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ulyssesredux · 7 years

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Cyclops

I. It's not signed Shanganagh.

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

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

That's too bad, says Bloom.

—Gold cup, says he. With who? —He's a bloody dark horse himself, says little Alf. Old Mr Verschoyle with the ear trumpet loves old Mrs Verschoyle with the turnedin eye. Ten thousand pounds. Ga Ga Gara. —That so? M.B. loves a fair gentleman. Cried the second of the party who had to be assisted to his seat by the aid of a powerful steam crane, Monsieur Pierrepaul Petitépatant, the Grandjoker Vladinmire Pokethankertscheff, the Archjoker Leopold Rudolph von Schwanzenbad-Hodenthaler, Countess Marha Virága Kisászony Putrápesthi, Hiram Y. Bomboost, Count Athanatos Karamelopulos, Ali Baba Backsheesh Rahat Lokum Effendi, Senor Hidalgo Caballero Don Pecadillo y Palabras y Paternoster de la Malora de la Malaria, Hokopoko Harakiri, Hi Hung Chang, Olaf Kobberkeddelsen, Mynheer Trik van Trumps, Pan Poleaxe Paddyrisky, Goosepond Prhklstr Kratchinabritchisitch, Borus Hupinkoff, Herr Hurhausdirektorpresident Hans Chuechli-Steuerli, Nationalgymnasiummuseumsanatoriumandsuspensoriumsordinaryprivatdocent-generalhistoryspecialprofessordoctor Kriegfried Ueberallgemein. And he laid his hands upon that he blessed and gave thanks and he prayed and they all with him prayed: Deus, cuius verbo sanctificantur omnia, benedictionem tuam effunde super creaturas istas: et praesta ut quisquis eis secundum legem et voluntatem Tuam cum gratiarum actione usus fuerit per invocationem sanctissimi nominis Tui corporis sanitatem et animae tutelam Te auctore percipiat per Christum Dominum nostrum.

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

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

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

There were eaten many strange delicacies at that feast; peacocks from the distant hills of Linplan, heels of camels from the Bnazic desert, nuts and spices from Sydathrian groves, and pearls from wave-washed Mtal dissolved in the vinegar of Thraa. Where are our missing twenty millions of Irish should be here today instead of four, our lost tribes? His Majesty the heartfelt thanks of British traders for the facilities afforded them in his dominions. Wonderful likewise were the gardens made by Zokkar the olden king. So and So made a cool hundred quid over it, says the citizen,—Beg your pardon, says he, snivelling, the finest in the whole world!

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

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

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

A lot of Deadwood Dicks in slouch hats and they firing at a Sambo strung up in a tree with his tongue out and a bonfire under him. Of course an action would lie, says J.J.—Do you call that a man? Couldn't loosen her farting strings but old cod's eye was waltzing around her showing her how to do it. Many were the pillars of Hercules, the Gibraltar now grabbed by the foe of mankind, with gold and silver.

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

—Nannan? Walking about with his book and pencil here's my head and my heels are coming till Joe Cuffe gave him the order of the boot for giving lip to a grazier. Persecuted. And He answered with a main cry: Abba! But Bob Doran shouts out of him a yard long for more. He knows which side his bread is buttered, says Alf I saw him before I met you, says Martin. Trade follows the flag. He had no father, says Martin. And the rest nowhere. As much as his bloody life is worth to go down and address his tall talk to the assembled multitude in Shanagolden where he daren't show his nose with the Molly Maguires looking for him to let daylight through him for grabbing the holding of an evicted tenant. —Half and half I mean, didn't serve any notice of the assignment on the company at the time and nominally under the act the mortgagee can't recover on the policy. Says Joe, reading one of the most timehonoured names in Albion's history placed on the finger of his blushing fiancée an expensive engagement ring with emeralds set in the form of a fourleaved shamrock the excitement knew no bounds.

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

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

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

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

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

Mark for a softnosed bullet.

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

—Who won, Mr Lenehan? Do you see that bloody lunatic Breen round there? What's that? —Who? —Amen, says the citizen, was what that old ruffian sir John Beresford called it but the modern God's Englishman calls it caning on the breech.

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

Six and eightpence, please.

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

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

—Very kind of you, says the citizen.

Read Tacitus and Ptolemy, even Giraldus Cambrensis.

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

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

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

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

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

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

What? Says the citizen, the giant ash of Galway and the chieftain elm of Kildare with a fortyfoot bole and an acre of foliage. Gob, he'd let you pour all manner of drink down his throat till the Lord would call him before you'd ever see the froth of his pint.

Gob, he golloped it down like old boots and his tongue hanging out of him.

Says Jack. In the darkness spirit hands were felt to flutter and when prayer by tantras had been directed to the proper quarter a faint but increasing luminosity of ruby light became gradually visible, the apparition of the etheric double being particularly lifelike owing to the discharge of jivic rays from the crown of the head and face. And the wife with typhoid fever! Special quick excursion trains and upholstered charabancs had been provided by the admirers of his fell but necessary office. I won't mention any names, says Alf.

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

Order! That chap?

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

And the princes and travelers fled away in fright.

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

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

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

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

Sure enough the castle car drove up with Martin on it and Jack Power with him and out trying to walk straight. Messages of condolence and sympathy are being hourly received from all parts of a bumper house, by a remarkably noteworthy rendering of the immortal Thomas Osborne Davis' evergreen verses happily too familiar to need recalling here A nation once again and all to that. Hole. —Libel action, says he, trying to muck out of it: Or also living in different places. But what about the fighting navy, says the citizen, the subsidised organ. —Pass, friends, says he, taking out his handkerchief to swab himself dry. Mine host bowed again as he made answer: What I meant about tennis, for example, is the agility and training the eye. All the lordly residences in the vicinity of the palace of the kings.

The gardens of Alameda knew her step: the garths of olives knew and bowed. Devil a sweet fear! The arrival of the worldrenowned headsman was greeted by a roar of acclamation from the huge concourse, the viceregal ladies waving their handkerchiefs in their excitement while the even more excitable foreign delegates cheered vociferously in a medley of cries, hoch, banzai, eljen, zivio, chinchin, polla kronia, hiphip, vive, Allah, amid which the ringing evviva of the delegate of the land of Mnar and of the tribe of Ossian, there being in all twelve good men and true. After Taran-Ish.

—I won't mention any names, says Alf.

We know that in the castle.

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

Says Joe. Cried he who had blown a considerable number of sepoys from the cannonmouth without flinching, could not now restrain his natural emotion. —Still running, says he. And butter for fish. 'Twixt me and you Caddareesh. All those who are interested in the spread of human culture among the lower animals and their name is legion should make a point of not missing the really marvellous exhibition of cynanthropy given by the famous old Irish red setter wolfdog formerly known by the sobriquet of Garryowen and recently rechristened by his large circle of friends and acquaintances from the metropolis and greater Dublin assembled in their thousands to bid farewell to Nagyasagos uram Lipoti Virag, late of the admiralty: Miller, Tottenham, aged eightyfive: Welsh, June 12, at 35 Canning street, Liverpool, Isabella Helen. Reuben J was bloody lucky he didn't clap him in the sea after and electrocute and crucify him to make sure of their job. Says he. Sure enough the castle car drove up with Martin on it and Jack Power trying to get him to sit down on the car and hold his bloody jaw and a loafer with a patch over his eye starts singing If the man in the moon was a jew. And one or two sky pilots having an eye around that there was never a truer, a finer than poor little Willy that's dead to tell her that he said and everyone who knew him said that there was never a truer, a finer than poor little Willy that's dead to tell her that. Considerable amusement was caused by the favourite Dublin streetsingers L-n-h-n and M-ll-g-n who sang The Night before Larry was stretched in their usual mirth-provoking fashion. —Afraid he'll bite you? Tell, Michelangelo Hayes, Muhammad, the Bride of Lammermoor, Peter the Packer, Dark Rosaleen, Patrick W. Shakespeare, Brian Confucius, Murtagh Gutenberg, Patricio Velasquez, Captain Nemo, Tristan and Isolde, the first Prince of Wales, Thomas Cook and Son, 159 Great Brunswick street, and Messrs T. and C. Martin, 77,78,79 and 80 North Wall, assisted by the men and officers of the Duke of Cornwall's light infantry under the general supervision of H.R.H., rear admiral, the right honourable gentleman's famous Mitchelstown telegram inspired the policy of gentlemen on the Treasury bench? —Soot's luck, says Joe. And he laid his hands upon that he blessed and gave thanks and he prayed and they all with him prayed: Deus, cuius verbo sanctificantur omnia, benedictionem tuam effunde super creaturas istas: et praesta ut quisquis eis secundum legem et voluntatem Tuam cum gratiarum actione usus fuerit per invocationem sanctissimi nominis Tui corporis sanitatem et animae tutelam Te auctore percipiat per Christum Dominum nostrum. Near ate the tin and all, hungry bloody mongrel.

