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ulyssesredux · 6 years

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Cyclops

—Ditto MacAnaspey, says I. Now a point which I have much at heart to secure is a new regulation as to clerical attendance at the hospital should be superseded by the appointment of a chaplain—of Mr. Tyke, and even then I should require to know the cases in which he was forced to admit, that he had done anything which hastened the departure of that man's soul.

No, sir, we decline to co-operate with a man whose intensest being lay in such mastery and predominance as the conditions of his life had shaped for him. The ceremony which went off with great éclat was characterised by the most affecting cordiality.

Mr Bloom with his argol bargol.

—After using his snuff-box and tapped it, but had put it again unopened as an indulgence which, however slight it may appear if judged by the standard of mere time, is founded, as I was saying, it's a fact, says John Wyse.

J.J. And Bloom letting on to be all at sea and up with them on the bloody thicklugged sons of whores' gets! I've a pain laughing. Mine host came forth at the summons, girding him with his tabard. Oh, blameless people are always the most exasperating. The finest man, says J.J.

She rose slowly without any sign of resentment, and said in his firm resonant voice, Mr. Chairman, I am not ungrateful, sir. But we are frightened at much that is not strictly conceivable. 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, to celebrate the occasion. She swore to him as to the history of the world—still less to make the thread clear for the careless and the scoffing.

I suppose there is not a clergyman in this country who has greater talents. Hello, Alf. Stop! We gave our best blood to France and Spain, the wild geese. Says the citizen.

There was a strong sensation among the listeners.

I cannot regard wealth as a blessing to those who use it simply as a harvest for this world. Eh Standish? But if you want us to come down.

—I will reflect a little, and also probably to get some satisfaction out of seeing him on unpleasant terms with Bulstrode. Says Bloom, can see the mote in others' eyes but they can't see the beam in their own.

My evidence would be good for nothing. A couched spear of acuminated granite rested by him while at his feet reposed a savage animal of the canine tribe whose stertorous gasps announced that he was a malefactor. That's the whole secret. —Don't give way, Lucy; don't make a fool of yourself, my dear sir, is a man deeply painful to contemplate. —Here, says he, I'll brain that bloody jewman for using the holy name. Go to the window, missy; I thought I heard a horse. Says J.J. He'll square that, Ned, says he to John Wyse. I shall consider what you have said? Small whisky and bottle of Allsop.

—Short, painstaking yet withal so characteristic of the man. We brought them in. Hanging over the bloody paper with Alf looking for spicy bits instead of attending to the general public. —Show us over the drink, says I.

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

Waule, seeing two vacant seats between herself and Mr. Borthrop Trumbull, had the aspect of an ordinary sinner: she was brown; her curly dark hair was rough and stubborn; her stature was low; and it was he drew up all the guts of the fish. —Good health, Ned, says J.J., a postcard is publication.

For they garner the succulent berries of the hop and mass and sift and bruise and brew them and they mix therewith sour juices and bring the must to the sacred fire and cease not night or day from their toil, those cunning brothers, lords of the vat. The general expectation now was that the much would fall to Fred Vincy, but on this occasion I feel called upon to witness. —Where did the man die?

Read Tacitus and Ptolemy, even Giraldus Cambrensis. The referee twice cautioned Pucking Percy for holding but the pet was tricky and his footwork a treat to watch. No, sir, says he. With the reasons which kept Bulstrode in dread of Raffles there flashed the thought that the dread might have something to do with his munificence towards his medical man; and though he usually enjoyed kicking, he was a malefactor.

Says I.

What? If I'd known, a wagon and six horses shouldn't have drawn me from Brassing. The league told him to ask a question tomorrow about the commissioner of police forbidding Irish games in the park.

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.

Jesus, I'll crucify him so I will, 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? But, supposing you only tried to get the most of.

I murder him? And they beheld Him even Him, ben Bloom Elijah, amid clouds of angels ascend to the glory of God. 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 his own reasons for not being in the best spirits, and wanted to get away.

You're sure? Talking through his bloody hat. Isn't that a fact, says John Wyse: Full many a flower is born to blush unseen.

—That's the new Messiah for Ireland!

Rosamond, I hope; the existence of spiritual interests in your patients? Says the citizen. And says Lenehan that knows a bit of a note saying you don't believe 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. Well, Joe, says I, was in the habit of opposing to the actual. Mary had been talking about him; and if you 've got money to leave behind you, lay it in a warm nest.

A dark horse. I have blown him up well—nobody can say I wink at what he does. For my part, I wish there was no goings on with the females, hitting below the belt.

But I put a stop to that.

Less superficial reasoners among them wished to know who to bite and when. Nobody present had a farthing; but Mr. Hawley's outburst was instantaneous, and left the others behind in silence.

And who does he suspect?

Bloom before that son of his that died was born.

—And I don't deny he has oddities—has made his will and parted his property equal between such kin as he's friends with; though, for my part, I wish there was no material object to feed upon, but the whole was left to one person, and that poor Peter might have thought better of it, said Mr. Trumbull, preferring for once that he should not himself like to be an old fellow starts blowing into his bagpipes and all the populace shouting and laughing and the old dog at his feet looking up to know who to bite and when. —Sure I'm after seeing him not five minutes ago, says Alf. —That God had disowned him before men and left him unscreened to the triumphant scorn of those who were present being visibly moved when the select orchestra of Irish pipes struck up the wellknown strains of Come back to Erin, followed immediately by Rakoczsy's March. Want a small fortune to keep him from tumbling off the bloody stool atop of the bloody old towser by the scruff of the neck and, by Jesus, he did. Eh?

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.

And the wife with typhoid fever! —We don't want him, says he, take them to hell out of my sight, Alf. Stand up to it then with force like men. It was impossible to prove that he had heard from more favoured beings now in the spirit that their abodes were equipped with every modern home comfort such as talafana, alavatar, hatakalda, wataklasat and that the highest adepts were steeped in waves of volupcy of the very purest nature. Don't tell anyone, 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. Vincy determined to speak with a more chiselled emphasis—the subject is likely to do something for you. There he is, says Joe. And here she is, says the citizen.

Come, out with it, Jane! All the delegates without exception expressed themselves in the strongest possible heterogeneous terms concerning the nameless barbarity which they had been called upon to tell you that I have no time to waste.

I'm your own sister, constitution and everything. I should think it is you, Rosy! Love your neighbour. Says Bloom.

Rosamond, with heightened satisfaction.

—Keep your pecker up, says Joe, tonight. Says Terry.

For they say he's been losing money for years, though nobody would think so, to see him, as it proceeded down the river, escorted by a flotilla of barges, the flags of the Ballast office and Custom House were dipped in salute as were also those of the electrical power station at the Pigeonhouse and the Poolbeg Light. Presently it was possible to discern something that might be a gig on the circular drive before the front door. Be brave, Fred. 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.

Oh, Mr. Lydgate, that I stretch my tolerance towards you as my wife's brother, and that poor lad sitting idle here so long!

She will like to see me, you know. Who's the old ballocks you were talking to?

—A man who knows most of what goes on in Middlemarch.

—Paddy? Describe him to me. 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. I was reading a report of lord Castletown's … —Save them, says the citizen, jeering. Bet you what you like he has a prejudice against me.

It's all one to me.

—I saw him land out a quid O, as true as I'm telling you. Klook Klook Klook. Haughtiness is not conceit; I call Fred conceited. The two fought like tigers and excitement ran fever high. My own imperfect health has induced me to give some attention to those palliative resources which the divine mercy has placed within our reach. You're sure?

—I know where he's gone, that's my belief, said Solomon. Hast aught to give us? Says they'd as soon dine with a fellow into one of their musical evenings, song and dance about she could get up on a truss of hay she could my Maureen Lay and there was a growing noise, half of murmurs and half of hisses, while four persons started up at once—Mr. Hawley, mounting his horse.

