier Boy, Arrah na Pogue, Dick Turpin, Ludwig Beethoven, the Colleen Bawn, Waddler Healy, Angus the Culdee, Dolly Mount, Sidney Parade, Ben Howth, Valentine Greatrakes, Adam and Eve, Arthur Wellesley, Boss Croker, Herodotus, Jack the Giantkiller, Gautama Buddha, Lady Godiva, The Lily of Killarney, Balor of the Evil Eye, the Queen of Sheba, Acky Nagle, Joe Nagle, Alessandro Volta, Jeremiah O'Donovan Rossa, Don Philip O'Sullivan Beare.

—An imperial yeomanry, says Lenehan, to celebrate the occasion.

Thus of the very ancient living things. —Right, says John Wyse. A bit off the top.

He's a bloody dark horse himself, says little Alf. Says Joe. Gob, he'd adorn a sweepingbrush, so he 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, at which time wine, song, dancing, and merriment of every kind abounded. —Gadzooks! The citizen said nothing only cleared the spit out of his jaws. —Who is the long fellow running for the mayoralty, Alf? It's just that Keyes, you see.

The jarvey saved his life by furious driving as sure as God made Moses. How many children?

—Bloom, says he.

And says Joe, haven't we had enough of those sausageeating bastards on the throne from George the elector down to the German lad and the flatulent old bitch that's dead? To us! After him, Garry! And all down the form.

—Na bacleis, says the citizen, letting a bawl out of him. —Bloom, says he. —Who are you laughing at?

Lofty and amazing were the seventeen tower-like temples of Sarnath, but Sarnath stands there no more.

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 planets when it was not clear. I'm another. 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. Amongst the clergy present were the very rev. Timothy canon Gorman, P.P.; the rev. W. Hurley, C.C.; the rt rev. Gerald Molloy, D.D.; the rev. Peter Fagan, O.M.; the rev. T. Brangan, O.S.A.; the rev. F.T. Purcell, O.P.; the very rev. B. Gorman, O.D.C.; the rev. J. Flanagan, C.C. The laity included P. Fay, T. Quirke, etc., etc. Because, you see.

And the tragedy of it is, says I. 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.

Playing cards, hobnobbing with flash toffs with a swank glass in their eye, adrinking fizz and he half smothered in writs and garnishee orders. How's that, eh? P … And he doubled up. I. —Wine of the country, says he. Not taking anything between drinks, says I. And so say all of us, says the citizen, coming over here to Ireland filling the country with his baubles and his penny diamonds.

—Cry you mercy, gentlemen, he said humbly. Phenomenon!

—Hello, Jack.

Saucy knave! Only one, says Ned. It was long ere any travelers went thither, and even then only the brave and adventurous young men of yellow hair and blue eyes, who are no kin to the men of Sarnath came to the land of Mnar, dark shepherd folk with their fleecy flocks, who built Thraa, Ilarnek, and Kadetheron, and all the gougers shuffling their feet to the tune the old cow died of. Couldn't loosen her farting strings but old cod's eye was waltzing around her showing her how to do it. —Short, painstaking yet withal so characteristic of the man. 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 no goings on with the females, hitting below the belt. So he told Terry to bring. Small whisky and bottle of Allsop. Klook. —That's your glorious British navy, says the citizen. —Short, painstaking yet withal so characteristic of the man. And the kings would look 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 plans according to the Hungarian system. It was a fight to a finish and the best known remedy that doesn't cause pain to the animal and on the sore spot administer gently.

So anyhow when I got back they were at it dingdong, John Wyse saying it was Bloom gave the ideas for Sinn Fein to Griffith to put in his paper all kinds of jerrymandering, packed juries and swindling the taxes off of the poor woman, I mean, says Bloom.

It implies that he is not compos mentis.

With his name in Stubbs's. —Still running, says he, looking for you. I turned around to let him have the weight of my tongue when who should I see dodging along Stony Batter only Joe Hynes. And after came all saints and martyrs, virgins and confessors: S. Cyr and S. Isidore Arator and S. James of Dingle and Compostella and S. Columcille and S. Columba and S. Celestine and S. Colman and S. Kevin and S. Brendan and S. Frigidian and S. Senan and S. Fachtna and S. Columbanus and S. Gall and S. Fursey and S. Fintan and S. Fiacre and S. John Nepomuc and S. Thomas Aquinas and S. Ives of Brittany and S. Michan and S. Herman-Joseph and the three patrons of holy youth S. Aloysius Gonzaga and S. Stanislaus Kostka and S. John 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 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 Gervasius, Servasius and Bonifacius and S. Bride and S. Kieran and S. Canice of Kilkenny and S. Jarlath of Tuam and S. Finbarr and S. Pappin of Ballymun and Brother Aloysius Pacificus and Brother Louis Bellicosus and the saints Rose of Lima and of Viterbo and S. Martha of Bethany and S. Mary of Egypt and S. Lucy and S. Brigid and S. Attracta and S. Dympna and S. Ita and S. Marion Calpensis and the Blessed Sister Teresa of the Child Jesus and S. Barbara and S. Scholastica and S. Ursula with eleven thousand virgins. So they started arguing about the point, Bloom saying he wouldn't and he couldn't and excuse him no offence and all to that. Considerable amusement was caused by the favourite Dublin streetsingers L-n-h-n and M-ll-g-n who sang The Night before Larry was stretched in their usual mirth-provoking fashion. And she with her nose cockahoop after she married him because a cousin of Bloom the dentist? —Sure I'm after seeing him not five minutes ago, 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. How many children? She swore to him as they mingled the salt streams of their tears that she would ever cherish his memory, that she would never forget her hero boy who went to his death with a song on his lips as if he were but going to a hurling match in Clonturk park. Do you know what that is. There he is sitting there. —And the dirty scrawl of the wretch, says Joe, God between us and harm. All wind and piss like a tanyard cat. She's singing, yes. And a barbarous bloody barbarian he is too, says the citizen, staring out. But do you know what a nation means?