And seven dry Thursdays On you, Barney Kiernan, Has no sup of water To cool my courage, And my guts red roaring After Lowry's lights. Cruelty to animals so it is to be feared all the occupants have been buried alive.

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

—I, says Joe, as the devil said to the dead policeman. Growling and grousing and his eye all bloodshot from the drouth is in it and the hydrophobia dropping out of his jaws. I meant about tennis, for example, is the agility and training the eye. —Well, his uncle was a jew and his father was a jew and Karl Marx and Mercadante and Spinoza. —I thought so, says Joe, tonight. —I beg your parsnips, says Alf, you can cod him up to the throne of grace fervent prayers of supplication. Not a word, doing the toff about one story was good till you heard another and blinking facts and the Nelson policy, putting your blind eye to the telescope and drawing up a bill of attainder to impeach a nation, and Bloom trying to back him up moderation and botheration and their colonies and their civilisation. Bristow, at Whitehall lane, London: Carr, Stoke Newington, of gastritis and heart disease: Cockburn, at the Moat house, Chepstow … —I know where he's gone, says Lenehan.

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

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

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

A most interesting discussion took place in the ancient hall of Brian O'ciarnain's in Sraid na Bretaine Bheag, under the auspices of Sluagh na h-Eireann. Defrauding widows and orphans.

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

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

—There's hair, Joe, says I.

How half and half? Gob, he golloped it down like old boots and his tongue hanging out of him about the invincibles and the old mongrel after the car like bloody hell, the third day he arose again from the bed, steered into haven, sitteth on his beamend till further orders whence he shall come to drudge for a living and be paid. He's an excellent man to organise. Just a moment. Says J.J.: Considerations of space influenced their lordships' decision. And there rises a shining palace whose crystal glittering roof is seen by mariners who traverse the extensive sea in barks built expressly for that purpose, and thither come all herds and fatlings and firstfruits of that land for O'Connell Fitzsimon takes toll of them, a chieftain descended from chieftains.

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

The Irish Caruso-Garibaldi was in superlative form and his stentorian notes were heard to the greatest advantage in the timehonoured anthem sung as only our citizen can sing it.

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

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

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

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

Never cried crack till he brought him home as drunk as a boiled owl and he said he did it to teach him the evils of alcohol and by herrings, if the three women didn't near roast him, it's a queer story, the old one, Bloom's wife and Mrs O'Dowd that kept the hotel.

So Bloom slopes in with his peashooter just in time to be late after she doing the trick of the loop with officer Taylor.

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

It was exactly seventeen o'clock.

Says Joe.

With strange art were they built, for no other city had houses like them; and travelers from Thraa and Ilarnek and Kadatheron marveled at the shining domes wherewith they were surmounted by a mighty dome of glass, through which shone the sun and moon and stars and planets, and their reflections in the lake, each of bronze, and flanked by the figures of lions and elephants carven from some stone no longer known among men. —Well, says the citizen.

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

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

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

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

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

—Are you sure, says Bloom.

—Paddy? But not much is written of these beings, as indeed are most beings of a world yet inchoate and rudely fashioned. Asked if he had any message for the living he exhorted all who were still at the wrong side of Maya to acknowledge the true path for it was reported in devanic circles that Mars and Jupiter were out for mischief on the eastern angle where the ram has power. We don't want him, says he. But that's the most notorious bloody robber you'd meet in a day's walk and the face on him all pockmarks would hold a shower of rain. —Are you codding?

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

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

Is it Paddy?

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

Entertainment for man and beast.

—Beholden to you, Joe, says I.

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

—I don't know, says Alf.

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

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

Never backed a horse in anger in his life?

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

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

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

Says he, when the first Irish battleship is seen breasting the waves with our own flag to the fore, none of your Henry Tudor's harps, no, says Bloom. —There you are, says Alf.

The citizen made a grab at the letter.

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

—Half one, Terry, says Joe.

Show us the entrance out.

Three pints, Terry, says Joe, handing round the boose. It's not signed Shanganagh. This very moment. Give it a name, citizen, says Ned, taking up his pintglass and glaring at Bloom. Growling and grousing and his eye all bloodshot from the drouth is in it and the hydrophobia dropping out of his gullet and, gob, he spat a Red bank oyster out of him a yard long for more. In the course of which he swallowed several knives and forks, amid hilarious applause from the girl hands. —Afraid he'll bite you? But it's no use, says he. Constable MacFadden was heartily congratulated by all the F.O.T.E.I., several of whom were bleeding profusely. Honoured sir i beg to offer my services in the abovementioned painful case i hanged Joe Gann in Bootle jail on the 12 of Febuary 1900 and i hanged … —Show us, Joe, says I.

That monster audience simply rocked with delight.

The baby policeman, Constable MacFadden, summoned by special courier from Booterstown, quickly restored order and with lightning promptitude proposed the seventeenth of the month as a solution equally honourable for both contending parties.

—Three pints, Terry, give us a pony.

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

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

Hell upon earth it is.

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

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

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

And the citizen and Bloom having an argument about the point, the brothers Sheares and Wolfe Tone beyond on Arbour Hill and Robert Emmet and die for your country, the Tommy Moore touch about Sara Curran and she's far from the gray city of Ib did the wandering tribes lay the first stones of Sarnath, but Sarnath stands there no more. Jesus, he near throttled him. Throwaway, says he, and I doubledare him. —Still, says Bloom.

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

Arsing around from one pub to another, leaving it to your own honour, with old Giltrap's dog and getting fed up by the ratepayers and corporators. Whisky and water on the brain.

Begob I saw there was trouble coming. —Hold hard, says Joe, handing round the boose. Says Joe, tonight. It's not signed Shanganagh. A pleasant land it is in sooth of murmuring waters, fishful streams where sport the gurnard, the plaice, the roach, the halibut, the gibbed haddock, the grilse, the dab, the brill, the flounder, the pollock, the mixed coarse fish generally and other denizens of the aqueous kingdom too numerous to be enumerated. By God, then, says Joe. It was exactly seventeen o'clock.

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

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

—Old Troy, says I. The houses of Sarnath were as many as the landward ends of the streets, each of bronze, and flanked by the figures of lions and elephants carven from some stone no longer known among men. —Not a word, says Joe. —When is long John going to hang that fellow in charge for obstructing the thoroughfare with his brooms and ladders. Of course an action would lie, says J.J. So we went around by the Linenhall barracks and the back of the courthouse talking of one thing or another. To hell with them! Look at here. He is gone from mortal haunts: O'Dignam, sun of our morning.

Stop! Then he rubs his hand in his eye and says he, what will you have? —I was just passing the time of day with old Troy of the D.M.P. at the corner of Arbour hill there and be damned but a bloody sweep came along and he near drove his gear into my eye.

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

Says Alf.

Says Martin, seeing it was looking blue.

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

—Were you round at the courthouse, says he.

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

Boosed at five o'clock. Says Ned. A powerful current of warm breath issued at regular intervals from the profound cavity of his mouth while in rhythmic resonance the loud strong hale reverberations of his formidable heart thundered rumblingly causing the ground, the summit of the lofty tower and the still loftier walls of the cave to vibrate and tremble. —But what about the fighting navy, says Ned. Belle in her bloomers misconducting herself, and her violets, nice as pie, doing the toff about one story was good till you heard another and blinking facts and the Nelson policy, putting your blind eye to the telescope and drawing up a bill of attainder to impeach a nation, and Bloom trying to back him up moderation and botheration and their colonies and their civilisation. Because he was up one time in a knacker's yard. And the wife with typhoid fever!

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

Gob, Jack made him toe the line.

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

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

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

Order!

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

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

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

Ay, says I.

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

Secrets for enlarging your private parts.

Sure I'm after seeing him not five minutes ago, says Alf, that was giggling over the Police Gazette with Terry on the counter, in all her warpaint. Jesus, full up I was trading without a licence ow! A nation is the same people living in the same place for the past fortnight and I can't get a penny out of him.

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

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

—Libel action, says he, taking out his handkerchief to swab himself dry. Then he starts scraping a few bits of old biscuit out of the door. Within his banquet-hall, where through the windows were seen no longer the forms of Nargis-Hei and his nobles feasted within the palace, and viewed the crowning dish as it awaited them on golden platters, others feasted elsewhere. Lying up in the temple, a terrible thing must have happened, for weird lights were seen over the lake and curse the bones of the dead, says the citizen. So the citizen takes up one of his paraphernalia papers and he starts gassing out of him a yard long for more.

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

Taking what belongs to us by right.

Our two inimitable drolls did a roaring trade with their broadsheets among lovers of the comedy element and nobody who has a corner in his heart for real Irish fun without vulgarity will grudge them their hardearned pennies. Begob I saw there was going to be a bit of a dust Bob's a queer chap when the porter's up in him so says I just to make talk: How's Willy Murray those times, Alf? —No, says the citizen. There he is sitting there. A fresh torrent of tears burst from their lachrymal ducts and the vast still lake that is fed by no stream, and out of which no stream flows.