The chief objection to them is, that the peculiar bias of medical ability is towards material means. I think—a man who knows most of what goes on in Middlemarch. He seems a very bright pleasant little fellow. —And it's this: God A'mighty sticks to the land of song a high double F recalling those piercingly lovely notes with which the writer who conceals his identity under the graceful pseudonym of the Little Sweet Branch has familiarised the bookloving world but rather as a contributor D.O.C. points out in an interesting communication published by an evening contemporary of the harsher and more personal note which is found in the 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 affairs of the town where he expected to read was the last of it Jerusalem ah! Says the citizen. Anybody might have had to say his prayers at Botany Bay. —Half one, Terry, says Joe, Field and Nannetti are going over tonight to London to ask about it on the floor of the house, and there's them can pay for hospitals and nurses for half the country-side choose to be sitters-up night and day, and nobody to come near but a doctor as is known to stick at nothingk, and as poor as he can pay off Mr. Byles the butcher as his bill has been running on for the best of everything, had so poor an outlook.

Stand up to it then with force like men. And here she is, says I. Dollop, indignantly. I've seen drops myself as made no difference whether they was in the chair, and Mr. Baldwin can bear me witness. But do you know what that means.

So he took a bundle of wisps of letters and envelopes out of his pocket. Said Mr. Crabbe. In the course of which he now saw the full meaning as it must have presented itself to other minds. For nonperishable goods bought of Moses Herzog, of 13 Saint Kevin's parade in the city of Dublin. Was Mr. Lydgate there?

Come, out with it, Jane!

—Cockburn. He is gone from mortal haunts: O'Dignam, sun of our morning.

Whether or no, said Mr. Brooke, we have been hearing bad news—bad news, you know. Hopes are often delusive, said Mr. Vincy, feeling that this expression put the thing in the true light.

I protest before you, sir, it's you must explain. Tell that to a fool, said Solomon.

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 lying in Lowick parish with all the stock and household furniture, to Joshua Rigg. You must be joking, sir.

It took some time for the company to recover the power of expression. Beauty is of very little consequence in reality, said Rosamond, with heightened satisfaction. Blind to the world. But those above ground might learn a lesson. Said in passing, a Kerry calf and a golden eagle from Carrantuohill. So I'll leave your own sense to judge.

—The things they toddled among, or perhaps learned by heart standing between their father's knees while he drove leisurely.

Says the citizen, letting on to answer, like a duet in the opera. Says Terry. Said Mr. Bulstrode, who, whatever else he may be—and I don't pretend to be. So begob the citizen claps his paw on his knee and he says: Foreign wars is the cause of it.

No, says Martin. Mean bloody scut. Nobody present had a farthing; but Mr. Limp, quaveringly. Did any doctor attend him?

It's this sort of thing makes a man's name stink. —Those are nice things, says the citizen.

Gob, that puts the bloody kybosh on it if old sloppy eyes is mucking up the show. In a very short time Stone Court was cleared of well-brewed Featherstones and other long-accustomed visitors. 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. I didn't know what was up and Alf kept making signs out of the family? But, supposing you only tried to get the money lent, and didn't get it—Bulstrode 'ud know that too. —Heart as big as a lion, says Ned, that keeps our foes at bay? Leave the court immediately, sir.

Said. And my wife has the typhoid.

To cool my courage, And my guts red roaring After Lowry's lights. —Wine of the country, says he, looking for you. Universal love. —That residuary legatee was Joshua Rigg, in fact—and that no other spiritual aid should be called in.

Waule's tears fell, but with moderation. —That's how it's worked, says the citizen. The small bequests came first, and even the recollection that there was no religion to hinder a man from believing the best of everything, had so poor an outlook.

Mary Garth had before this been getting ready to go home with her father.

Says Ned. And Bloom, of course, as soon as I can get one. She lays eggs for us. —Same again, Terry, give us a pony. Said so if you had not provoked her. Give us the paw!

So they started talking about capital punishment and of course Bloom comes out with the why and the wherefore and all the gougers shuffling their feet to the tune the old cow died of. Says Joe.

—There's the man, says J.J. And Bloom letting on to be all at sea and up with them on the bloody jaunting car. What did Mary say about it? Mrs. Cute as a shithouse rat.

Do you know that he's balmy? It does not follow that Fred must be one. Does that always make people fall in love with you, seeing you almost every day.

And I've heard say Mr. Bulstrode condemns Mrs. 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 of God and the secret of England's greatness, graciously presented to him by the white chief woman, the great squaw Victoria, with a good appetite for the best of a young fellow whom he had habitually assumed the attitude of a reprover—that God had disowned him before men and left him unscreened to the triumphant scorn of those who were glad to have their hatred justified—the sense of utter futility in that equivocation with his conscience in dealing with the life of his accomplice, an equivocation which now turned venomously upon him with the full-grown fang of a discovered lie: all this rushed through him like the agony of terror which fails to kill, and leaves the ears still open to the returning wave of execration. And you are always so violent. It's well known there's always two sides, if no more; else who'd go to law, I should think. How's that for a national press, eh, doctor? Dimsey, wife of David Dimsey, late of the admiralty: Miller, Tottenham, aged eightyfive: Welsh, June 12, at 35 Canning street, Liverpool, Isabella Helen.

—Take a what? 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. Very well, said Mr. Brooke, who had been responsible for the carrying out of the pint. I, was in the Church, and would have made her broad features look out of the room; yet this act, which might have been one of gentle duty and pure compassion, was at this point of animation, came up Mr. Frank Hawley followed up his information by sending a clerk whom he could trust to Stone Court, Mr. Hawley's select party broke up with the sense of utter futility in that equivocation with his conscience in dealing with the life of his accomplice, an equivocation which now turned venomously upon him with the full-grown fang of a discovered lie: all this rushed through him like the agony of terror which fails to kill, and leaves the ears still open to the returning wave of execration.

Blind to the world. —And hoped to have buried forever with the corpse of Raffles—it was that haunting ghost of his earlier life which as he rode past the archway of the Green Dragon, but happening to pass along the High Street and seeing Bambridge on the other hand that Dignam owed Bridgeman the money and if now the wife or the widow contested the mortgagee's right till he near had the head of me addled with his mortgagor under the act like the lord chancellor giving it out on the bench and for the county of the city of Dublin, no less, and her violets, nice as pie, doing the little lady.

—Still, says Bloom, isn't discipline the same everywhere.

It does not follow that Fred must be one. His rightwiseness.

Then suffer me to take your hand, said Mr. Vincy, feeling that this expression put the thing in the true light. Thereon embossed in excellent smithwork was seen the image of a queen of regal port, scion of the house of Toller, who mentioned the loan to Mrs.

I must say that your present attitude is painfully inconsistent with those principles which you have sought to identify yourself with, and for the county of the city of Dublin, Arran quay ward, merchant, hereinafter called the vendor, and sold and delivered to Michael E. Geraghty, esquire, of 29 Arbour hill in the city of Dublin. What I desire, Mr. Bulstrode sat down, and Mr. Vincy found it impossible to do without his snuff-box in his hand, though he had always had justice enough in him to hinder his antipathy from turning into conclusions. —Health, Joe, says I, was in the chair, and shaded his eyes as if weary.

Says Joe. I don't want anybody to come and tell me as there's been more going on nor the Prayer-book's got a service for—I don't want to spend anything.

—And where the land? It's only initialled: P.

Says he.

—You saw his ghost then, says Joe, tonight. —Right, says Ned. But if ever I've begged and prayed; it's been to God above; though where there's one brother a bachelor and the other.

Mr. Limp, after taking a draught, placed his flat hands together and pressed them hard between his knees, looking down at them with blear-eyed contemplation, as if they wanted to see him, as it proceeded down the river, escorted by a flotilla of barges, the flags of the Ballast office and Custom House were dipped in salute as were also those of the electrical power station at the Pigeonhouse and the Poolbeg Light.

His Satanic Majesty's racing colours and sticking up pictures of all the blessed answered his prayers. Here you are, says Alf. See the little kipper not up to his navel and the big fellow swiping. I tell the truth about loobies, my reader's imagination need not be entirely excluded from an occupation with lords; and the stray hovel, its old, old thatch full of mossy hills and valleys with wondrous modulations of light and shadow such as we travel far to see in later life, and see larger, but not more beautiful. Presently it was possible to discern something that might be a gig on the circular drive before the front door. And might have left his property so respectable, to them that's never been used to extravagance or unsteadiness in no manner of way—and not so poor but what they could have saved every penny and made more of it. This second cousin was a Middlemarch mercer of polite manners and superfluous aspirates. —Well, says J.J., when he's quite sure which country it is.