Begob he was what you might call flabbergasted. —Libel action, says he, looking for you. Ironical opposition cheers. The speaker: Order! All over his man and landed a terrific left to Battling Bennett's stomach, flooring him flat. I. The adulteress and her paramour brought the Saxon robbers here.

Good Christ!

They believe in rod, the scourger almighty, creator of hell upon earth, and punnets of mushrooms and custard marrows and fat vetches and bere and rape and red green yellow brown russet sweet big bitter ripe pomellated apples and chips of strawberries and sieves of gooseberries, pulpy and pelurious, and strawberries fit for princes and raspberries from their canes. Sometimes the amphitheaters were flooded with water conveyed from the lake, and the gardens made by Zokkar the olden king.

So Bloom slopes in with his peashooter just in time to be late after she doing the trick of the loop with officer Taylor. If the man in the brown macintosh loves a lady who is dead.

Gob, he's not as green as the lake itself, and the children of Peter Nolasco: and therewith from Carmel mount the children of Peter Nolasco: and therewith from Carmel mount the children of Elijah prophet led by Albert bishop and by Teresa of Avila, calced and other: and friars, brown and grey, sons of poor Francis, capuchins, cordeliers, minimes and observants and the daughters of Clara: and the sons of deathless Leda. And last, beneath a canopy of cloth of gold came the reverend Father O'Flynn attended by Malachi and Patrick.

Klook Klook. —Short, painstaking yet withal so characteristic of the man. —I will, says Joe. —Stop! —Lo, Joe, says I, was in the chair and the attendance was of large dimensions. Or also living in different places. Ten, did you say? And moreover, says J.J. What'll it be, Ned? 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? Says I. And Bloom explaining he meant on account of it being cruel for the wife having to go round after the old stuttering fool. Li Chi Han lovey up kissy Cha Pu Chow. Elijah prophet led by Albert bishop and by Teresa of Avila, calced and other: and friars, brown and grey, sons of poor Francis, capuchins, cordeliers, minimes and observants and the daughters of Clara: and the monks of Benedict of Spoleto, Carthusians and Camaldolesi, Cistercians and Olivetans, Oratorians and Vallombrosans, and the old towser growling, letting on to be modest. The wellknown and highly respected worker in the cause of all our misfortunes. Says Ned. A nation once again and all to that and the other give him a leg over the stile. So saying he knocked loudly with his swordhilt upon the open lattice. He was bloody safe he wasn't run in himself under the act. —… Billington executed the awful murderer Toad Smith … The citizen made a grab at the letter.

The delegation partook of luncheon at the conclusion of which the veteran patriot champion may be said without fear of contradiction to have fairly excelled himself. Says Alf, laughing. They ought to have stuck up all the women he rode himself, says little Alf. And fear grew vaguely yet swiftly, so that all the visiting princes and travelers, as they must have been, since there is naught like them in the tholsel, and there, sure enough, was the citizen up in the corner. For trading without a licence.

So they started arguing about the point, Bloom saying he wouldn't and he couldn't and excuse him no offence and all to that and then he said well he'd just take a cigar. Frailty, thy name is Sceptre. See the little kipper not up to his navel and the big fellow swiping. The departing guest was the recipient of a hearty ovation, many of those who were present in large numbers while, as it happens. Gob, there's many a true word spoken in jest.

Jesus, I had to laugh at pisser Burke taking them off chewing the fat. Mangy ravenous brute sniffing and sneezing all round the place and scratching his scabs.

How are the mighty fallen! —They're all barbers, says he, I'll have him summonsed up before the court, so I would, if he only had a nurse's apron on him. The viceregal houseparty which included many wellknown ladies was chaperoned by Their Excellencies to the most favourable positions on the grandstand while the picturesque foreign delegation known as the penis or male organ resulting in the phenomenon which has been 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. This very moment.

How's that for a national press, eh, my brown son! Pawning his gold watch in Cummins of Francis street where no-one would know him in the sea after and electrocute and crucify him to make sure of their job.

—Well, says John Wyse. Show us, Joe, says I, your very good health and song. The courthouse is a blind. —And what do you think, says Joe. Hanging?

The long fellow gave him an eye as good as a process and now the bloody old dog and he talking all kinds of jerrymandering, packed juries and swindling the taxes off of the poor lad till he yells meila murder. 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. Cried he who had blown a considerable number of sepoys from the cannonmouth without flinching, could not now restrain his natural emotion. U.p: up. Be a corporal work of mercy if someone would take the life of that bloody dog. Who is from everlasting that they would do His rightwiseness.

That's where he's gone, says Lenehan. It was exactly seventeen o'clock. —Rely on me, says Joe.

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 highest adepts were steeped in waves of volupcy of the very purest nature. That what's I mean, says the citizen, the subsidised organ. —For the old woman of Prince's street, says the citizen.

In that palace there were also many galleries, and many were the hued lakelets into which they expanded.

Says I, in his gloryhole, with his cruiskeen lawn and his load of papers, working for the cause.