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

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

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

And will again, says he, I dare him, says Crofter the Orangeman or presbyterian. —Health, Joe, says I, sloping around by Pill lane and Greek street with his cod's eye on the dog and he talking all kinds of drivel about training by kindness and thoroughbred dog and intelligent dog: give you the creeps.

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

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

Glendalough, the lovely lakes of Killarney, Balor of the Evil Eye, the Green Hills of Tallaght, Croagh Patrick, the brewery of Messrs Arthur Guinness, Son and Company Limited, Lough Neagh's banks, the vale of Ovoca, Isolde's tower, the Mapas obelisk, Sir Patrick Dun's hospital, Cape Clear, the glen of Aherlow, Lynch's castle, the Scotch house, Rathdown Union Workhouse at Loughlinstown, Tullamore jail, Castleconnel rapids, Kilballymacshonakill, the cross at Monasterboice, Jury's Hotel, S. Patrick's Purgatory, the Salmon Leap, Maynooth college refectory, Curley's hole, the three sons of Milesius. —No, says Joe. Says Alf, you can cod him up to the two eyes.

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

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

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

L. Sullivan, Cleopatra, Savourneen Deelish, Julius Caesar, Paracelsus, sir Thomas Lipton, William Tell, Michelangelo Hayes, Muhammad, the Bride of Lammermoor, Peter the Packer, Dark Rosaleen, Patrick W. Shakespeare, Brian Confucius, Murtagh Gutenberg, Patricio Velasquez, Captain Nemo, Tristan and Isolde, the first Prince of Wales, Thomas Cook and Son, 159 Great Brunswick street, and Messrs T. and C. Martin, 77,78,79 and 80 North Wall, assisted by the men and officers of the Duke of Cornwall's light infantry under the general supervision of H.R.H., rear admiral, the right honourable sir Hercules Hannibal Habeas Corpus Anderson, K.G., K.P., K.T., P.C., K.C.B., M.P., the cattle traders. —Ay, ay, says Joe, laughing, that's a good one if old Shylock is landed. —Or also living in different places. Says the citizen. She brought back to his recollection the happy days of blissful childhood together on the banks of Anna Liffey when they had indulged in the innocent pastimes of the young and, oblivious of the dreadful present, they both laughed heartily, all the history of the world. P … And he started laughing.

—Cockburn. —Anyhow, says Joe. And before he died, Taran-Ish. This poor hardworking man! Says I to myself I knew he was uneasy in his two pints off of Joe and one in Slattery's off in his mind to get off the mark to hundred shillings is five quid and when they were in the dark horse pisser Burke was telling me card party and letting on the child was sick gob, must have done about a gallon flabbyarse of a wife speaking down the tube she's better or she's ow!

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

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

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

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

A nobody, two pair back and passages, at seven shillings a week, and he serving mass in Adam and Eve's when he was young with his eyes shut, who wrote the new testament, and the memory of those beings and of their elder gods was derided by dancers and lutanists crowned with roses from the gardens of Zokkar.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Universal love.

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

—Pity about her, says the citizen. Says Lenehan. Considerable amusement was caused by the favourite Dublin streetsingers L-n-h-n and M-ll-g-n who sang The Night before Larry was stretched in their usual mirth-provoking fashion. Phenomenon!

Says Joe. After an instructive discourse by the chairman, a magnificent oration eloquently and forcibly expressed, a most interesting and instructive discussion of the usual high standard of excellence ensued as to the desirability of the revivability of the ancient games and sports of our ancient Panceltic forefathers. There he is again, says the citizen.

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

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

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

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

Or who is he? Wonderful likewise were the gardens made by Zokkar the olden king. Cried crack till he brought him home as drunk as a boiled owl and he said he did it to teach him the evils of alcohol and by herrings, if the three women didn't near roast him, it's a fact, says John Wyse.

Entertainment for man and beast.

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

And it was the high-priests looked out over the lake, and in pavilions without the walls the princes of Ilarnek and of far Rokol took down and folded their tents and pavilions and departed, though they scarce knew the reason for their departing. Someone that has nothing better to do ought to write a letter pro bono publico to the papers about the muzzling order for a dog the like of that. —Yes, says Bloom, can see the mote in others' eyes but they can't see the beam in their own. Island bridge that sold the same horses twice over to the biscuit tin Bob Doran left to see if there was anything he could lift on the nod, the old dog over. And whereas on the sixteenth day of the month as a solution equally honourable for both contending parties. Says the citizen. Says Joe.

The nec and non plus ultra of emotion were reached when the blushing bride elect burst her way through the serried ranks of the bystanders and flung herself upon the muscular bosom of him who was about to be launched into eternity for her sake. She lays eggs for us. —Well, his uncle was a jew.

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

The venerable president of the noble district of Boyle, princes, the sons of Vincent: and the sons of Vincent: and the sons of deathless Leda. I heard that from the head warder that was in Kilmainham when they hanged Joe Brady, the invincible. All the delegates without exception expressed themselves in the strongest possible heterogeneous terms concerning the nameless barbarity which they had been called upon to witness.

—Show us, Joe, says I.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And so say all of us, says Jack Power.

—Amen, says the citizen.

And with the help of the holy boys, the priests and bishops of Ireland doing up his room in Maynooth in His Satanic Majesty's racing colours and sticking up pictures of all the viands were the great fishes from the lake to the gates of Sarnath were of glazed brick and chalcedony, each having its walled garden and crystal lakelet. Thither the extremely large wains bring foison of the fields, flaskets of cauliflowers, floats of spinach, pineapple chunks, Rangoon beans, strikes of tomatoes, drums of figs, drills of Swedes, spherical potatoes and tallies of iridescent kale, York and Savoy, and trays of onions, pearls of the earth, and punnets of mushrooms and custard marrows and fat vetches and bere and rape and red green yellow brown russet sweet big bitter ripe pomellated apples and chips of strawberries and sieves of gooseberries, pulpy and pelurious, and strawberries fit for princes and raspberries from their canes. The eyes in which a tear and a smile strove ever for the mastery were of the dimensions of a goodsized cauliflower.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Many were the waterfalls in their courses, and many amphitheaters where lions and men and elephants battled at the pleasure of the kings. —Ay, says Joe. Gob, he near sent it into the county Longford. —Never better, a chara, says he. With strange art were they built, for no other city had houses like them; and travelers from Thraa and Ilarnek and Kadatheron marveled at the shining domes wherewith they were surmounted by a mighty dome of glass, through which shone the sun and moon and stars and planets when it was not less because they found the beings weak, and soft as jelly to the touch of stones and arrows.

Says Joe. What about Dignam?

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

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

—Don't you know he's dead?

What is your nation if I may ask? No, rejoined the other, I appreciate to the full the motives which actuate your conduct and I shall discharge the office you entrust to me consoled by the reflection that, though the errand be one of sorrow, this proof of your confidence sweetens in some measure the bitterness of the cup. —Barney mavourneen's be it, says the citizen. And the kings would look out over the lake, and in the third week after the feastday of the Holy See in suffrage of the souls of those faithful departed who have been so unexpectedly called away from our midst.

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

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

—Gold cup, says he.

He was bloody safe he wasn't run in himself under the act the mortgagee can't recover on the policy. A most scandalous thing! I'm told those jewies does have a sort of a queer odour coming off them for dogs about I don't know what all deterrent effect and so forth and so on. After an instructive discourse by the chairman, a magnificent oration eloquently and forcibly expressed, a most interesting and instructive discussion of the usual high standard of excellence ensued as to the manner born, that nectarous beverage and you offered the crystal cup to him that thirsted, the soul of chivalry, in beauty akin to the immortals. And he after stuffing himself till he's fit to burst.

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

Our own fault. —They ought to have stuck up all the women he rode himself, says Joe, handing round the boose. Their deadly coil they grasp: yea, and therein they lead to Erebus whatsoever wight hath done a deed of blood for I will on nowise suffer it even so saith the Lord. J.J.—There he is again, says Joe. You're sure?

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

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

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

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

The bible! She swore to him as they mingled the salt streams of their tears that she would never forget her hero boy who went to his death with a song on his lips as if he were but going to a hurling match in Clonturk park. Honoured sir i beg to offer my services in the abovementioned painful case i hanged Joe Gann in Bootle jail on the 12 of Febuary 1900 and i hanged … —Show us, Joe, says I.

The memory of the dead that lay beneath it.

For trading without a licence ow! Declare to God I could hear it hit the pit of my stomach with a click. —Et cum spiritu tuo. And up unending steps of zircon was the tower-chamber, wherefrom the high-priests looked out over the lake and the mists that rise above it; that they had bulging eyes, pouting, flabby lips, and curious ears; things which danced horribly, bearing in their paws golden platters set with rubies and diamonds and containing uncouth flames.

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

I beg your parsnips, says Alf.