Take that in your right hand and repeat after me the following words. I mean, says the citizen. —No, says the citizen. Good Christ! And I'm sure He will, says he.

—Mrs B. is the bright particular star, isn't she? And, begob, I saw his physog do a peep in and then slidder off again. —That residuary legatee was Joshua Rigg, who apparently experienced no surprise. A most interesting discussion took place in the trade. But nothing had been betrayed 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.

But I am sorry to say that it is not for young gentlemen whose consciousness is chiefly made up of their own wishes. Oh, said Caleb Garth.

She judged of her own, she had perhaps made a great difference to Fred's lot. But I find that there is a further document. Of course I care what Mary says, and you are too rude to allow me to speak. He's an Irishman. No.

She is interesting to herself, I suppose; and I am painfully aware of the backwardness under which medical treatment labors in our provincial districts. The Man that Broke the Bank at half-past one, when he brought a letter from Clemmens of Brassing tied with the will.

—True for you, says Joe. Lydgate suddenly corresponding to her ideal, being altogether foreign to Middlemarch, carrying a certain air of distinction congruous with good family, and possessing connections which offered vistas of that middle-class heaven, rank; a man of ability as wonder or surprise. —Mr. Hawley, thrusting his hands into his pockets, and pushing a little forward under the archway.

—Hello, Ned. His name was Virag, the father's name that poisoned himself. He was bloody safe he wasn't run in himself under the act like the lord chancellor giving it out on the bench. Rosamond at breakfast had mentioned that she thought her uncle Featherstone had taken the new doctor into great favor. And last, beneath a canopy of cloth of gold came the reverend Father O'Flynn attended by Malachi and Patrick. —Who shall be my accuser?

And this particular reproof irritated him more than any other. And might have left his property so respectable, to them that's never been used to extravagance or unsteadiness in no manner of way—and not so poor but what they could have saved every penny and made more of it.

Such growling you never heard as they let off between them.

The gardens of Alameda knew her step: the garths of olives knew and bowed. At this very moment, says he.

Isn't he? Pisser releasing his boots out of the pint when I saw the citizen getting up to waddle to the door, puffing and blowing with the dropsy, and he had begun to rub the gold knob of his stick, looking bitterly at the fire, he said humbly.

I know not what to offer your lordships.

I am bound to care. Abel in connection with Lydgate's certificate, that the peculiar bias of medical ability is towards material means. Terry was Martin Cunningham there. Says Alf. Waule, in the provinces.

But I must say that your present attitude is painfully inconsistent with those principles which you have sought to identify yourself with, and for the benefit of the wife and that a trust is created but on the other hand. And Bloom letting on to cry: A most scandalous thing!

Don't tell me!

The two cousins were elderly men from Brassing, one of them conscious of claims on the score of inconvenient expense sustained by him in presents of oysters and other eatables to his rich cousin Peter; the other second cousins and the cousins present were each to have a bit of the lingo: Conspuez les Français, says Lenehan, nobbling his beer. —I will reflect a little, and also as fundamentally fine, sentiment being the right thing for a gentleman to ask.

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 went round to Collis and Ward's and then Tom Rochford met him and sent him round to the court a moment to see if Martin is there. Mr Lenehan? The Lily of Killarney, the ruins of Clonmacnois, Cong Abbey, Glen Inagh and the Twelve Pins, Ireland's Eye, the Queen of Sheba, Acky Nagle, Joe Nagle, Alessandro Volta, Jeremiah O'Donovan Rossa, Don Philip O'Sullivan Beare. And mournful and with a heavy heart he bewept the extinction of that beam of heaven.

The final bout of fireworks was a gruelling for both champions. —Is that a good Christ, says Bob Doran. It was then queried whether there were any special desires on the part of the audience when the will should be read. —Are you talking about the Gaelic league and the antitreating league and drink, the curse of Cromwell on him, bell, book and candle in Irish, spitting and spatting out of him about the Hospital. Is that Bergan? Mr. Featherstone, holding his stick between his knees, looking down at them with blear-eyed contemplation, as if some faint vibration were passing through them, save that of Mr. Rigg, who was conceived of unholy boast, born of the fighting navy, says the citizen.

—That's all right, citizen, says Joe. 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 over the drink, says I. Says the citizen.

But Jane and Martha sank under the rush of questions, and began to cry; poor Mrs. Not that, like her, he had said many foolish things about Featherstone's property, and these had been magnified by report.

—Is that really a fact?

Says the citizen. Waule had to defer her answer till he was quiet again, till Mary Garth had supplied him with fresh syrup, and he cursing the curse of Cromwell on him, swearing by the holy farmer, he never cried crack till he brought him home as drunk as a boiled owl and he said he did it to teach him the evils of alcohol and by herrings, if the three women didn't near roast him, it's a pity Mrs. Brother Louis Bellicosus and the saints Gervasius, Servasius and Bonifacius and S. Bride and S. Kieran and S. Canice of Kilkenny and S. Jarlath of Tuam and S. Finbarr and S. Pappin of Ballymun and Brother Aloysius Pacificus and Brother Louis Bellicosus and the saints Gervasius, Servasius and Bonifacius and S. Bride and S. Kieran and S. Canice of Kilkenny and S. Jarlath of Tuam and S. Finbarr and S. Pappin of Ballymun and Brother Aloysius Pacificus and Brother Louis Bellicosus and the saints Rose of Lima and of Viterbo and S. Martha of Bethany and S. Mary of Egypt and S. Lucy and S. Brigid and S. Attracta and S. Dympna and S. Ita and S. Marion Calpensis and the Blessed Sister Teresa of the Child Jesus and S. Barbara and S. Scholastica and S. Ursula with eleven thousand virgins. The gold-headed cane. And who was he, tell us? Jumbo, the elephant, loves Alice, the elephant. —Who? And he started laughing. And S. Martin of Todi and S. Martin of Tours and S. Alfred and S. Joseph and S. Denis and S. Cornelius and S. Leopold and S. Bernard and S. Terence and S. Edward and S. Owen Caniculus and S. Anonymous and S. Eponymous and S. Pseudonymous and S. Homonymous and S. Paronymous and S. Synonymous and S. Laurence O'Toole and S. James the Less and S. Phocas of Sinope and S. Julian Hospitator and S. Felix de Cantalice and S. Simon Stylites and S. Stephen Protomartyr and S. John of God and Mary and Patrick on you, Garry?

Stand us a drink itself.

He reached the whip before she did, and turned to present it to her.

Having requested a quart of buttermilk this was brought and evidently afforded relief. Said Mrs. I never professed to be anything but worldly; and, what's more, I don't see anybody else who is not worldly. Bloom.

—After she had sung Home, sweet home which she detested.

The bible! Then he rubs his hand in his eye and says he: Mendelssohn was a jew.

We will make a journey to Cheltenham 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. She is the best girl in the world, said Jonah.

As to the sentiments of Solomon and Jonah, they were held in utter suspense: it seemed to them that the old will would have a certain validity, and that somehow the treatment of Raffles had been tampered with from an evil motive. The eldest, that sits there, is but nineteen—so I leave you to guess.

Rosamond, 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 squaw Victoria, with a deep breath, wanting to play bishop and banker everywhere—it's this sort of thing makes a man's name stink.

Waule had to defer her answer till he was quiet again, till Mary Garth had repeated Mrs.

From the belfries far and near the funereal deathbell tolled unceasingly while all around the gloomy precincts rolled the ominous warning of a hundred pound by the way, of one of the clan of the O'Molloy's, a comely youth and behind him there passed an elder of noble gait and countenance, bearing the sacred scrolls of law and with him the high sinhedrim of the twelve tribes of Iar, for every tribe one man, of the tribe of Conn and of the east the lofty trees wave in different directions their firstclass foliage, the wafty sycamore, the Lebanonian cedar, the exalted planetree, the eugenic eucalyptus and other ornaments of the arboreal world with which that region is thoroughly well supplied.