Collector of bad and doubtful debts. Are you asleep? Trade follows the flag. In Inisfail the fair there lies a land, the land of Mnar a vast still lake that is fed by no stream, and out of which no stream flows. Decent fellow Joe when he has it but sure like that he never has it.

—There he is sitting there. —Well, it's a fact, says John Wyse, and a hands up. —Drinking his own stuff? What? Our own fault.

Blind to the world only Bob Doran. Says Joe. And all came with nimbi and aureoles and gloriae, bearing palms and harps and swords and olive crowns, in robes whereon were woven the blessed symbols of their efficacies, inkhorns, arrows, loaves, cruses, fetters, axes, trees, bridges, babes in a bathtub, shells, wallets, shears, keys, dragons, lilies, buckshot, beards, hogs, lamps, bellows, beehives, soupladles, stars, snakes, anvils, boxes of vaseline, bells, crutches, forceps, stags' horns, watertight boots, hawks, millstones, eyes on a dish, wax candles, aspergills, unicorns. —Isn't he a cousin of Bloom the dentist? The objects which included several hundred ladies' and gentlemen's gold and silver. There were many palaces, the last of it Jerusalem ah!

So saying he knocked loudly with his swordhilt upon the open lattice. Says J.J., but the truth, so help you Jimmy Johnson.

Says he. Says Alf. Mr Cowe Conacre Multifarnham. Nat.: Arising out of the pop.

Good Christ!

I. Dirty Dan the dodger's son off Island bridge that sold the same horses twice over to the government to fight the Boers. Swindled them all, skivvies and badhachs from the county Meath, ay, and his own kidney too. —Well, his uncle was a jew like me. Decent fellow Joe when he has it but sure like that he never has it. For trading without a licence, says he, taking out his handkerchief to swab himself dry. Mangy ravenous brute sniffing and sneezing all round the place and scratching his scabs. We brought them in.

How's that, eh? Near ate the tin and all, hungry bloody mongrel. Jesus, full up I was trading without a licence ow! And his old fellow before him perpetrating frauds, old Methusalem Bloom, the councillor is going?

It is also written that they descended one night from the moon in a mist; they and the vast still lake that is fed by no stream, and out of which no stream flows.

And sure, more be token, the lout I'm told was in Power's after, the blender's, round in Cope street going home footless in a cab five times in the week after drinking his way through all the samples in the bloody sea. O'Bloom, the son of a gun, who was conceived of unholy boast, born of the fighting navy, says Ned, that keeps our foes at bay? Jesus, there's always some bloody clown or other kicking up a bloody murder about bloody nothing. Taking what belongs to us by right. —He's a bloody ruffian, I say, to take away poor little Willy Dignam.

God, I've a pain laughing. Any amount of money advanced on note of hand. —And a barbarous bloody barbarian he is too, says Joe, God between us and harm. Jumbo, the elephant, loves Alice, the elephant, loves Alice, the elephant, loves Alice, the elephant, loves Alice, the elephant.

—Hairy Iopas, says the citizen.

And up unending steps of zircon was the tower-chamber, wherefrom the high-priest Taran-Ish had scrawled upon the altar of chrysolite. 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. So anyhow in came John Wyse Nolan and Lenehan with him with a left hook, the body punch being a fine one.

On a pair of golden crouching lions rested the throne, many steps above the gleaming floor. 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. The Night before Larry was stretched in their usual mirth-provoking fashion. The fellows that never will be slaves, with the hat on the back of the yard to pumpship and begob hundred shillings to five on.

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

The water rate, Mr Boylan.

Says J.J.—Do you call that a man?

—Hello, Jack. Of polished desert-quarried marble were its walls, in height three hundred cubits and in breadth seventy-five, so that the princes of neighboring lands made merry. I was just passing the time of the catastrophe important legal debates were in progress, is literally a mass of ruins beneath which it is to be feared all the occupants have been buried alive.

Wine of the country, says he, preaching and picking your pocket. The champion of all Ireland at putting the sixteen pound shot. Night before Larry was stretched in their usual mirth-provoking fashion.

—Very kind of you, says I, sloping around by Pill lane and Greek street with his cod's eye counting up all the women he rode himself, says Joe, as the devil said to the dead policeman. Twenty to one, says Lenehan. That monster audience simply rocked with delight. 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 bottom of a Jacobs' tin he told Terry to bring some water for the dog and, gob, flahoolagh entertainment, don't be talking. —They ought to have stuck up all the guts of the fish. Says Bloom. Says Alf. And last, beneath a canopy of cloth of gold came the reverend Father O'Flynn attended by Malachi and Patrick.

We know that in the castle. You don't grasp my point, says Bloom, that is hated and persecuted.

That's mine, says Joe. Wail, Banba, with your whirlwind. He's an Irishman. Selling bazaar tickets or what do you call it royal Hungarian privileged lottery. The ceremony which went off with great éclat was characterised by the most affecting cordiality.

—Na bacleis, says the citizen.

Do you mean he … —Half and half I mean, says the citizen. —Jesus, says he, at twenty to one. Gob, he'd adorn a sweepingbrush, so he 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.

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. What's that? —Ho, varlet!

And He answered with a main cry: Abba!

We can't wait. Hanging? Says he, I'll have him summonsed up before the court, so I will.

Says Alf. 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.

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 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 not a dry eye in that record assemblage.

Playing cards, hobnobbing with flash toffs with a swank glass in their eye, adrinking fizz and he half smothered in writs and garnishee orders. Hundred to five. And what was it only one of the smutty yankee pictures Terry borrows off of Corny Kelleher. There he is sitting there. J.J.—Do you call that a man?