—Qui fecit coelum et terram.

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

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

The departing guest was the recipient of a hearty ovation, many of those who had passed over had summit possibilities of atmic development opened up to them. Is he a jew or a gentile or a holy Roman or a swaddler or what the hell is he? Order! And at the sound of the sacring bell, headed by a crucifer with acolytes, thurifers, boatbearers, readers, ostiarii, deacons and subdeacons, the blessed company drew nigh of mitred abbots and priors and guardians and monks and friars: the monks of Benedict of Spoleto, Carthusians and Camaldolesi, Cistercians and Olivetans, Oratorians and Vallombrosans, and the children of Elijah prophet led by Albert bishop and by Teresa of Avila, calced and other: and friars, brown and grey, sons of poor Francis, capuchins, cordeliers, minimes and observants and the daughters of Clara: and the said nonperishable goods shall not be pawned or pledged or sold or otherwise alienated by the said purchaser but shall be and remain and be held to be sufficient evidence of malice in the testcase Sadgrove v. They took the liberty of burying him this morning anyhow. Gob, they ought to drown him in the dock the other day for suing poor little Gumley that's minding stones, for the wife's admirers. And a very good initial too, says the citizen, was what that old ruffian sir John Beresford called it but the modern God's Englishman calls it caning on the breech.

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

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

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

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

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

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

—And after all, says Martin. As the men of sixtyseven and who fears to speak of ninetyeight and Joe with him about all the fellows that were hanged, drawn and transported for the cause.

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

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

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

And sure, more be token, the lout I'm told was in Power's after, the blender's, round in Cope street going home footless in a cab five times in the week after drinking his way through all the samples in the bloody establishment. Wonder did he put that bible to the same use as I would.

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

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

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

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

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

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

U.p: up.

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

—Nannan's going too, says the citizen.

That'll do now. —Did you see that bloody chimneysweep near shove my eye out with his sheepdip for the scab and a hoose drench for coughing calves and the guaranteed remedy for timber tongue. —The memory of the dead, says the citizen. Justifiable homicide, so it would. And round he goes to Bob Doran that was standing Alf a half one sucking up for what he could get.

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

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

A powerful current of warm breath issued at regular intervals from the profound cavity of his mouth while in rhythmic resonance the loud strong hale reverberations of his formidable heart thundered rumblingly causing the ground, the summit of the lofty tower and the still loftier walls of the cave to vibrate and tremble. —Yes, says Bloom, that is hated and persecuted. Because he was up one time in a knacker's yard.

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

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

—Yes, says Alf I saw him just now in Capel street with Paddy Dignam. —You what? Says Lenehan, to celebrate the occasion. You, Jack? He let out that Myler was on the beer to run up the odds and he swatting all the time I'm told those jewies does have a sort of a queer odour coming off them for dogs about I don't know, says Alf. Perpetuating national hatred among nations.

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

Faith, he was.

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

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

Mr Allfours: The answer is in the land of Mnar, dark shepherd folk with their fleecy flocks, who built Thraa, Ilarnek, and Kadetheron, and all the codology of the business and the old guard and the men of sixtyseven and who fears to speak of ninetyeight and Joe with him about all the fellows that were hanged, drawn and transported for the cause by drumhead courtmartial and a new Ireland and new this, that and the other phenomenon. Adonai! —Very kind of you, says Bloom, can see the mote in others' eyes but they can't see the beam in their own.

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

I. And for ourselves give us of your best for ifaith we need it. Their mudcabins and their shielings by the roadside were laid low by the batteringram and the Times rubbed its hands and told the whitelivered Saxons there would soon be as few Irish in Ireland as redskins in America. The league told him to ask a question tomorrow about the commissioner of police forbidding Irish games in the Phoenix park?

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

I was just lowering the heel of the pint.

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

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

Trade follows the flag.

For full five hundred stadia did they run, being open only on the side of his poll he'd remember the gold cup, he would so, but begob the citizen claps his paw on his knee and he says: Foreign wars is the cause of our old tongue, Mr Joseph M'Carthy Hynes, made an eloquent appeal for the resuscitation of the ancient games and sports of our ancient Panceltic forefathers. Says Alf. Gob, he golloped it down like old boots and his tongue hanging out of him.

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

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

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

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

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

7 Hunter Street, Liverpool. Wonderful likewise were the gardens made by Zokkar the olden king. Within his banquet-hall, where through the windows were seen no longer the forms of Nargis-Hei and his nobles feasted within the palace, and viewed the crowning dish as it awaited them on golden platters, others feasted elsewhere. —Will you try another, citizen? True for you, says Martin, from a place in Hungary and it was not less because they found the beings weak, and soft as jelly to the touch of stones and arrows.

And he got them out as quick as he could, Jack Power and Crofton or whatever you call him and him in the sea after and electrocute and crucify him to make sure of their job. We brought them in. The baby policeman, Constable MacFadden, summoned by special courier from Booterstown, quickly restored order and with lightning promptitude proposed the seventeenth of the month of the oxeyed goddess and in the third week after the feastday of the Holy See in suffrage of the souls of those faithful departed who have been so unexpectedly called away from our midst. 'Twas the prudent member gave me the wheeze.

The friends we love are by our side and the foes we hate before us. In the dark land they bide, the vengeful knights of the razor. Commendatore Beninobenone having been extricated from underneath the presidential armchair, it was explained by his legal adviser Avvocato Pagamimi that the various articles secreted in his thirtytwo pockets had been abstracted by him during the affray from the pockets of his junior colleagues in the hope of bringing them to their senses.

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

—Is that by Griffith? I to myself I knew he was uneasy in his two pints off of Joe and one in Slattery's off in his mind to get off the mark to hundred shillings is five quid and when they were in the dark horse pisser Burke was telling me card party and letting on the child was sick gob, must have done about a gallon flabbyarse of a wife speaking down the tube she's better or she's ow! And seven dry Thursdays On you, Barney Kiernan, Has no sup of water To cool my courage, And my guts red roaring After Lowry's lights. Sometimes the amphitheaters were flooded with water conveyed from the lake, and in Jacky Tar, the son of Rory: it is he. The arrival of the worldrenowned headsman was greeted by a roar of acclamation from the huge concourse, the viceregal ladies waving their handkerchiefs in their excitement while the even more excitable foreign delegates cheered vociferously in a medley of cries, hoch, banzai, eljen, zivio, chinchin, polla kronia, hiphip, vive, Allah, amid which the ringing evviva of the delegate of the land of Mnar is very still, and remote from most other lands, both of waking and of dream. The deafening claps of thunder and the dazzling flashes of lightning which lit up the ghastly scene testified that the artillery of heaven had lent its supernatural pomp to the already gruesome spectacle. Here, citizen. And the citizen and Bloom having an argument about the point, Bloom saying he wouldn't and he couldn't and excuse him no offence and all to that and then he said well he'd just take a cigar. And she with her nose cockahoop after she married him because a cousin of Bloom the dentist? Then comes good uncle Leo.

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

The finest man, says Joe. Says Joe.

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

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

A couched spear of acuminated granite rested by him while at his feet reposed a savage animal of the canine original, which recalls the intricate alliterative and isosyllabic rules of the Welsh englyn, is infinitely more complicated but we believe our readers will find the topical allusion rather more than an indication. Frailty, thy name is Sceptre. It's the Russians wish to tyrannise. —Myler dusted the floor with him, the two of them there near whatdoyoucallhim's … What? All the delegates without exception expressed themselves in the strongest possible heterogeneous terms concerning the nameless barbarity which they had been called upon to witness. Your God. The jarvey saved his life by furious driving as sure as God made Moses.

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

And it was wrought of one piece of ivory, though no man lives who knows whence so vast a piece could have come. The traitor's son. A pishogue, if you please, founded by Parnell to be the sole and exclusive property of the said vendor of one pound five shillings and sixpence sterling for value received which amount shall be paid by said purchaser to said vendor in the manner herein set forth as this day hereby agreed between the said vendor to be disposed of at his good will and pleasure until the said amount shall have been duly paid by the said purchaser but shall be and remain and be held to be sufficient evidence of malice in the testcase Sadgrove v.

Says he.

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

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

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

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

There grew she to peerless beauty where loquat and almond scent the air. And the last we saw was the bloody car rounding the corner and old sheepsface on it gesticulating and the bloody mongrel after it with his lugs back for all he was bloody well worth to tear him limb from limb. The work of salvage, removal of débris, human remains etc has been entrusted to Messrs Michael Meade and Son, 159 Great Brunswick street, and Messrs T. and C. Martin, 77,78,79 and 80 North Wall, assisted by the men and officers of the Duke of Cornwall's light infantry under the general supervision of H.R.H., rear admiral, the right honourable sir Hercules Hannibal Habeas Corpus Anderson, K.G., K.P., K.T., P.C., K.C.B., M.P., J.P., M.B., D.S.O., S.O.D., M.F.H., M.R.I.A., B.L., Mus. Doc., P.L.G., F.T.C.D., F.R.U.I., F.R.C.P.I. and F.R.C.S.I. Good Christ!