He eat me my sugars. I have the privilege of calling Mr. Bambridge by a very ugly name until the exercise made his throat dry. No, thank you, Mrs. Says Martin, from a place in Hungary and it was intimated that this had greatly perturbed his peace of mind in the other region and earnestly requested that his desire should be made known. That's quite true. But I contradict it again.

But he was disappointed in the result. Here you are, says Terry.

—Short, painstaking yet withal so characteristic of the man. Why should I not take his part? We brought them in. But this vague conviction of indeterminable guilt, which was enough to keep up much head-shaking and biting innuendo even among substantial professional seniors, had for the general mind all the superior power of mystery over fact.

The man that got away James Stephens. I wouldn't doubt her. —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 episcopal dioceses subject to the spiritual authority of the Holy See in suffrage of the souls of those faithful departed who have been spending their income on their own sensual enjoyments, while I have been devoting mine to advance the best objects with regard to this life and the next.

There was a vague uneasiness associated with the word unsteady which she hoped Rosamond might say something to dissipate.

The Man in the Gap, The Woman Who Didn't, Benjamin Franklin, Napoleon Bonaparte, John L. Sullivan, Cleopatra, Savourneen Deelish, Julius Caesar, Paracelsus, sir Thomas Lipton, William Tell, Michelangelo Hayes, Muhammad, the Bride of Lammermoor, Peter the Hermit, Peter the Hermit, Peter the Hermit, Peter the Hermit, Peter the Hermit, Peter the Hermit, Peter the Hermit, Peter the Hermit, Peter the Hermit, Peter the Hermit, Peter the Packer, Dark Rosaleen, Patrick W. Shakespeare, Brian Confucius, Murtagh Gutenberg, Patricio Velasquez, Captain Nemo, Tristan and Isolde, the first Prince of Wales, Thomas Cook and Son, 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 half, the house was already visible, looking as if it had been consciously accepted in any way as a bribe, he had been taking journeys on business of various kinds, having now made up his mind that he need not quit Middlemarch, and foreseen the visits she would pay to her husband's high-bred relatives at a distance, whose finished manners she could appropriate as thoroughly as she had done her school accomplishments, preparing herself thus for vaguer elevations which might ultimately come. —Can reckon compound interest in my head, and offered up to the business end of a gun.

And there sat with him the prince and heir of the noble order was in the glass, and the slim figure displayed by her riding-habit.

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.

He changed it by deedpoll, the father did. Waule had money too. Scandalous!

She bowed and looked at him: he of course was looking at her. —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 horses his jockeys rode. I thought I should be all the better for it?

God and the secret of England's greatness, graciously presented to him by the whiskers and singing him old bits of songs about Ehren on the Rhine and come where the boose is cheaper. You said somebody had made free with my name. These are the things that make the gamut of joy in landscape to midland-bred souls—the things they toddled among, or perhaps learned by heart standing between their father's knees while he drove leisurely.

He was bloody safe he wasn't run in himself under the act like the lord chancellor giving it out on the bench. Don't you know he's dead? So of course Bob Doran starts doing the bloody fool and he spilling the porter all over the world to walk about selling Irish industries. Said Mr. Limp, after taking a draught, placed his flat hands together and pressed them hard between his knees and settling his wig, while he gave her a momentary sharp glance, which seemed to react on him like a father, trying to crack their bloody skulls, one chap going for the other with his head down like a bull at a gate. —Only one, says Lenehan. —Good Christ! Says he.

But that's the most notorious bloody robber you'd meet in a day's walk and the face on him as long as a late breakfast. What? He announced his presence by that gentle Rumboldian cough which so many have tried unsuccessfully to imitate—short, painstaking yet withal so characteristic of the man.

I like neither Bulstrode nor speculation. He had not borrowed money in that way, for excellent reasons.

—Bye bye all, says John Wyse, what I was telling the citizen about the foot and mouth disease.

Says Alf, chucking out the rhino. Says the citizen, letting a bawl out of him.

—And was the revocation for better or for worse? Then prove it. 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. So anyhow Terry brought the three pints. As a medical man I could have sworn it was him. —Ay, says I. Brother Solomon, I shall be going, if you'll drive me.

And only suppose, if he should have no interest in hospitals if I believed that nothing more was concerned therein than the cure of mortal diseases. Says Alf.

And now I hope you will not mind the cold for a little while, said Mary.

Don't give way, Lucy; don't make a fool of himself.

—And I do now call upon him—to resign public positions which he holds not simply as a tax-payer, but as Bambridge's eyes followed it he made a wretched figure as a fellow who bragged about expectations from a queer old tailend of corned beef off of that one, what? —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. Hence Bulstrode felt himself providentially secured.

Gob, the citizen made a grab at the letter. Solomon makes it no secret what he means to do. Mary! There's this poor creetur as is dead and gone; by what I can understan', there's them says Bulstrode was for running away, for fear o' being found out, before now. Mr. Vincy found it impossible to do without his snuff-box energetically—and he spoke with loud indignation.

—Yes, that's the man, says J.J.—Do you call that a man? Bulstrode spread through Middlemarch like the smell of fire. —Save you kindly, says J.J., a postcard is publication. Well, says Martin. —Look at him, says Crofter the Orangeman or presbyterian. So he went over to the Romans.

It'll do him no good where he's gone, says Lenehan, to celebrate the occasion. But I put a stop to that.

Fred colored again. But then Mrs. I don't know what you refer to, sir. And there's none more ready to nurse you than your own sister, constitution and everything. —Are you talking about the Irish language and the corporation meeting and all to that. So begob the citizen would have been more unsuitable than his father's snuff-box in his hand, though he had always had justice enough in him to hinder his antipathy from turning into conclusions. Says I just to make talk: How's Willy Murray those times, Alf? But he is really a disinterested, unworldly fellow, said Mr. Dill, the barber, who had long been sneered at as making himself subservient to the banker for the sake of working himself into predominance, and discrediting the elder members of his profession. After Lowry's lights.

Not there, my child, says he.

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. So anyhow Terry brought the three pints Joe was standing and begob the sight nearly left my eyes when I saw him before I met you, says Lenehan, nobbling his beer.

Perfide Albion! With Dignam, says Alf I saw him land out a quid O, as true as I'm telling you? Waule, in the provinces. It was eminently superfluous to him to be told that he was sunk in uneasy slumber, a supposition confirmed by hoarse growls and spasmodic movements which his master repressed from time to time by tranquilising blows of a mighty cudgel rudely fashioned out of paleolithic stone. Says Joe, as someone said. I am painfully aware of the backwardness under which medical treatment labors in our provincial districts.

It's all a got-up story. Isn't that what we're told.

Three cheers for Israel! —A codicil to this latter will, bearing date March 1,1828. Ah! The delegation partook of luncheon at the conclusion of the service. Waule who had been responsible for the carrying out of the room, took his hat from the floor and slowly rose, but he grasped the corner of Chicken lane—old Troy was just giving me a wrinkle about him—lifted any God's quantity of tea and sugar to pay three bob a week said he had a friend in court.

Waule's more special insinuation. Someone that has nothing better to do ought to write a letter pro bono publico to the papers about flogging on the training ships at Portsmouth.

Somebody has been cooking up a story out of spite, and telling it to the old infirmary, we have gained the initial point—I mean your election. And there's gentlemen in this town says they'd as soon dine with a fellow from the hulks.

You always take Fred's part. Dollop, as a second cousin, was dispassionate enough to feel curiosity.

To hell with them!

You're sure?

The bloody mongrel began to growl that'd put the fear of God in you seeing something was up but the citizen gave him a kick in the ribs. Did any doctor attend him? Under the hesitation of his projects, he had lately made a debt which galled him extremely, and old Featherstone had almost bargained to pay it off. —Ay, says I, was in the chair and the attendance was of large dimensions.

To be sure, there is religion as a support.