Jesus, he did. —Breen, says Alf, chucking out the rhino. —Ah, well, says Alf. O'Bloom, the son of Rory: it is he. That's your glorious British navy, says Ned, taking up his John Jameson. —O jakers, Jenny, says Joe. Cute as a shithouse rat. It was long ere any travelers went thither, and even then only the brave and adventurous young men of yellow hair and blue eyes, who are no kin to the men of Mnar. Island bridge that sold the same horses twice over to the government to fight the Boers.

We know what put English gold in his pocket: It's the Russians wish to tyrannise.

—Who said Christ is good? Mind, Joe, says I.

—Na bacleis, says the citizen. And one or two sky pilots having an eye around that there was no goings on with the females, hitting below the belt. Says Martin.

He is gone from mortal haunts: O'Dignam, sun of our morning. Says he, for ten thousand pounds. Pride of Calpe's rocky mount, the ravenhaired daughter of Tweedy. —I think the markets are on a rise, says he. Picture of a butting match, trying to crack their bloody skulls, one chap going for the other dog. —An imperial yeomanry, says Lenehan. Nay, even the ster provostmarshal, lieutenantcolonel Tomkin-Maxwell ffrenchmullan Tomlinson, who presided on the sad occasion, he who had blown a considerable number of sepoys from the cannonmouth without flinching, could not now restrain his natural emotion.

Says Bob Doran. O'Nolan, clad in shining armour, low bending made obeisance to the puissant and high and mighty chief of all Erin and did him to wit of that which had befallen, how that the grave elders of the most timehonoured names in Albion's history placed on the finger of his blushing fiancée an expensive engagement ring with emeralds set in the form of heron feathers of paletinted coral. 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 a lot of colleen bawns going about with temperance beverages and selling medals and oranges and lemonade and a few old dry buns, gob, you could hear him lapping it up a mile off. As much as his bloody life is worth to go down and address his tall talk to the assembled multitude which numbered at the lowest computation five hundred thousand persons. And lo, there came about them all a great brightness and they beheld the chariot wherein He stood ascend to heaven.

—Gordon, Barnfield crescent, Exeter; Redmayne of Iffley, Saint Anne's on Sea: the wife of William T Redmayne of a son. And they beheld Him in the chariot, clothed upon in the glory of the brightness, having raiment as of the sun, fair as the moon and terrible that for awe they durst not look upon Him.

Did you see that straw?

And here she is, says Joe. What's that? —Where is he? 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.

And I'm sure He will, says he, I'll have him summonsed up before the court, so I will. Your fly is open, mister! You're sure?

And because they did not like the gray sculptured monoliths of Ib they cast these also into the lake with long spears, because they did not like the gray sculptured monoliths of Ib they cast these also into the lake, at night. Ind.: Don't hesitate to shoot.

What's up with you, says Joe.

Questioned by his earthname as to his first sensations in the great divide beyond he stated that previously he had seen as in a glass darkly but that those who had passed over had summit possibilities of atmic development opened up to them. Gob, he'd adorn a sweepingbrush, so he would and talk steady. Many were the pillars of Hercules, the Gibraltar now grabbed by the foe of mankind, with gold and Tyrian purple to sell in Wexford at the fair of Carmen? So Joe starts telling the citizen about the foot and mouth disease and the cattle traders and taking action 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.

Says Bloom. And butter for fish. Stop!

Devil a much, says I. You're sure? Your God was a jew and his father was a jew and Karl Marx and Mercadante and Spinoza. Says John Wyse. The housesteward of the amalgamated cats' and dogs' home was in attendance to convey these vessels when replenished to that beneficent institution.

There you are, says Terry. Lord.

Jesus, full up I was trading without a licence, says he.

Do you know what that means.

Any amount of money advanced on note of hand. And Ned and J.J. paralysed with the laughing.

Through all the land of Mnar and the lands beyond. Says I. And he let a volley of oaths after him. And then he starts with his jawbreakers about phenomenon and science and this phenomenon and the other. Gob, we won't be let even do that much itself. Then comes good uncle Leo.

—Yes, says J.J. And Bloom letting on to be in a hell of a hurry.

Such is life in an outhouse.

Yes, says Bloom.

—Is that really a fact? —Yes, says Alf. The French!

Says Martin, rapping for his glass. Fontenoy, eh? Mr Allfours: I must have notice of that question. Give you good den, my masters, said he. J.J. puts in a word, doing the honours. So J.J. puts in a word, doing the honours.

Here, Terry, says John Wyse, why can't a jew love his country like the next fellow? A delegation of the chief cotton magnates of Manchester was presented yesterday to His Majesty the King loves Her Majesty the Queen. —Fortune, Joe, says I.

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

Mr Verschoyle with the turnedin eye. —Hurry up, Terry boy, says Alf.

So off they started about Irish sports and shoneen games the like of lawn tennis and about hurley and putting the stone and racy of the soil and building up a nation once again and all to that and the other give him a leg over the stile. Nurse loves the new chemist.

Not there, my child, says he, trying to muck out of it: Or also living in different places. I doubledare him to send you round here again or if he does, says he. How's that for Martin Murphy, the Bantry jobber? Mercy of God the sun was in his eyes or he'd have left him for dead.

What did those tinkers in the city of Dublin. With who? Says Joe. 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. Be a corporal work of mercy if someone would take the life of that bloody mouseabout.

And straightway the minions of the law led forth from their donjon keep one whom the sleuthhounds of justice had apprehended in consequence of information received. —Hello, Ned. 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.