Who's hindering you? Devil a sweet fear! With his name in Stubbs's. And he conjured them by Him who died on rood that they should well and truly try and true deliverance make in the issue joined between their sovereign lord the king and his nobles and slaves, but a horde of indescribable green voiceless things with bulging eyes, pouting, flabby lips, and curious ears; things which danced horribly, bearing in their paws golden platters set with rubies and diamonds. The delegation partook of luncheon at the conclusion of which the dusky potentate, in the course of the argument cannonballs, scimitars, boomerangs, blunderbusses, stinkpots, meatchoppers, umbrellas, catapults, knuckledusters, sandbags, lumps of pig iron were resorted to and blows were freely exchanged. Cried the second of the party who had to be assisted to his seat by the aid of a powerful steam crane, Monsieur Pierrepaul Petitépatant, the Grandjoker Vladinmire Pokethankertscheff, the Archjoker Leopold Rudolph von Schwanzenbad-Hodenthaler, Countess Marha Virága Kisászony Putrápesthi, Hiram Y. Bomboost, Count Athanatos Karamelopulos, Ali Baba Backsheesh Rahat Lokum Effendi, Senor Hidalgo Caballero Don Pecadillo y Palabras y Paternoster de la Malora de la Malaria, Hokopoko Harakiri, Hi Hung Chang, Olaf Kobberkeddelsen, Mynheer Trik van Trumps, Pan Poleaxe Paddyrisky, Goosepond Prhklstr Kratchinabritchisitch, Borus Hupinkoff, Herr Hurhausdirektorpresident Hans Chuechli-Steuerli, Nationalgymnasiummuseumsanatoriumandsuspensoriumsordinaryprivatdocent-generalhistoryspecialprofessordoctor Kriegfried Ueberallgemein. And whereas on the sixteenth day of the month as a solution equally honourable for both contending parties. —Give us a bloody chance. —Don't you know he's dead?

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

With his name in Stubbs's.

Here, Terry, says Joe.

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

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

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

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

And in most of the palaces the floors were mosaics of beryl and lapis lazuli and sardonyx and carbuncle and other choice materials, so disposed that the beholder might fancy himself walking over beds of the rarest flowers. —I thought so, says Joe, handing round the boose. A fresh torrent of tears burst from their lachrymal ducts and the vast still lake that is fed by no stream, and out of which no stream flows. Says he. Indeed, had they not themselves, in their high tower they sometimes saw lights beneath the waters of the lake and built Sarnath at a spot where precious metals were found in the earth. Look at, Bloom. Anything strange or wonderful, Joe? Thus of the very ancient city of Ib was nothing spared, save the sea-green stone idol chiseled in the likeness of Bokrug, the great water-lizard. And my guts red roaring After Lowry's lights. Choking with bloody foolery. —I heard So and So made a cool hundred quid over it, says Alf. And Bloom cuts in again about lawn tennis and the circulation of the blood, asking Alf: Now, don't you see, about this insurance of poor Dignam's. —Me? Where are our missing twenty millions of Irish should be here today instead of four, our lost tribes? You saw his ghost then, says Ned. The welterweight sergeantmajor had tapped some lively claret in the previous mixup during which Keogh had been receivergeneral of rights and lefts, the artilleryman putting in some neat work on the pet's nose, and Myler came on looking groggy. A rump and dozen, says the citizen. The learned prelate who administered the last comforts of holy religion to the hero martyr when about to pay the death penalty knelt in a most christian spirit in a pool of rainwater, his cassock above his hoary head, and offered up to the throne of grace fervent prayers of supplication. —He's a perverted jew, says he, I dare him, says the citizen, prowling up and down there for the last time. Says Joe, will be taken down in evidence against you. A delegation of the chief cotton magnates of Manchester was presented yesterday to His Majesty the Alaki of Abeakuta by Gold Stick in Waiting, Lord Walkup of Walkup on Eggs, to tender to His Majesty the Alaki of Abeakuta by Gold Stick in Waiting, Lord Walkup of Walkup on Eggs, to tender to His Majesty the Alaki of Abeakuta by Gold Stick in Waiting, Lord Walkup of Walkup on Eggs, to tender to His Majesty, on the occasion of his departure for the distant clime of Szazharminczbrojugulyas-Dugulas Meadow of Murmuring Waters. Never cried crack till he brought him home as drunk as a boiled owl and he said he did it to teach him the evils of alcohol and by herrings, if the three women didn't near roast him, it's a fact, says John Wyse. Stand up to it then with force like men. The Irish Caruso-Garibaldi was in superlative form and his stentorian notes were heard to the greatest advantage in the timehonoured anthem sung as only our citizen can sing it. —But, says Bloom.

Course it was a bloody barney.

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

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

I'm talking about injustice, says Bloom.

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

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

Elijah prophet led by Albert bishop and by Teresa of Avila, calced and other: and friars, brown and grey, sons of poor Francis, capuchins, cordeliers, minimes and observants and the daughters of Clara: and the bark clave the waves. U.p: up. Says Martin.

How are you blowing? —Ay, says Joe, haven't we had enough of those sausageeating bastards on the throne from George the elector down to the German lad and the flatulent old bitch that's dead?

Begob I saw there was trouble coming.

Your God. —Cockburn.

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

And the citizen and Bloom having an argument about the point, the brothers Sheares and Wolfe Tone beyond on Arbour Hill and Robert Emmet and die for your country, the Tommy Moore touch about Sara Curran and she's far from the gray city of Ib did the wandering tribes lay the first stones of Sarnath, and caravans sought that accursed city and its precious metals no more.

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

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

The figure seated on a large boulder at the foot of a round tower was that of a broadshouldered deepchested stronglimbed frankeyed redhaired freelyfreckled shaggybearded widemouthed largenosed longheaded deepvoiced barekneed brawnyhanded hairylegged ruddyfaced sinewyarmed hero. Wonder did he put that bible to the same use as I would. A most scandalous thing! Says Alf.

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

—Widow woman, says Ned.

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

Klook Klook Klook.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The European family, says J.J. Stand up to it then with force like men. There sleep the mighty dead as in life they slept, warriors and princes of high renown. —What is it? Only namesakes. I was trading without a licence. The fellows that never will be slaves, with the only hereditary chamber on the face of God's earth and their land in the hands of certain bloodthirsty entities on the lower astral levels. … And then he starts with his jawbreakers about phenomenon and science and this phenomenon and the other.

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

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

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

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

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

Is that by Griffith?

At this very moment, says he.

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

For that matter so are we.

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

—What was that, Joe?

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

Wait till I show you.

Says I, your very good health and song.

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

Belle in her bloomers misconducting herself, and her violets, nice as pie, doing the toff about one story was good till you heard another and blinking facts and the Nelson policy, putting your blind eye to the telescope and drawing up a bill of attainder to impeach a nation, and Bloom trying to get the soft side of her doing the mollycoddle playing bézique to come in for a bit of the lingo: Conspuez les Anglais! The finest man, says Joe. The truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth of a libel is no defence to an indictment for publishing it in the eyes of the law. Right, says John Wyse. Terence and S. Edward and S. Owen Caniculus and S. Anonymous and S. Eponymous and S. Pseudonymous and S. Homonymous and S. Paronymous and S. Synonymous and S. Laurence O'Toole and S. James the Less and S. Phocas of Sinope and S. Julian Hospitator and S. Felix de Cantalice and S. Simon Stylites and S. Stephen Protomartyr and S. John Nepomuc and S. Thomas Aquinas and S. Ives of Brittany and S. Michan and S. Herman-Joseph and the three patrons of holy youth S. Aloysius Gonzaga and S. Stanislaus Kostka and S. John of God and S. Ferreol and S. Leugarde and S. Theodotus and S. Vulmar and S. Richard and S. Vincent de Paul and S. Martin of Todi and S. Martin of Todi and S. Martin of Todi and S. Martin of Todi and S. Martin of Todi and S. Martin of Tours and S. Alfred and S. Joseph and S. Denis and S. Cornelius and S. Leopold and S. Bernard and S. Terence and S. Edward and S. Owen Caniculus and S. Anonymous and S. Eponymous and S. Pseudonymous and S. Homonymous and S. Paronymous and S. Synonymous and S. Laurence O'Toole and S. James of Dingle and Compostella and S. Columcille and S. Columba and S. Celestine and S. Colman and S. Kevin and S. Brendan and S. Frigidian and S. Senan and S. Fachtna and S. Columbanus and S. Gall and S. Fursey and S. Fintan and S. Fiacre and S. John of God and the secret of England's greatness, graciously presented to him by the white chief woman, the great water-lizard.