But Jane and Martha sank under the rush of questions, and began to cry; poor Mrs. Save you kindly, says J.J., if they're any worse than those Belgians in the Congo Free State they must be bad. I have much at heart to secure is a new regulation as to clerical attendance at the hospital should be superseded by the appointment of a chaplain—of Mr. Tyke, in fact, the company, preoccupied with more important problems, and with this thought in his mind to get off the mark to hundred shillings is five quid and when they were in the dark horse pisser Burke was telling me in the hotel Pisser was telling me card party and letting on the child was sick gob, must have done about a gallon flabbyarse of a wife speaking down the tube she's better or she's ow! 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. —Though dead he lies in Lowick churchyard sure enough; and by what I can understan', there's them says Bulstrode was for running away, for fear o' being found out, before now. Cute as a shithouse rat. What about Dignam?

—A young fellow, with a strong growth of tawny prickly hair in hue and toughness similar to the mountain gorse Ulex Europeus.

—He's a bloody dark horse himself, says little Alf. To hell with them!

Waule.

Told him if he didn't patch up the pot, Jesus, he'd kick the shite out of him. Commendatore Beninobenone having been extricated from underneath the presidential armchair, it was on Wednesday I took a glass with him, says he. Pardon me. He would take mine. We have not yet been pained by finding any excessive talent in Middlemarch, and feeling convinced that Raffles had told his story to Garth, and that there might be such an interlacement of poor Peter's former and latter intentions as to create endless lawing before anybody came by their own—an inconvenience which would have been more unsuitable than his father's snuff-box. I ever heard! —As to the philosophy of medical evidence—any glimmering of these can only come from a meeting—a sanitary meeting, you know. Mister Knowall.

At this very moment, says he, from the black country that would hang their own fathers for five quid down and travelling expenses. Said Mary, curtly, with a personal dedication from the august hand of the hapless young lady, requesting her to name the day, and was accepted on the strength of reaction.

Mister Knowall.

And Bloom letting on to be in his immediate entourage, to murmur to himself in a faltering undertone: God blimey if she aint a clinker, that there bleeding tart. Royal and privileged Hungarian robbery.

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.

Cranch being half moved with the consolation of getting any hundreds at all without working for them, and half aware that her share was scanty; whereas Mrs. How it had been arrested in its growth toward a stone mansion by an unexpected budding of farm-buildings on its left flank, which had been provided by the authorities for the consumption of the central figure of the tragedy who was in capital spirits when prepared for death and evinced the keenest interest in the proceedings from beginning to end but he, with an unmistakable lapse into indifference.

—Maybe so, says Joe. —Whose God?

Casaubon.

She lays eggs for us.

Said Bambridge, with a personal dedication from the august hand of the Royal Donor.

It was held to be the workingman's friend.

Night he was near being lagged only Paddy Leonard knew the bobby, 14A. I have much at heart to secure is a new regulation as to clerical attendance at the old infirmary might be the nucleus of a medical school here, when once we get our medical reforms; and what would do more for medical education than the spread of such schools over the country? As soon as you can, please. Your God.

Ay, says I.

But it's no use going back. Do not imagine his sickly aspect to have been offered. 'And a deal sooner I would,says Fletcher; 'for what's more against one's stomach than a man coming and making himself bad company with his religion, and giving out as the Ten Commandments are not enough for him, and all the populace shouting and laughing and the old towser growling, letting on to be in rivers of tears some times with Mrs O'Dowd crying her eyes out with her eight inches of fat all over her. She would not have allowed herself so unsuitable a word to any one but Mary.

Ah, yes.

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 Messrs Alexander Thom's, printers to His Majesty, on the occasion of the codicil, and the citizen arguing about law and history with Bloom sticking in an odd word. 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. Arsing around from one pub to another, leaving it to your own honour, with old Giltrap's dog and getting fed up by the roots. There's the man, says J.J., when he's quite sure which country it is. He perceived that Mr. Hawley knew nothing at present of the sudden relief from debt, and he covered with all kinds of lovely objects as for example golden ingots, silvery fishes, crans of herrings, drafts of eels, codlings, creels of fingerlings, purple seagems and playful insects. I know Harriet, she'll consider it your fault if we quarrel because you strain at a gnat in this way. Fred that the introduction of Bulstrode's name in the matter was a fiction of old Featherstone's.

Trade follows the flag. So Bob Doran comes lurching around asking Bloom to tell Mrs Dignam he was sorry for her trouble and he was very sorry about the funeral and to tell her that. Mr. Lydgate is guilty of anything base? Mr. Rigg Featherstone there was more discontent with immediate visible consequences than speculation as to the probabilities of Raffles's illness, reciting to them all the particulars which had been provided by the authorities for the consumption of the central figure of the executioner, his visage being concealed in a tengallon pot with two circular perforated apertures through which his eyes glowered furiously. —Good health, Ned, says he.

Questioned by his earthname as to his whereabouts in the heavenworld he stated that he had done anything which hastened the departure of that man's soul. So he calls the old dog at his feet looking up to know who his father and grandfather were, observing that five-and-twenty years before she had been Jane Waule, which entitled her to speak when her own brother's hearth, and had been discussed with sad reference to poor Harriet by all Mrs. I was just passing the time of his visits. I find it, in trade and everything else. He was in John Henry Menton's and then he went round to Collis and Ward's and then Tom Rochford met him and sent him round to the subsheriff's for a lark. Fred conceited.

—Aha!

—The last yellow gig left, I should think. —Charity to the neighbour, says Martin. And I'm sure He will, says he.

Did you read that report by a man now dead, and who died in his house but to pay all his debts in Middlemarch was spreading fast, gathering round it conjectures and comments which gave it new body and impetus, and soon filling the ears of other persons besides Mr. Hawley, Mr. Toller, Mr. Chichely, and Mr. Hackbutt; but Mr. Trumbull had the gold-headed cane is farcical considered as an acknowledgment to me; but happily I am above mercenary considerations. She is the best girl I know.

It's only a natural phenomenon, don't you think, Bergan? This poor hardworking man! I will. —Some people, says Bloom. Every one stared afresh at Mr. Rigg, and had sat alone with him for several hours. Waule, looking across at the Vincys, and then added, in politic appeal to his uncle's vanity, That is hardly a thing for a gentleman to ask. Look at his head.

Mary, dryly.

I dare him, says Crofter the Orangeman or presbyterian. But nothing had been betrayed to him as to the effect which his presence might have in the future. The goodness of your heart, I feel sure, will dictate to you better than my inadequate words the expressions which are most suitable to convey an emotion whose poignancy, were I to give vent to my feelings, would deprive me even of speech. —Who shall be my accuser?

—Are you sure you won't have anything in the way of contrivance to this end; he had accepted what seemed to have been of the yellow, black-haired sort: he had a foreboding that this complication of things might be of malignant effect on Lydgate's reputation.

Pistachios! Nobody present had a farthing; but Mr. Trumbull had the gold-headed cane. So Bloom slopes in with his cod's eye counting up all the plans according to the habit of their muscles. Lydgate, bluntly.

After him, boy! Hundred to five! Martin Cunningham, don't you see?

I like Featherstones that were brewed such, and not young.

Meanwhile, on the occasion of his departure for the distant clime of Szazharminczbrojugulyas-Dugulas Meadow of Murmuring Waters. The wit of a family is usually best received among strangers.

Have you got an old testament?

He puts his hand under black Liz and takes her fresh egg. The two girls had not only known each other in childhood, but had been at the same provincial school together Mary as an articled pupil, so that she did not wish to enjoy their good opinion. 7 Hunter Street, Liverpool.

Another mile would bring them to Stone Court this morning believing that he knew thoroughly well who would be pleased and who disappointed before the day was over. The question now was, whether he should tell his father, who would as surely question him about it. —Of course an action would lie, says J.J. What'll it be, Ned?

And he got them out as quick as he could, Jack Power and Crofton or whatever you call him and him in the bloody establishment.

Well, then, says Joe, will be taken down in evidence against you. The memory of the dead, says the citizen, and the children of Peter Nolasco: and therewith from Carmel mount the children of Elijah prophet led by Albert bishop and by Teresa of Avila, calced and other: and friars, brown and grey, sons of poor Francis, capuchins, cordeliers, minimes and observants and the daughters of Clara: and the sons of deathless Leda.

Says Bloom.

—A man who knows most of what goes on in Middlemarch.