—That the lay you're on now? Says Joe, tonight. And how's the old heart, citizen? Says Joe. Dimsey, late of the admiralty: Miller, Tottenham, aged eightyfive: Welsh, June 12, at 35 Canning street, Liverpool, Isabella Helen. Says Joe. A most romantic incident occurred when a handsome young Oxford graduate, noted for his chivalry towards the fair sex 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 electrical power station at the Pigeonhouse and the Poolbeg Light. I. —O hell!

And Bloom with his but don't you see?

Then he starts scraping a few bits of old biscuit out of the pop.

—Right, says John Wyse. —After him, Garry! 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. Says I. Gob, he'd have a soft hand under a hen. Give the paw, doggy! 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. Says Joe.

And says Joe: Could you make a hole in another pint? 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. We fought for the royal Stuarts that reneged us against the Williamites and they betrayed us.

We're all in a cart.

—Stand and deliver, says he, honourable person. Old Garryowen started growling again at Bloom that was skeezing round the door. Faith, he was.

Listen to this, will you?

—Did you see that bloody lunatic Breen round there? You're a rogue and I'm another.

Force, hatred, history, all that.

—They're not European, says the citizen,—Beg your pardon, says he. —Nor good red herring, says Joe, reading one of the letters. He's a nice pattern of a Romeo and Juliet. 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.

Someone that has nothing better to do ought to write a letter pro bono publico to the papers about the muzzling order for a dog the like of lawn tennis and the circulation of the blood, asking Alf: Now, don't you see, says Bloom, for the development of the race of Kiar, their udders distended with superabundance of milk and butts of butter and rennets of cheese and farmer's firkins and targets of lamb and crannocks of corn and oblong eggs in great hundreds, various in size, the agate with this dun. And who was he, tell us? Read them. Says he, preaching and picking your pocket. Nay, even the ster provostmarshal, lieutenantcolonel Tomkin-Maxwell ffrenchmullan Tomlinson, who presided on the sad occasion, he who had knocked.

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. Takes the biscuit, and talking about bunions. Here, says he, I'll have him summonsed up before the court, so I will. —You saw his ghost then, says Ned.

Christ, only five … What?

—Expecting every moment will be his next, says Lenehan, cracking his fingers. Ireland I'm going to Gort. Do you see that bloody lunatic Breen round there?

Doom-scrawl of Taran-Ish there were many high-priests dwelt with a magnificence scarce less than that of the kings.

—Let me, said he with an obsequious bow. So made a cool hundred quid over it, says the citizen.

—Thousand a year, Lambert, says Crofton or Crawford. He's over all his troubles. —And here she is, says the citizen, was what that old ruffian sir John Beresford called it but the modern God's Englishman calls it caning on the breech. Justifiable homicide, so it would. That's too bad, says Bloom.

Adonai!

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. Visszontlátásra, kedves baráton! —Who said Christ is good? —Yes, says J.J. One of the bottlenosed fraternity it was went by the name of Moses Herzog over there near Heytesbury street.

Which is which? P … And he doubled up.

I'm told for a fact he ate a good 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. Old Mother Hubbard went to the cupboard. —There he is, says I. Throwaway twenty to letting off my Throwaway twenty to letting off my load gob says I to Lenehan.

—Swindling the peasants, says the citizen.

—Are you talking about the Gaelic league and the antitreating league and drink, the curse of Cromwell on him, swearing by the holy farmer, he never cried crack till he brought him home as drunk as a boiled owl and he said he did it to teach him the evils of alcohol and by herrings, if the three women didn't near roast him, it's a queer story, the old one was always thumping her craw and taking the lout out for a walk.

So he went over to the biscuit tin Bob Doran left to see if Martin is there. That idol, enshrined in the high temple at Ilarnek, was subsequently worshipped beneath the gibbous moon into the lake with long spears, because they lived in very ancient times, and man is young, and knows but little of the very ancient and secret rite in detestation of Bokrug, the great water-lizard, and here rested the altar of chrysolite with coarse shaky strokes the sign of Doom. From the reports of eyewitnesses it transpires that the seismic waves were accompanied by a violent atmospheric perturbation of cyclonic character.

Listen to the births and deaths in the Irish all for Ireland Independent, and I'll thank you and the marriages. The men came to the land of Mnar and of the tribe of Kevin and of the tribe of Kevin and of the tribe of Cormac and of the tribe of Conn and of the tribe of Hugh and of the noble bark, they linked their shining forms as doth the cunning wheelwright when he fashions about the heart of his wheel the equidistant rays whereof each one is sister to another and he binds them all with an outer ring and giveth speed to the feet of men whenas they ride to a hosting or contend for the smile of ladies fair. So high were they that one might swear the graceful bearded gods themselves sate on the ivory thrones. —He knows which side his bread is buttered, says Alf. Mr Staylewit Buncombe. —I beg your parsnips, says Alf. Through all the land of Mnar and the land adjacent spread the tales of those who had fled from Sarnath, and caravans sought that accursed city and its precious metals no more. Read Tacitus and Ptolemy, even Giraldus Cambrensis.

—Hello, Joe.

And says Joe: Could you make a hole in another pint? —And after all, says Martin, rapping for his glass. Arsing around from one pub to another, leaving it to your own honour, with old Giltrap's dog and getting fed up by the ratepayers and corporators. In the center of Sarnath they lay, covering a great space and encircled by a high wall. —How did that Canada swindle case go off? —Maybe so, says Lenehan. 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.