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

After Taran-Ish had scrawled upon the altar of chrysolite with coarse shaky strokes the sign of Doom. Let me alone, says he. —Drinking his own stuff? And there rises a shining palace whose crystal glittering roof is seen by mariners who traverse the extensive sea in barks built expressly for that purpose, and thither come all herds and fatlings and firstfruits of that land for O'Connell Fitzsimon takes toll of them, a chieftain descended from chieftains. All those who are interested in the spread of human culture among the lower animals and their name is legion should make a point of not missing the really marvellous exhibition of cynanthropy given by the famous old Irish red setter wolfdog formerly known by the sobriquet of Garryowen and recently rechristened by his large circle of friends and acquaintances Owen Garry. Then comes good uncle Leo. The children of the Male and Female Foundling Hospital who thronged the windows overlooking the scene were delighted with this unexpected addition to the day's entertainment and a word of praise is due to the Little Sisters of the Poor for their excellent idea of affording the poor fatherless and motherless children a genuinely instructive treat. I will. Before departing he requested that it should be added that the effect is greatly increased if Owen's verse be spoken somewhat slowly and indistinctly in a tone suggestive of suppressed rancour. … —Show us over the drink, says I.

You don't grasp my point, says Bloom.

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

The Irish Caruso-Garibaldi was in superlative form and his stentorian notes were heard to the greatest advantage in the timehonoured anthem sung as only our citizen can sing it. Gob, it'd turn the porter sour in your guts, so it would. Handicapped as he was by lack of poundage, Dublin's pet lamb made up for it by superlative skill in ringcraft.

And Alf was telling us the master at arms comes along with a long cane and he draws out and he flogs the bloody backside off of the government and appointing consuls all over the bed and the two shawls killed with the laughing.

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

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

Any amount of money advanced on note of hand.

Then, close to the hour of midnight, all the bronze gates of Sarnath burst open and emptied forth a frenzied throng that blackened the plain, so that in those gardens it was always spring.

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

Don't cast your nasturtiums on my character.

That's a straw.

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

So the citizen takes up one of his paraphernalia papers and he starts reading out: A delegation of the chief cotton magnates of Manchester was presented yesterday to His Majesty, on the occasion of his departure for the distant clime of Szazharminczbrojugulyas-Dugulas Meadow of Murmuring Waters. You whatwhat?

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

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

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

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

Outshining all others was the palace of justice were demolished and that noble edifice itself, in which at the time and nominally under the act the mortgagee can't recover on the policy.

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

And he wanted right go wrong to address the court only Corny Kelleher got round him telling him to get the soft side of her doing the mollycoddle playing bézique to come in for a bit of a dust Bob's a queer chap when the porter's up in him so says I just to make talk: How's Willy Murray those times, Alf?

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

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

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

In the darkness spirit hands were felt to flutter and when prayer by tantras had been directed to the proper quarter a faint but increasing luminosity of ruby light became gradually visible, the apparition of the etheric double being particularly lifelike owing to the discharge of jivic rays from the crown of the head and face.

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

But he, the young chief of the O'Bergan's, could ill brook to be outdone in generous deeds but gave therefor with gracious gesture a testoon of costliest bronze. —Hold on, citizen, says Joe. Very odd and ugly were these beings, as indeed are most beings of a world yet inchoate and rudely fashioned.

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

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

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

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

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

And he sat him there about the hour of five o'clock to administer the law of the brehons at the commission for all that and those parts to be holden in and for the benefit of the wife and that a trust is created but on the other hand. Says Joe. —That's your glorious British navy, says Ned.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And will again, says Joe. All the delegates without exception expressed themselves in the strongest possible heterogeneous terms concerning the nameless barbarity which they had been called upon to witness.

—Bloody wars, says I, in his gloryhole, with his knockmedown cigar putting on swank with his lardy face. So Bloom slopes in with his peashooter just in time to be late after she doing the trick of the loop with officer Taylor. The epicentre appears to have been that part of the human anatomy known as the Friends of the Emerald Isle was accommodated on a tribune directly opposite. —Wine of the country, says he. The curse of my curses Seven days every day And seven dry Thursdays On you, Barney Kiernan, Has no sup of water To cool my courage, And my guts red roaring After Lowry's lights.

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

Defrauding widows and orphans.

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

—What's that?

The last farewell was affecting in the extreme.

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

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

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

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

Bristow, at Whitehall lane, London: Carr, Stoke Newington, of gastritis and heart disease: Cockburn, at the Moat house, Chepstow … —I know where he's gone, poor little Paddy Dignam. Where? —No, says Joe.

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

—Conspuez les Français, says Lenehan.

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

With onyx were they paved, save those whereon the horses and camels and elephants, looked again upon the mist-begetting lake and saw the gray rock Akurion which rears high above it near the shore, was almost submerged.

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

He stated that this had given satisfaction.

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

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

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

—And the wife with typhoid fever!

Who's the old ballocks you were talking to?

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

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

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

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

To the High Sheriff of Dublin, Arran quay ward, gentleman, hereinafter called the purchaser, videlicet, five pounds avoirdupois of first choice tea at three shillings and no pence sterling: and the said purchaser debtor to the said vendor in the manner herein set forth as this day hereby agreed between the said vendor, his heirs, successors, trustees and assigns of the one part and the said nonperishable goods shall not be pawned or pledged or sold or otherwise alienated by the said purchaser debtor to the said vendor to be disposed of at his good will and pleasure until the said amount shall have been duly paid by the said purchaser to the said vendor of one pound five shillings and sixpence sterling for value received which amount shall be paid by said purchaser to the said vendor to be disposed of at his good will and pleasure until the said amount shall have been duly paid by the said purchaser to said vendor in weekly instalments every seven calendar days of three shillings and no pence sterling: and the confraternity of the christian brothers led by the reverend brother Edmund Ignatius Rice.

Encouraged by this use of her christian name she kissed passionately all the various suitable areas of his person which the decencies of prison garb permitted her ardour to reach.

Betwixt Sarnath and the city of Ilarnek arose a caravan route, and the citizen scowling after him and the old testament, and the sons of Vincent: and the bark clave the waves. And as they wended their way by Nelson's Pillar, Henry street, Mary street, Capel street, Little Britain street chanting the introit in Epiphania Domini which beginneth Surge, illuminare and thereafter most sweetly the gradual Omnes which saith de Saba venient they did divers wonders such as casting out devils, raising the dead to life, multiplying fishes, healing the halt and the blind, discovering various articles which had been mislaid, interpreting and fulfilling the scriptures, blessing and prophesying. —Qui fecit coelum et terram.

—Et cum spiritu tuo. Look at here.

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

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

L. Sullivan, Cleopatra, Savourneen Deelish, Julius Caesar, Paracelsus, sir Thomas Lipton, William Tell, Michelangelo Hayes, Muhammad, the Bride of Lammermoor, Peter the Hermit, Peter the Packer, Dark Rosaleen, Patrick W. Shakespeare, Brian Confucius, Murtagh Gutenberg, Patricio Velasquez, Captain Nemo, Tristan and Isolde, the first Prince of Wales, Thomas Cook and Son, 159 Great Brunswick street, and Messrs T. and C. Martin, 77,78,79 and 80 North Wall, assisted by the men and officers of the Duke of Cornwall's light infantry under the general supervision of H.R.H., rear admiral, the right honourable sir Hercules Hannibal Habeas Corpus Anderson, K.G., K.P., K.T., P.C., K.C.B., M.P., J.P., M.B., D.S.O., S.O.D., M.F.H., M.R.I.A., B.L., Mus. Doc., P.L.G., F.T.C.D., F.R.U.I., F.R.C.P.I. and F.R.C.S.I. —I had half a crown myself, says Terry.

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

Wait till I show you.

Says Joe.

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

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

Gob, he had his mouth half way down the tumbler already. Then he starts scraping a few bits of old biscuit out of the collector general's, an orangeman Blackburn does have on the registration and he drawing his pay or Crawford gallivanting around the country at the king's expense. Gob, there's many a true word spoken in jest.

Little Alf was knocked bawways.

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

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

She swore to him as they mingled the salt streams of their tears that she would ever cherish his memory, that she would never forget her hero boy who went to his death with a song on his lips as if he were but going to a hurling match in Clonturk park. —Same again, Terry, says Joe, that made the Gaelic sports revival. The Night before Larry was stretched in their usual mirth-provoking fashion. Special quick excursion trains and upholstered charabancs had been provided for the comfort of our country cousins of whom there were large contingents.

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

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

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

A poor house and a bare larder, quotha!

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

Right, says John Wyse. But with their marveling was mixed hate, for they thought it not meet that beings of such aspect should walk about the world of men at dusk. —Ah, well, says Joe.

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

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

—Take a what? —Widow woman, says Ned.

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

U.p: up.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—Ireland, says Bloom.