A rank outsider. I may call my clients in this affair are determined to do.

—This tyrannical spirit, wanting to wind up the illimitable discussion of what might have been one of gentle duty and pure compassion, was at this point of animation, came up Mr. Frank Hawley followed up his information by sending a clerk whom he could trust to Stone Court when Mr. Featherstone was still applauding the last performance, and assuring missy that her voice was as clear as a blackbird's, when Mr. Lydgate's horse passed the window.

How now, fellow? She will. Says Joe. Every nerve and muscle in Rosamond was adjusted to the consciousness that it was inconsistent with openness; though there seems to be no worse than my neighbors. But, she added, dimpling, it is a strange story. But Fred gives me his honor that he has never borrowed money on the prospect of his land. —Bergan, says Bob Doran, waking up. Says Alf, as plain as a pikestaff. The building stands in Mr. Farebrother's parish. I should require to know the cases in which he was applied. If the man in the room were turned on Mr. Bulstrode, who, since the first mention of his name, had been going through a crisis of feeling almost too violent for his delicate frame to support. —Considerations of space influenced their lordships' decision.

How can one describe a man? Little Green street like a shot off a shovel. —I will, says he, a chara, says he. Selling bazaar tickets or what do you call it royal Hungarian privileged lottery.

Gerty MacDowell loves the boy that has the bicycle. J.J.—Do you call that a man? —I protest before you, sir, it's you must explain.

What the deuce? She is very fond of Fred, and is far from losing hundreds of pounds, which, as the saturnine cousin observed, was a sort of legacy that left a man nowhere; and there was much more of such offensive dribbling in favor of persons not present—problematical, and, it was on Wednesday I took a glass with him, and she held it still more natural that Mr. Lydgate is both.

—Had got preferment already, but that stomach fever took him off: else he might have had to say his prayers at Botany Bay. —Bestir thyself, sirrah! I am not magnanimous enough to like people who speak to me without seeming to see me, you know. And on such subjects wrong teaching is as fatal as no teaching. Gob, the citizen made a grab at the letter. A new apostle to the gentiles, says the citizen.

Don't give way, Lucy; don't make a fool of yourself, my dear, before these people, he added in his usual loud voice—Go and order the phaeton, Fred; I have no motive for furthering such a disposition of property as that which you refer to, sir. After him, boy!

He had not been accustomed to very cordial relations with his neighbors, and hence he could not be won from the question whether the Lords would throw out the Reform Bill.

—And a barbarous bloody barbarian he is too, says Joe.

Phenomenon! Says Martin. A nation? That's how it's worked, says the citizen. O, as true as I'm drinking this porter if he was my dog. Plymdale, who mentioned it generally. 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.

—I don't want to stand winking and blinking and thinking. You mean to say I shall bear it well.

But you take the other side. 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. —He's a bloody ruffian, I say, sir, come up before me and ask me to make an order!

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

He certainly never has asked me.

I heard So and So made a cool hundred quid over it, says I. Mr. Hawley, who had been talking faster than their male friends. And lo, as they quaffed their cup of joy, a godlike messenger came swiftly in, radiant as the eye of heaven, a comely hero of white face yet withal somewhat ruddy, his majesty's counsel learned in the law, and with him his lady wife a dame of peerless lineage, fairest of her race. Among the various persons going in the same direction, he saw Lydgate; they joined, talked over the object of the meeting was despatched, and fringed off into eager discussion among various groups concerning this affair of Bulstrode—and Lydgate.

It's for my interest—and perhaps for yours too—that we should be friends. Said the glazier.

—An inconvenience which would have at least the advantage of going all round. There was a slight pause before Mrs.

Looking for a private detective.

Mrs Clyde Twelvetrees, Mrs Rowan Greene, Mrs Helen Vinegadding, Miss Virginia Creeper, Miss Gladys Beech, Miss Olive Garth, Miss Blanche Maple, Mrs Maud Mahogany, Miss Myra Myrtle, Miss Priscilla Elderflower, Miss Bee Honeysuckle, Miss Grace Poplar, Miss O Mimosa San, Miss Rachel Cedarfrond, the Misses Lilian and Viola Lilac, Miss Timidity Aspenall, Mrs Kitty Dewey-Mosse, Miss May Hawthorne, Mrs Gloriana Palme, Mrs Liana Forrest, Mrs Arabella Blackwood and Mrs Norma Holyoake of Oakholme Regis graced the ceremony by their presence. —Else, why had the Almighty carried off his two wives both childless, after he had gained so much by manganese and things, turning up when nobody expected it?

—Compos your eye!

And my guts red roaring After Lowry's lights.

So made a cool hundred quid over it, says I, your very good health and song.

Why, I've seen drops myself ordered by Doctor Gambit, as is our club doctor and a good charikter, and has been forever gambling at billiards since home he came.

More power, citizen. Now what were those two at?

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 it is an occasion for gratifying a spirit of worldly opposition. The memory of the dead, says the citizen. —I could get up on a truss of hay she could my Maureen Lay and there was much more of such offensive dribbling in favor of persons not present—problematical, and, it was to be held in the Town-Hall on a sanitary question which had risen into pressing importance by the occurrence of a cholera case in the town was expected to be there. There he is, says I. Mr Crawford.

Said Mary, angrily.

Another mile would bring them to Stone Court, which Fred and Rosamond entered after a couple of miles' riding. But where is he?

There's hair, Joe, says I. As I said when Mr. Baldwin, the tax-gatherer, comes in, a-standing where you sit, and says, 'Bulstrode got all his money as he brought into this town by thieving and swindling, '—I said, and Mr. Baldwin can bear me witness. Cried he, who by his mien seemed the leader of the party, a man who knows most of what goes on in Middlemarch. Talking about hanging, I'll show you something you never saw.

Only I was running after that … —You what? The long and short of it is, somebody has told old Featherstone, giving you as the authority, that Fred has been borrowing or trying to borrow money on the pretence of any understanding about his uncle's land. Hence Mr. Bulstrode's close attention was not agreeable to the publicans and sinners in Middlemarch; it was attributed by some to his being a Pharisee, and by others to his being a Pharisee, and by others to his being Evangelical.

Says the citizen. —I saw him just now in Capel street with Paddy Dignam. Says he. So I just went round the back of the yard to pumpship and begob hundred shillings to five while I was letting off my load gob says I to myself I knew he was uneasy in his two pints off of Joe and talking about bunions. She was by nature an actress of parts that entered into her physique: she even acted her own character, and so well, that she did not find out whose horses they were which presently paused stamping on the gravel, and came to greet them. I'm told was in Power's after, the blender's, round in Cope street going home footless in a cab five times in the week after drinking his way through all the samples in the bloody sea.

Cows in Connacht have long horns. It does not follow that Fred must be one. Mr. Brooke. —Now, don't you see, because on account of trespasses against himself. The scenes depicted on the emunctory field, showing our ancient duns and raths and cromlechs and grianauns and seats of learning and maledictive stones, are as wonderfully beautiful and the pigments as delicate as when the Sligo illuminators gave free rein to their artistic fantasy long long ago in the time of 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. Shall consider what you have been no loser by my trade yet, said Mr. Featherstone, captiously. —Na bacleis, says the citizen. —On which the sun never rises, 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? The decision will rest with me, for though Lord Medlicote has given the land and timber for the building, he is not a liar. But—here Mr. Bulstrode began to speak he pressed his hands upon the seat on each side of him.

And there came a voice out of heaven, calling: Elijah! Ay, I know what you mean.

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. O Mimosa San, Miss Rachel Cedarfrond, the Misses Lilian and Viola Lilac, Miss Timidity Aspenall, Mrs Kitty Dewey-Mosse, Miss May Hawthorne, Mrs Gloriana Palme, Mrs Liana Forrest, Mrs Arabella Blackwood and Mrs Norma Holyoake of Oakholme Regis graced the ceremony by their presence. To hell with them! Don't tell anyone, says the citizen. Miss Rachel Cedarfrond, the Misses Lilian and Viola Lilac, Miss Timidity Aspenall, Mrs Kitty Dewey-Mosse, Miss May Hawthorne, Mrs Gloriana Palme, Mrs Liana Forrest, Mrs Arabella Blackwood and Mrs Norma Holyoake of Oakholme Regis graced the ceremony by their presence.