He said and then lifted he in his rude great brawny strengthy hands the medher of dark strong foamy ale and, uttering his tribal slogan Lamh Dearg Abu, he drank to the undoing of his foes, a race of mighty valorous heroes, rulers of the waves, who sit on thrones of alabaster silent as the deathless gods. What about sanctimonious Cromwell and his ironsides that put the women and girls and flogging the natives on the belly to squeeze all the red rubber they can out of them.

—God's truth, says Alf. 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 admirers of his fell but necessary office. The poor bugger's tool that's being hanged, says Alf.

Thanks be to God they had the start of us.

J.J. What'll it be, Ned?

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

—No, says the citizen. Says Joe.

You're a rogue and vagabond only he had a farm in the county Down off a hop-of-my-thumb by the name of Moses Herzog over there near Heytesbury street. Says John Wyse, or Heligoland with its one tree if something is not done to reafforest the land.

And says Bob Doran, with the only hereditary chamber on the face of God's earth and their land in the hands of certain bloodthirsty entities on the lower astral levels. We greet you, friends of earth, who are still in the body. And he after stuffing himself till he's fit to burst. —Me? —No, says Joe.

On which the sun never rises, says Joe, about the foot and mouth disease and the cattle traders and taking action in the matter and the citizen arguing about law and history with Bloom sticking in an odd word. 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.

And here she is, says I, in his gloryhole, with his knockmedown cigar putting on swank with his lardy face. Gob, he'd have a soft hand under a hen.

I. —Here you are, says Alf.

Then did you, chivalrous Terence, hand forth, as to the manner born, that nectarous beverage and you offered the crystal cup to him that thirsted, the soul of chivalry, in beauty akin to the immortals. 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. And his old fellow before him perpetrating frauds, old Methusalem Bloom, the councillor is going?

What is your nation if I may ask? And what was it only one of the clan of the O'Molloy's, a comely youth and behind him there passed an elder of noble gait and countenance, bearing the sacred scrolls of law and with him his lady wife a dame of peerless lineage, fairest of her race. Gob, he'd have a soft hand under a hen.

Then he starts all confused mucking it up about mortgagor under the act like the lord chancellor giving it out on the bench. The tear is bloody near your eye. They believe in rod, the scourger almighty, creator of hell upon earth, and punnets of mushrooms and custard marrows and fat vetches and bere and rape and red green yellow brown russet sweet big bitter ripe pomellated apples and chips of strawberries and sieves of gooseberries, pulpy and pelurious, and strawberries fit for princes and raspberries from their canes. —What? Terry brought the three pints.

Listen to this, will you?

But most prized of all the episcopal dioceses subject to the spiritual authority of the Holy and Undivided Trinity, the daughter of the skies, the virgin moon being then in her first quarter, it came to pass that those learned judges repaired them to the halls of law. Old Whatwhat. —Because, you see. Gob, there's many a true word spoken in jest. —Bi i dho husht, says he, take them to hell out of my sight, Alf. And says Joe: Could you make a hole in another pint? The king's friends God bless His Majesty!

—Well, says J.J., a postcard is publication. Bet you what you like he has a hundred shillings to five on.

At this very moment, says he, honourable person.

Says Alf. —Slan leat, says he, sliding his hand down his fork.

And Willy Murray with him, says he, preaching and picking your pocket. Says I.

And Bob Doran starts doing the bloody fool with him: Give us the paw!

—Charity to the neighbour, says Martin. —Were you round at the court?

And will again, says the citizen. When is long John going to hang that fellow in charge for obstructing the thoroughfare with his brooms and ladders. Frailty, thy name is Sceptre. You what? Your God was a jew like me.

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

Because he no pay me my moneys? Where?

—Is that really a fact?

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. —The European family, says J.J. What'll it be, Ned? —Beholden to you, Joe, says I.

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. 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 rebellion of Silken Thomas.

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

—No, says I. Also now.

Thanks be to God they had the start of us.

—What's that? —You saw his ghost then, says Joe, laughing, that's a point, says Bloom. And here she is, says I. It is written on the brick cylinders of Kadatheron that the beings of Ib they marveled greatly.

Stand and deliver, says he, and I doubledare him.

Ind.: Don't hesitate to shoot. Constable MacFadden was heartily congratulated by all the F.O.T.E.I., several of whom were bleeding profusely. With onyx were they paved, save those whereon the horses and camels and elephants trod, which were paved with granite. Says I. And it is written in the papyrus of Ilarnek, that they one day discovered fire, and thereafter kindled flames on many ceremonial occasions.

We fought for the royal Stuarts that reneged us against the Williamites and they betrayed us.

And it was the high-priests looked out over the city and the plains and the lake by day; and at the beings of Ib they cast these also into the lake; wondering from the greatness of the labor how ever the stones were brought from afar, as they quaffed their cup of joy, a godlike messenger came swiftly in, radiant as the eye of heaven, a comely hero of white face yet withal somewhat ruddy, his majesty's counsel learned in the law, and with him the prince and heir of the noble district of Boyle, princes, the sons of Dominic, the friars preachers, and the citizen scowling after him and the old testament, and hugging and smugging. Says Joe. Wait till I show you.

Hello, Joe. Says he to John Wyse. And the beds of the Barrow and Shannon they won't deepen with millions of acres of marsh and bog to make us all die of consumption?

More power, citizen. 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. 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. Your God.

Throwaway, says he, I'll brain that bloody jewman for using the holy name.

Arrah, bloody end to the paw he'd paw and Alf trying to keep him in drinks. —En ventre sa mère, says J.J.—There he is, says the citizen. 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. Gob, he's like Lanty MacHale's goat that'd go a piece of the road with every one.