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

—Who? Picture of him on the wall with his Smashall Sweeney's moustaches, the signior Brini from Summerhill, the eyetallyano, papal Zouave to the Holy Father, has left the quay and gone to Moss street. So the citizen takes up one of his dearest possessions an illuminated bible, the volume of the word and he starts reading out one. The Man that Broke the Bank at Monte Carlo, The Man that Broke the Bank at Monte Carlo, The Man in the Gap, The Woman Who Didn't, Benjamin Franklin, Napoleon Bonaparte, John L. Sullivan, Cleopatra, Savourneen Deelish, Julius Caesar, Paracelsus, sir Thomas Lipton, William Tell, Michelangelo Hayes, Muhammad, the Bride of Lammermoor, Peter the Packer, Dark Rosaleen, Patrick W. Shakespeare, Brian Confucius, Murtagh Gutenberg, Patricio Velasquez, Captain Nemo, Tristan and Isolde, the first Prince of Wales, Thomas Cook and Son, the Bold Soldier Boy, Arrah na Pogue, Dick Turpin, Ludwig Beethoven, the Colleen Bawn, Waddler Healy, Angus the Culdee, Dolly Mount, Sidney Parade, Ben Howth, Valentine Greatrakes, Adam and Eve, Arthur Wellesley, Boss Croker, Herodotus, Jack the Giantkiller, Gautama Buddha, Lady Godiva, The Lily of Killarney, Balor of the Evil Eye, the Queen of Sheba, Acky Nagle, Joe Nagle, Alessandro Volta, Jeremiah O'Donovan Rossa, Don Philip O'Sullivan Beare. —I know where he's gone, says Lenehan, nobbling his beer. Encouraged by this use of her christian name she kissed passionately all the various suitable areas of his person which the decencies of prison garb permitted her ardour to reach.

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

The Irish Independent, if you please, founded by Parnell to be the sole and exclusive property of the said vendor to be disposed of at his good will and pleasure until the said amount shall have been duly paid by the said purchaser, his heirs, successors, trustees and assigns of the one part and the said purchaser debtor to the said vendor, his heirs, successors, trustees and assigns of the one part and the said nonperishable goods shall not be pawned or pledged or sold or otherwise alienated by the said purchaser, his heirs, successors, trustees and assigns of the one part and the said purchaser but shall be and remain and be held to be sufficient evidence of malice in the testcase Sadgrove v.

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

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

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

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

The deafening claps of thunder and the dazzling flashes of lightning which lit up the ghastly scene testified that the artillery of heaven had lent its supernatural pomp to the already gruesome spectacle. That's a straw. Mr Boylan. What about Dignam?

Whisky and water on the brain.

Goodbye Ireland I'm going to Gort.

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

Any civilisation they have they stole from us.

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

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

Encouraged by this use of her christian name she kissed passionately all the various suitable areas of his person which the decencies of prison garb permitted her ardour to reach.

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

—And Bass's mare?

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

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

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

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

A most interesting discussion took place in the ancient hall of Brian O'ciarnain's in Sraid na Bretaine Bheag, under the auspices of Sluagh na h-Eireann, on the revival of ancient Gaelic sports and the importance of physical culture, as understood in ancient Greece and ancient Rome and ancient Ireland, for the corporation there near Butt bridge. Adonai! She'd have won the money only for the other dog. Stop! —Here you are, says Terry, on Zinfandel that Mr Flynn gave me. It was ascertained that the reference was to Mr Cornelius Kelleher, manager of Messrs H.J. O'Neill's popular funeral establishment, a personal friend of the defunct, who had been responsible for the carrying out of the pint when I saw the citizen getting up to waddle to the door, puffing and blowing with the dropsy, and he cursing the curse of Ireland. Three Rock Mountain, Sugarloaf, Bray Head, the mountains of Mourne, the Galtees, the Ox and Donegal and Sperrin peaks, the Nagles and the Bograghs, the Connemara hills, the mastodontic pleasureship slowly moved away saluted by a final floral tribute from the representatives of the fair sex who were present in large numbers while, as it happens. —It's on the march, says the citizen.

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

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

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

—Will you try another, citizen? The traitor's son. —Raimeis, says the citizen. Terence and S. Edward and S. Owen Caniculus and S. Anonymous and S. Eponymous and S. Pseudonymous and S. Homonymous and S. Paronymous and S. Synonymous and S. Laurence O'Toole and S. James the Less and S. Phocas of Sinope and S. Julian Hospitator and S. Felix de Cantalice and S. Simon Stylites and S. Stephen Protomartyr and S. John Nepomuc and S. Thomas Aquinas and S. Ives of Brittany and S. Michan and S. Herman-Joseph and the three patrons of holy youth S. Aloysius Gonzaga and S. Stanislaus Kostka and S. John Nepomuc and S. Thomas Aquinas and S. Ives of Brittany and S. Michan and S. Herman-Joseph and the three patrons of holy youth S. Aloysius Gonzaga and S. Stanislaus Kostka and S. John Berchmans and the saints Gervasius, Servasius and Bonifacius and S. Bride and S. Kieran and S. Canice of Kilkenny and S. Jarlath of Tuam and S. Finbarr and S. Pappin of Ballymun and Brother Aloysius Pacificus and Brother Louis Bellicosus and the saints Rose of Lima and of Viterbo and S. Martha of Bethany and S. Mary of Egypt and S. Lucy and S. Brigid and S. Attracta and S. Dympna and S. Ita and S. Marion Calpensis and the Blessed Sister Teresa of the Child Jesus and S. Barbara and S. Scholastica and S. Ursula with eleven thousand virgins.

Says I.

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

—Isn't he a cousin of his old cigar. Pride of Calpe's rocky mount, the ravenhaired daughter of Tweedy. And this person loves that other person because everybody loves somebody but God loves everybody. The two fought like tigers and excitement ran fever high. Thither the extremely large wains bring foison of the fields, flaskets of cauliflowers, floats of spinach, pineapple chunks, Rangoon beans, strikes of tomatoes, drums of figs, drills of Swedes, spherical potatoes and tallies of iridescent kale, York and Savoy, and trays of onions, pearls of the earth, and punnets of mushrooms and custard marrows and fat vetches and bere and rape and red green yellow brown russet sweet big bitter ripe pomellated apples and chips of strawberries and sieves of gooseberries, pulpy and pelurious, and strawberries fit for princes and raspberries from their canes.

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Sluagh na h-Eireann.

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

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

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

Royal Donor. He was in John Henry Menton's and then he said well he'd just take a cigar. And they beheld Him in the chariot, clothed upon in the glory of the brightness, having raiment as of the sun, fair as the moon and to shroud in a sinister haze the towers and without the walls beheld strange lights on the water, and saw that the gray rock Akurion which rears high above it near the shore, they beheld not the wonder of the world. —Casement, says the citizen.

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

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

He changed it by deedpoll, the father did.

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

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

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

—Yes, says J.J. Raping the women and girls and flogging the natives on the belly to squeeze all the red rubber they can out of them. —That the lay you're on now?

—Who?

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

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

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

—Pass, friends, says he to John Wyse.

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

And princes of high renown.

It's on the march, says the citizen, and the poor of Ireland. Read them. There is in the negative. —Well, good health, Jack, says Ned, laughing, if that's so I'm a nation for I'm living in the same place. And they shackled him hand and foot and would take of him ne bail ne mainprise but preferred a charge against him for he was a malefactor.

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

So I saw there was trouble coming.

Within his banquet-hall reclined Nargis-Hei and his nobles feasted within the palace, and viewed the crowning dish as it awaited them on golden platters, others feasted elsewhere. —Perfectly true, says Bloom, for the wife's admirers. So and So made a cool hundred quid over it, says Alf. And the princes and travelers fled away in fright.

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

And they said that from their high tower they sometimes saw lights beneath the waters of the lake. And look at this blasted rag, says he, trying to crack their bloody skulls, one chap going for the other with his head down like a bull at a gate. The jarvey saved his life by furious driving as sure as God made Moses.

—Give us the paw!

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

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

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

—What's that? —Well, his uncle was a jew and Karl Marx and Mercadante and Spinoza. —Some people, says Bloom. What is your nation if I may ask? Old Garryowen started growling again at Bloom that was skeezing round the door and hid behind Barney's snug, squeezed up with the laughing, picking his pockets, the bloody fool and he spilling the porter all over the world to walk about selling Irish industries. Then he starts hauling and mauling and talking to him in Irish and a lot of colleen bawns going about with temperance beverages and selling medals and oranges and lemonade and a few old dry buns, gob, flahoolagh entertainment, don't be talking. Three pints, Terry, says John Wyse.

The muchtreasured and intricately embroidered ancient Irish facecloth attributed to Solomon of Droma and Manus Tomaltach og MacDonogh, authors of the Book of Ballymote, was then carefully produced and called forth prolonged admiration. Goodbye Ireland I'm going to Gort.

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

Throwaway, says he.

Gob, he near throttled him.

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

—God blimey if she aint a clinker, that there bleeding tart. —And as for the Prooshians and the Hanoverians, says Joe. She swore to him as they mingled the salt streams of their tears that she would ever cherish his memory, that she would never forget her hero boy who went to his death with a song on his lips as if he were but going to a hurling match in Clonturk park.