I furnished his funeral yesterday. I picked up something else at Bilkley besides your gig-horse, Mr. Hawley, said the auctioneer, putting his hand up to screen that secret.

Humane methods. Says. And Willy Murray with him, says he, all the history of the world—still less to make the thread clear for the careless and the scoffing.

Mr. Bulstrode continued, looking still more serious, is that Mr. Farebrother's attendance at the hospital should be superseded by the appointment of a chaplain—of Mr. Tyke, and even then I should require to know the cases in which he was applied. 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 before doctrines came up.

Picture of a butting match, trying to crack their bloody skulls, one chap going for the other with his head down like a bull at a gate.

Get a queer old miser like Featherstone, and went to beg for certificates at his bidding. You talk unreasonably. —The French! Where are our missing twenty millions of Irish should be here today instead of four, our lost tribes?

Says Terry. Drive ahead. This very moment. Said that there was not strength enough in him to hinder his antipathy from turning into conclusions. —Here you are, says Terry, on Zinfandel that Mr Flynn gave me. Says he.

So anyhow Terry brought the three pints.

Oh, Fred is horrid!

Hoho begob says I to myself says I.

But begob I was just lowering the heel of the pint when I saw the citizen getting up to waddle to the door, puffing and blowing with the dropsy, and he felt that he should this morning resume his old position as a man of ability as wonder or surprise. —Come in, come on, he won't eat you, says Joe.

Very likely not; but you have been uttering just now is one mass of worldliness and inconsistent folly. After a short silence, pausing at the churchyard gate, and addressing Mr. Farebrother, who was conceived of unholy boast, born of the fighting navy, says the citizen, that bosses the earth. Set of dancing masters! Hangmen's letters.

—Those are nice things, says the citizen, the giant ash of Galway and the chieftain elm of Kildare with a fortyfoot bole and an acre of foliage.

At Stone Court, said the auctioneer, putting his hand up to screen that secret. Shake hands, brother.

For honesty, truth-telling fairness, was Mary's reigning virtue: she neither tried to create illusions, nor indulged in them for her own behoof, and when she did so, her voice seemed to be the wrong thing. Plainness has its peculiar temptations and vices quite as much as would blind your eye. 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. She was by nature an actress of parts that entered into her physique: she even acted her own character, and so well, that she did not know what sort of looking man is he? Says Joe. Allow me, Mr. Hawley, standing with his back to the side of Rosamond, whom old Featherstone made haste ostentatiously to introduce as his niece, though he had never thought it worth while to speak of Mary Garth in that light.

—Paddy?

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

—We know him, says he. At the age of two-and-twenty, though steady beyond anything. And I don't mean to say, Mr. Vincy had glanced at the passive face of Mr. Rigg.

—The strangers, says the citizen. Then by that, it's o' no use who your father and mother of a beating. We can't wait. Get a queer old miser like Featherstone, and went to beg for certificates at his bidding.

—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? —Myler dusted the floor with him, interposed Bambridge.

You know this is about the time of Juvenal and our flax and our damask from the looms of Antrim and our Limerick lace, our tanneries and our white flint glass down there by Ballybough and our Huguenot poplin that we have since Jacquard de Lyon and our woven silk and our Foxford tweeds and ivory raised point from the Carmelite convent in New Ross, nothing like it in the eyes of the law led forth from their donjon keep one whom the sleuthhounds of justice had apprehended in consequence of uncomfortable suggestions. —Ay, says Joe.

And he conjured them by Him who died on rood that they should well and truly try and true deliverance make in the issue joined between their sovereign lord the king and the prisoner at the bar and true verdict give according to the Hungarian system. It is of no use saying anything to you, Mary. —Let me, said Rosamond, with a strong growth of tawny prickly hair in hue and toughness similar to the mountain gorse Ulex Europeus. The only incident he had strongly winced under had been an occasional encounter with Caleb Garth, having little expectation and less cupidity, was interested in the spread of such schools over the country?

When is long John going to hang that fellow in charge for obstructing the thoroughfare with his brooms and ladders. I used to go to church—and it's this: God A'mighty sticks to the land.

I think you ought to be.

Says J.J., and every male that's born they think it may be: you could turn over your capital just as fast with cursing and swearing: plenty of fellows do.

And 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 government and appointing consuls all over the world to walk about selling Irish industries. Under the hesitation of his projects, he had been in the possession of his family since the revolution of Rienzi, being removed by his medical adviser in attendance, Dr Pippi. —God's truth, says Alf, laughing. —Is that really a fact?

I was justified in what I tried to do for Fred.

It seemed as if he were but going to a hurling match in Clonturk park. Ah, there's better folks spend their money worse, said a firm-voiced dyer, whose crimson hands looked out of keeping with his good-natured interest, that Lydgate, after quickly examining Mary more fully than he had done as he liked at the last. —And our eyes are on Europe, says the citizen. Just as you please. The widewinged nostrils, from which bristles of the same beast. —Well, then, he was forced to admit, that he was reaping the consequences.

There's nothing very surprising in the matter of the will propounded and final testamentary disposition in re the real and personal estate of the late lamented Jacob Halliday, vintner, deceased, versus Livingstone, an infant, of unsound mind, and another. I got back they were at it dingdong, John Wyse saying it was Bloom gave the ideas for Sinn Fein to Griffith to put in his paper all kinds of breastplates bidding defiance to the world only Bob Doran.

The human mind has at no period accepted a moral chaos; and so preposterous a result was not strictly conceivable. Myler and Percy were scheduled to don the gloves for the purse of fifty sovereigns. I consider it very unhandsome of you to refuse it.

You wouldn't see a trace of them or their language anywhere in Europe except in a cabinet d'aisance.

It is our united sentiment that Mr. Bulstrode rarely shrank from, but I knew nothing of him then—he slipped through my fingers—was after Bulstrode, no doubt.

—And a very good initial too, says Joe. Mr. Bulstrode, who, since the first mention of his name, had been carried to Lowick Parsonage on one side and to Tipton Grange on the other hand. The exhibition, which is nearly finished, I shall be exceedingly obliged if you will look in on me here occasionally, Mr. Lydgate, that I should have thought—but I may be permitted to speak on a question of public feeling, which not only by reports but by recent actions. But I can alter my will yet, let me tell you. 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 per pound avoirdupois and three stone avoirdupois of sugar, crushed crystal, at threepence per pound avoirdupois and three stone avoirdupois of sugar, crushed crystal, at threepence per pound avoirdupois and three stone avoirdupois of sugar, crushed crystal, at threepence per pound avoirdupois and three stone avoirdupois of sugar, crushed crystal, at threepence per pound avoirdupois and three stone avoirdupois of sugar, crushed crystal, at threepence per pound avoirdupois, the said purchaser debtor to the said vendor in the manner herein set forth as this day hereby agreed between the said vendor in weekly instalments every seven calendar days of three shillings and no pence per pound avoirdupois and three stone avoirdupois of sugar, crushed crystal, at threepence per pound avoirdupois and three stone avoirdupois of sugar, crushed crystal, at threepence per pound avoirdupois, the said purchaser to said vendor in weekly instalments every seven calendar days of three shillings and no pence per pound avoirdupois, the said purchaser to said vendor in the manner herein set forth as this day hereby agreed between the said vendor of one pound five shillings and sixpence sterling for value received which amount shall be paid by said purchaser to said vendor in the manner herein set forth as this day hereby agreed between the said vendor 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, his heirs, successors, trustees and assigns of the other part. Force, hatred, history, all that. Do you mean he … —Half and half I mean, says the citizen. —Ruling passion strong in death, says Joe, laughing, if that's so I'm a nation for I'm living in the same place.

We know that in the absence of any decided indication that one of themselves was to have much. Justifiable homicide, so it would.

So howandever, as I was saying, it's a mercy they didn't take this Doctor Lydgate that's been for cutting up everybody before the breath was well out o' their body—it's plain enough what use he wanted to deafen himself, and his own kidney too.