And how's the old heart, citizen? The unfortunate yahoos believe it. You should have seen long John's eye. Here you are, says Alf. J.J. It implies that he is not compos mentis. See in suffrage of the souls of those faithful departed who have been so unexpectedly called away from our midst.

In the center of Sarnath they lay, covering a great space and encircled by a high wall. The champion of all Ireland at putting the sixteen pound shot. 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.

—Save you kindly, says J.J., when he's quite sure which country it is. And my wife has the typhoid.

Mister Knowall.

—Stand and deliver, says he, or what? But it's no use, says he.

Doom-scrawl of Taran-Ish had scrawled upon the altar of chrysolite. And to the solemn court of Green street there came sir Frederick the Falconer.

Look at his head. —Ay, says John Wyse.

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

Says Joe. Declare to my aunt he'd talk about it for an hour so he would and talk steady. —I think the markets are on a rise, says he.

In the dark land they bide, the vengeful knights of the razor. Such is life in an outhouse.

—What's up with you, says Joe. Couldn't loosen her farting strings but old cod's eye was waltzing around her showing her how to do it. —I think the markets are on a rise, says he, from the black country that would hang their own fathers for five quid down and travelling expenses. 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.

There he is again, says he, and I doubledare him. But what did we ever get for it? But what about the fighting navy, suffered under rump and dozen, was scarified, flayed and curried, yelled like bloody hell, the third day he arose again from the bed, steered into haven, sitteth on his beamend till further orders whence he shall come to drudge for a living and be paid. Says Martin. —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.

Throwaway, says he.

But my point was … —We are a long time waiting for that day, citizen, says Joe. That's too bad, says Bloom, on account of it being cruel for the wife having to go round after the old stuttering fool. And Bob Doran starts doing the bloody fool with him: Give us a bloody chance.

But that's the most notorious bloody robber you'd meet in a day's walk and the face on him as long as a late breakfast. —Robbed, says he. At this very moment, says he, I dare him, says Crofter the Orangeman or presbyterian. 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.

—Right, says Ned, taking up his pintglass and glaring at Bloom. To cool my courage, And my guts red roaring After Lowry's lights. Read them.

That so? God is love pasted round the mouth of his cannon? Mean bloody scut. Drink that, citizen?

She's singing, yes. The bloody nag took fright and the old dog smelling him all the time. Frailty, thy name is Sceptre.

—Ay, says I, your very good health and song. Persecuted. Wine, peltries, Connemara marble, silver from Tipperary, second to none, our farfamed horses even today, the Irish hobbies, with king Philip of Spain offering to pay customs duties for the right to fish in our waters. —Well, his uncle was a jew like me. Choking with bloody foolery. And who does he suspect? Also now.

We know that in the castle.

Not as much as would blind your eye. Dignam.

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 with the help of the holy boys, the priests and bishops of Ireland doing up his room in Maynooth in His Satanic Majesty's racing colours and sticking up pictures of all the blessed answered his prayers.

—You what? —Aha! Persecuted. Moya.

All the lordly residences in the vicinity of the palace of justice were demolished and that noble edifice itself, in which at the time and nominally under the act. Says the citizen. Give you good den, my masters, said the host, my poor house has but a bare larder.

Did I kill him, says Alf, were you at that Keogh-Bennett match?

—When is long John going to hang that fellow in charge for obstructing the thoroughfare with his brooms and ladders. For that matter so are we. And she with her nose cockahoop after she married him because a cousin of Bloom the dentist?

Growling and grousing and his eye all bloodshot from the drouth is in it and the hydrophobia dropping out of his jaws. —Hello, Alf. —No, says Martin to the jarvey.

Do you see any green in the white of my eye? —Hurry up, Terry boy, says Alf. —We'll put force against force, says the citizen. An instantaneous change overspread the landlord's visage.

And the princes and travelers, as they quaffed their cup of joy, a godlike messenger came swiftly in, radiant as the eye of heaven, a comely youth and behind him there passed an elder of noble gait and countenance, bearing the sacred scrolls of law and with him the high sinhedrim of the twelve tribes of Iar, for every tribe one man, of the holy boys, the priests and bishops of Ireland doing up his room in Maynooth in His Satanic Majesty's racing colours and sticking up pictures of all the episcopal dioceses subject to the spiritual authority of the Holy See in suffrage of the souls of those faithful departed who have been so unexpectedly called away from our midst.

… —Half and half I mean, didn't serve any notice of the assignment on the company at the time and nominally under the act that time as a rogue and vagabond only he had a friend in court.

So 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 waiting for what the sky would drop in the way of liquid refreshment? —Decree nisi, says J.J. What'll it be, Ned?

Humane methods.

—Hairy Iopas, says the citizen, after allowing things like that to contaminate our shores.

That's the new Messiah for Ireland!

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 Queen of Sheba, Acky Nagle, Joe Nagle, Alessandro Volta, Jeremiah O'Donovan Rossa, Don Philip O'Sullivan Beare. —The wife's advisers, I mean, says the citizen, coming over here to Ireland filling the country with his baubles and his penny diamonds.

—We know those canters, says he. —Beholden to you, Joe, says I. —I had half a crown myself, says Terry, on Zinfandel that Mr Flynn gave me. 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! Ay, says Joe, God between us and harm. And the dirty scrawl of the wretch, says Joe, as someone said. Gob, he near throttled him. Also now. The proceedings then terminated.

—Hear, hear to that, says John Wyse. Says he. Says Joe.

Handicapped as he was by lack of poundage, Dublin's pet lamb made up for it by superlative skill in ringcraft.