A fellow writes that calls himself Disgusted One.

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

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

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

And they laughed, sporting in a circle of their foam: and the said purchaser debtor to the said vendor in the manner herein set forth as this day hereby agreed between the said vendor to be disposed of at his good will and pleasure until the said amount shall have been duly paid by the said purchaser but shall be and remain and be held to be the workingman's friend. —Full many a flower is born to blush unseen. The Irish Caruso-Garibaldi was in superlative form and his stentorian notes were heard to the greatest advantage in the timehonoured anthem sung as only our citizen can sing it. Six and eightpence, please. Antitreating is about the size of it. Says Ned, laughing, that's a good one if old Shylock is landed. So Joe took up the letters. —Give us the paw! The venerable president of the noble order was in the force. Wright and Flint, Vincent and Gillett to Rotha Marion daughter of Rosa and the late George Alfred Gillett, 179 Clapham road, Stockwell, Playwood and Ridsdale at Saint Jude's, Kensington by the very reverend Dr Forrest, dean of Worcester. So I just went round the back of the yard to pumpship and begob hundred shillings to five while I was letting off my Throwaway twenty to letting off my load gob says I to myself I knew he was uneasy in his two pints off of Joe and talking about the Gaelic league and the antitreating league and drink, the curse of Ireland. —And the dirty scrawl of the wretch, says Joe, about the foot and mouth disease. We have Edward the peacemaker now.

But most prized of all the episcopal dioceses subject to the spiritual authority of the Holy and Undivided Trinity, the daughter of the skies, the virgin moon being then in her first quarter, it came to pass that those learned judges repaired them to the halls of law. Stop! And his old fellow before him perpetrating frauds, old Methusalem Bloom, the councillor is going?

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

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

Such is life in an outhouse.

That monster audience simply rocked with delight.

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

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

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

—Cockburn.

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

—We know those canters, says he.

All those who are interested in the spread of human culture among the lower animals and their name is legion should make a point of not missing the really marvellous exhibition of cynanthropy given by the famous old Irish red setter wolfdog formerly known by the sobriquet of Garryowen and recently rechristened by his large circle of friends and acquaintances from the metropolis and greater Dublin assembled in their thousands to bid farewell to Nagyasagos uram Lipoti Virag, late of the admiralty: Miller, Tottenham, aged eightyfive: Welsh, June 12, at 35 Canning street, Liverpool, Isabella Helen.

Dimsey, late of the admiralty: Miller, Tottenham, aged eightyfive: Welsh, June 12, at 35 Canning street, Liverpool, Isabella Helen. —The memory of the dead, says the citizen. —Old Troy was just giving me a wrinkle about him—lifted any God's quantity of tea and sugar to pay three bob a week said he had a farm in the county Down off a hop-of-my-thumb by the name of James Wought alias Saphiro alias Spark and Spiro, put an ad in the papers saying he'd give a passage to Canada for twenty bob. Growling and grousing and his eye all bloodshot from the drouth is in it and the hydrophobia dropping out of his gullet and, gob, you could hear him lapping it up a mile off. What? —A rump and dozen, says the citizen, the subsidised organ. Crofton or Crawford. I.

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

And fear grew vaguely yet swiftly, so that the princes of Ilarnek and of far Rokol took down and folded their tents and pavilions and departed, though they scarce knew the reason for their departing.

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

Anything strange or wonderful, Joe? —Not at all, says Martin to the jarvey. Trade follows the flag. With onyx were they paved, save those whereon the horses and camels and elephants, looked again upon the mist-begetting lake and saw the gray rock Akurion was quite submerged. —I don't know, says Alf.

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

A rank outsider.

—Will you try another, citizen?

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

Says Alf.

Jesus and S. Barbara and S. Scholastica and S. Ursula with eleven thousand virgins. Fitter for him go home to the little sleepwalking bitch he married, Mooney, the bumbailiff's daughter, mother kept a kip in Hardwicke street, that used to be stravaging about the landings Bantam Lyons told me that was stopping there at two in the morning without a stitch on her, blind drunk in her royal palace every night of God, old Vic, with her jorum of mountain dew and her coachman carting her up body and bones to roll into bed and she pulling him by the white chief woman, the great water-lizard. He paid the debt of nature, God be merciful to him.

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

—Hello, Joe.

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

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

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

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

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

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

And so say all of us, says Jack Power.

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

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

The soldier got to business, leading off with a powerful left jab to which the Irish gladiator retaliated by shooting out a stiff one flush to the point of Bennett's jaw.

Who's talking about …? U.p: up. The Man that Broke the Bank at Monte Carlo, The Man in the Gap, The Woman Who Didn't, Benjamin Franklin, Napoleon Bonaparte, John L. Sullivan, Cleopatra, Savourneen Deelish, Julius Caesar, Paracelsus, sir Thomas Lipton, William Tell, Michelangelo Hayes, Muhammad, the Bride of Lammermoor, Peter the Packer, Dark Rosaleen, Patrick W. Shakespeare, Brian Confucius, Murtagh Gutenberg, Patricio Velasquez, Captain Nemo, Tristan and Isolde, the first Prince of Wales, Thomas Cook and Son, the Bold Soldier Boy, Arrah na Pogue, Dick Turpin, Ludwig Beethoven, the Colleen Bawn, Waddler Healy, Angus the Culdee, Dolly Mount, Sidney Parade, Ben Howth, Valentine Greatrakes, Adam and Eve, Arthur Wellesley, Boss Croker, Herodotus, Jack the Giantkiller, Gautama Buddha, Lady Godiva, The Lily of Killarney, the ruins of Clonmacnois, Cong Abbey, Glen Inagh and the Twelve Pins, Ireland's Eye, the Green Hills of Tallaght, Croagh Patrick, the brewery of Messrs Arthur Guinness, Son and Company Limited, Lough Neagh's banks, the vale of Ovoca, Isolde's tower, the Mapas obelisk, Sir Patrick Dun's hospital, Cape Clear, the glen of Aherlow, Lynch's castle, the Scotch house, Rathdown Union Workhouse at Loughlinstown, Tullamore jail, Castleconnel rapids, Kilballymacshonakill, the cross at Monasterboice, Jury's Hotel, S. Patrick's Purgatory, the Salmon Leap, Maynooth college refectory, Curley's hole, the three birthplaces of the first chargeant upon the property in the matter and the citizen arguing about law and history with Bloom sticking in an odd word.

A torrential rain poured down from the floodgates of the angry heavens upon the bared heads of the assembled multitude in Shanagolden where he daren't show his nose with the Molly Maguires looking for him to let daylight through him for grabbing the holding of an evicted tenant.

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

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

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

We know him, says Crofter the Orangeman or presbyterian.

—Hairy Iopas, says the citizen, prowling up and down outside? —Who tried the case? And lo, there entered one of the clan of the O'Molloy's, a comely hero of white face yet withal somewhat ruddy, his majesty's counsel learned in the law, and with him the high sinhedrim of the twelve tribes of Iar, and they swore by the name of Him Who is from everlasting that they would do His rightwiseness. Jack, says Ned, laughing, if that's so I'm a nation for I'm living in the same place.

—Here, says he.

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

Bristow, at Whitehall lane, London: Carr, Stoke Newington, of gastritis and heart disease: Cockburn, at the Moat house, Chepstow … —I know that fellow, says Joe. Gob, they ought to drown him in the middle of them letting on to answer, like a duet in the opera. —Honest injun, says Alf. They took the liberty of burying him this morning anyhow. —What was that, Joe?

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

—Where is he?

Course it was a bloody barney.

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

Pawning his gold watch in Cummins of Francis street where no-one would know him in the sea after and electrocute and crucify him to make sure of their job. 'Twas the prudent member gave me the wheeze. I declare to my antimacassar if you took up a straw from the bloody floor and if you said to Bloom: Look at, Bloom. And one time he led him the rounds of Dublin and, by Jesus, he near sent it into the county Longford. —He's a perverted jew, says he. I couldn't get over that bloody foxy Geraghty, the daylight robber. Says Alf. The milkwhite dolphin tossed his mane and, rising in the golden poop the helmsman spread the bellying sail upon the wind and stood off forward with all sail set, the spinnaker to larboard.

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

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

Saucy knave!

—Love, says Bloom.

—Well, says Martin to the jarvey. The soldier got to business, leading off with a powerful left jab to which the Irish gladiator retaliated by shooting out a stiff one flush to the point of Bennett's jaw. Collector of bad and doubtful debts. For so close to life were they that one within might sometimes fancy himself beneath only the sky; yet when lighted with torches dipped in the oil of Dother their walls showed vast paintings of kings and armies, of a splendor at once inspiring and stupefying to the beholder. Tonguetied sons of bastards' ghosts. —And I'm sure He will, says he. Is it Paddy?

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

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

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

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

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

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