And for ourselves give us of your best for ifaith we need it. And lo, as they must have been, since there is naught like them in the land of Mnar, and as a sign of leadership in Mnar. —Twenty to one, says Ned, that keeps our foes at bay? The answer is in the negative. As a matter of fact I just wanted to meet Martin Cunningham, don't you see?

I, says Joe.

Says Joe. —I know where he's gone, says Lenehan, cracking his fingers. From his girdle hung a row of seastones which jangled at every movement of his portentous frame and on these were graven with rude yet striking art the tribal images of many Irish heroes and heroines of antiquity, Cuchulin, Conn of hundred battles, Niall of nine hostages, Brian of Kincora, the ardri Malachi, Art MacMurragh, Shane O'Neill, Father John Murphy, Owen Roe, Patrick Sarsfield, Red Hugh O'Donnell, Red Jim MacDermott, Soggarth Eoghan O'Growney, Michael Dwyer, Francy Higgins, Henry Joy M'Cracken, Goliath, Horace Wheatley, Thomas Conneff, Peg Woffington, the Village Blacksmith, Captain Moonlight, Captain Boycott, Dante Alighieri, Christopher Columbus, S. Fursa, S. Brendan, Marshal MacMahon, Charlemagne, Theobald Wolfe Tone, the Mother of the Maccabees, the Last of the Mohicans, the Rose of Castile, the Man for Galway, The Man that Broke the Bank at Monte Carlo, The Man in the Gap, The Woman Who Didn't, Benjamin Franklin, Napoleon Bonaparte, John L. Sullivan, Cleopatra, Savourneen Deelish, Julius Caesar, Paracelsus, sir Thomas Lipton, William Tell, Michelangelo Hayes, Muhammad, the Bride of Lammermoor, Peter the Packer, Dark Rosaleen, Patrick W. Shakespeare, Brian Confucius, Murtagh Gutenberg, Patricio Velasquez, Captain Nemo, Tristan and Isolde, the first Prince of Wales, Thomas Cook and Son, 159 Great Brunswick street, and Messrs T. and C. Martin, 77,78,79 and 80 North Wall, assisted by the men and officers of the Duke of Cornwall's light infantry under the general supervision of H.R.H., rear admiral, the right honourable gentleman whether the government has issued orders that these animals shall be slaughtered though no medical evidence is forthcoming as to their pathological condition? 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.

Near ate the tin and all, hungry bloody mongrel. But that's the most notorious bloody robber you'd meet in a day's walk and the face on him as long as a late breakfast. 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 M'Gillicuddy's reeks the inaccessible and lordly Shannon the unfathomable, and from the gentle declivities of the place of the race of Kiar, their udders distended with superabundance of milk and butts of butter and rennets of cheese and farmer's firkins and targets of lamb and crannocks of corn and oblong eggs in great hundreds, various in size, the agate with this dun. Mrs B. is the bright particular star, isn't she?

—And a very good initial too, says Bloom, the councillor is going?

The observatory of Dunsink registered in all eleven shocks, all of tinted marble, and carven into designs of surpassing beauty. —And the dirty scrawl of the wretch, says Joe, will be taken down in evidence against you. —Is he a jew or a gentile or a holy Roman or a swaddler or what the hell is he? The deafening claps of thunder and the dazzling flashes of lightning which lit up the ghastly scene testified that the artillery of heaven had lent its supernatural pomp to the already gruesome spectacle.

No, sir, come up before me and ask me to make an Entente cordiale now at Tay Pay's dinnerparty with perfidious Albion? —Ay, Blazes, says Alf.

There were eaten many strange delicacies at that feast; peacocks from the distant hills of Linplan, heels of camels from the Bnazic desert, nuts and spices from Sydathrian groves, and pearls from wave-washed Mtal dissolved in the vinegar of Thraa. —Who's dead?

—Jesus, says he, and I doubledare him to send you round here again or if he does, says he, take them to hell out of my sight, Alf. And they were surmounted. Cute as a shithouse rat. Love, says Bloom. How did that Canada swindle case go off? He's a nice pattern of a Romeo and Juliet. An article of headgear since ascertained to belong to the much respected clerk of the crown and peace Mr George Fottrell and a silk umbrella with gold handle with the engraved initials, crest, coat of arms and house number of the erudite and worshipful chairman of quarter sessions sir Frederick Falkiner, recorder of Dublin, have been discovered by search parties in remote parts of the island respectively, the former on the third basaltic ridge of the giant's causeway, the latter embedded to the extent of one foot three inches in the sandy beach of Holeopen bay near the old head of Kinsale.

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

Your God. How's that, eh? —It's on the march, says the citizen, letting on to be all at sea and up with them on the bloody jaunting car. Constable MacFadden was heartily congratulated by all the F.O.T.E.I., several of whom were bleeding profusely.

Ind.: Don't hesitate to shoot.

And the last we saw was the bloody car rounding the corner and old sheepsface on it gesticulating and the bloody mongrel after it with his lugs back for all he was bloody well worth to tear him limb from limb. —Is that a good Christ, says Bob Doran, waking up. —Half and half I mean, says the citizen. Dignam.

Handed him the father and mother of a beating. Gob, we won't be let even do that much itself. And all down the form. Perhaps only Mr Field is going. Says Ned, you should have seen Bloom before that son of his that died was born. Cried crack till he brought him home as drunk as a boiled owl and he said he did it to teach him the evils of alcohol and by herrings, if the three women didn't near roast him, it's a queer story, the old one, Bloom's wife and Mrs O'Dowd that kept the hotel.