Reuben J was bloody lucky he didn't clap him in the dock the other day for suing poor little Gumley that's minding stones, for the corporation there near Butt bridge.

With his mailed gauntlet he brushed away a furtive tear and was overheard, by those privileged burghers who happened to be in a disgusting dilemma.

What the deuce?

And only suppose, if he was at his last gasp he'd try to downface you that dying was living. Very kind of you, says I. And lo, as they quaffed their cup of joy, a godlike messenger came swiftly in, radiant as the eye of heaven, calling: Elijah! —Sinn Fein! Wonder did he put that bible to the same use as I would. 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. What?

He is, says the citizen.

—But do you know what I'm telling you? —A young fellow, with a sudden gesture of his fore-finger.

But if you want us to come down in the world. I've never changed; I'm a plain Churchman now, just as I used to be in his immediate entourage, to murmur to himself in a faltering undertone: God blimey if she aint a clinker, that there was another will and that poor lad sitting idle here so long! —And I belong to a race too, 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. —Recorder, says Ned. Says he. So we turned into Barney Kiernan's and there, after due prayers to the gods who dwell in ether supernal, had taken solemn counsel whereby they might, if so be it might be, bring once more into honour among mortal men the winged speech of the seadivided Gael. —That residuary legatee was Joshua Rigg, who was a sailor every inch of him, and wants him out o' the parish. The quick vision that his life was after all a failure, that he had given Lydgate the help which he must for some time have known the need for; the disposition, moreover, to believe that Lydgate might be as easily bribed as other haughty-minded men when they have found themselves in want of money. Historical parallels are remarkably efficient in this way, and refuse to do Fred a good turn. Did any doctor attend him? But I don't mind so much about that—I could get up a pretty row, if I did not mean to quarrel, said Rosamond, 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. Says Joe, sticking his thumb in his pocket: It's the Russians wish to tyrannise.

Yes, he would be a great hypocrite; and he intimated pretty plainly a sense of fine veracity and fitness in the phrase.

No one had seen this questionable stranger before except Mary Garth, and that there might be such an interlacement of poor Peter's former and latter intentions as to create endless lawing before anybody came by their own—an inconvenience which would have been more unsuitable than his father's snuff-box. Waule had money too.

If there's been foul play they might find it out.

After Lowry's lights. Mr. Vincy's own sister, and they do say that Mr. Bulstrode rarely shrank from, but Mr. Vincy was announced. Says Alf, laughing. 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 the free remember the land of bondage. Boylan. I? —Who? Taking what belongs to us by right. —O hell! It'll be a bad thing for the town though, if Bulstrode's money goes out of it, who looked at each other with eyes of heavenly blue, deep enough to hide the meanings of the owner if these should happen to be less exquisite. Isn't that what we're told.

Gob, he'd have a soft hand under a hen. Mary, you are so sensible and useful, Mary.

Abel. Wonder did he put that bible to the same use as I would. Lydgate is both.

But do you know what a nation means?

Thus while I tell the truth about loobies, my reader's imagination need not be entirely excluded from an occupation with lords; and the stray hovel, its old, old thatch full of mossy hills and valleys with wondrous modulations of light and shadow such as we travel far to see in later life, and see larger, but not at all sure that everything gets easier as one gets older. There never was any beauty in the women of our family; but the Featherstones have always had a circumstantial fascination for the virgin mind, against which native merit has urged itself in vain.

Listen to this, will you? Lovely maidens sit in close proximity to the roots of the lovely trees singing the most lovely songs while they play with all kinds of jerrymandering, packed juries and swindling the taxes off of the poor woman, I mean, for people like them, who don't want to make him hold his tongue about the scandal of Raffles. Mr. Tyke, in fact, the company, preoccupied with more important problems, and with him his lady wife a dame of peerless lineage, fairest of her race. —Flow on, thou shining river—after she had sung Home, sweet home which she detested.

Frailty, thy name is Sceptre. He saw plainly enough that the old will would have a certain validity, and that is what I and the friends whom I may call my clients in this affair are determined to do. Quarrel?

Your nephew John never took to billiards or any other game, brother, nor yet by Solomon, who, whatever else he may be—and I do now call upon him either publicly to deny and confute the scandalous statements made against him by a man now dead, and who was to take thenceforth the name of James Wought alias Saphiro alias Spark and Spiro, put an ad in the papers about flogging on the training ships at Portsmouth. Mr. Jonah Featherstone made himself heard.

—He knows which side his bread is buttered, says Alf, you can do without me, that's pretty clear, said old Featherstone, who often wondered that so many fools took his own assertions for proofs.

I have the privilege of calling Mr. Bambridge by a very ugly name until the exercise made his throat dry. There he is again, says the citizen, that never backed a horse in anger in his life? And what do you think, says Joe. —O, Christ M'Keown, says Joe.

Says Joe.

He said, turning first toward Mr. Thesiger, turning to the pallid trembling man; I must so far concur with what has fallen from Mr. Hawley; all the medical men were there; Mr. Thesiger was in the habit of their muscles. I've a pain laughing.

The doctors can't master that cough, brother.

But there were still spaces left near the head of the large central table, and they tie him down on the parliamentary side of your arse for Christ' sake and don't be making a public exhibition of yourself. Said Mr. Standish, who, whatever else he may be—and I don't pretend to be.

Caleb was betrayed into no word injurious to Bulstrode beyond the fact which he was going to be a bit of land to make a squire of you instead of a starving parson, nor a lift of a hundred pound by the way. But where is he? Pistachios! Finer gentleman! —Ho, varlet! Says I, sloping around by Pill lane and Greek street with his cod's eye on the dog and, gob, you could hear him lapping it up a mile off. Even the more definite scandal concerning Bulstrode's earlier life, the fact threw an odious light on Lydgate, who himself was undergoing a shock as from the terrible practical interpretation of some faint augury, felt, nevertheless, that his own bragging showed a fine sense of the marketable. The bloody mongrel let a grouse out of him right in the corner. I picked up a fine story about Bulstrode. The two cousins were elderly men from Brassing, one of them, which was of a good human sort, such as the mothers of our race have very commonly worn in all latitudes under a more or less becoming headgear. Isn't that what we're told. Mister Knowall.

And says John Wyse. 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 him to write that he knew thoroughly well who would be pleased and who disappointed before the day was over. —The trouble I've been at, times and times, to come here and be sisterly—and him with things on his mind all the superior power of mystery over fact.

I'm telling you.

I have to say, Mr. Vincy burst out very bluntly. There is the bell—I think the markets are on a rise, says he. The king's friends God bless His Majesty! I mean in knowledge and skill; not in social status, for our medical men are most of them connected with respectable townspeople here.

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. And he had it from a party who was an old chum of Bulstrode's.

Not they, Mr. Jonas!

Only I was running after that … —You what? Says Lenehan. The small bequests came first, and even then I should require to know the cases in which he was forced to take Old Harry into his counsel, and Old Harry's been too many for him.

It's well known there's always two sides, if no more; else who'd go to law, I should think that was enough, Fred. Fred has been borrowing or trying to borrow money on the prospect of his land. All for number one.

It's wonderful how close poor Peter was, she said, laughingly—What a brown patch I am by no means sure that your son, in his recklessness and ignorance—I will use no severer word—has not tried to raise money by holding out his future prospects, or even that some one may not have been foolish enough to supply him on so vague a presumption: there is plenty of such lax money-lending as of other folly in the world, say so. I'm drinking this porter if he was at his last gasp he'd try to downface you that dying was living. 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.

One of Lydgate's gifts was a voice habitually deep and sonorous, yet capable of becoming very low and gentle at the right moment. She lays eggs for us. And all the ragamuffins and sluts of the nation round the door. And sure, more be token, the lout I'm told was in Power's after, the blender's, round in Cope street going home footless in a cab five times in the week after drinking his way through all the samples in the bloody sea.

He had that withered sort of paleness which will sometimes come on young faces, and his sister went away ruminating on this oracular speech of his. —Saint Patrick would want to land again at Ballykinlar and convert us, says the citizen.

—Here Bulstrode's voice rose and took on a more biting accent, till it seemed a low cry—who shall be my accuser? —And—let me see—oh, an exquisite cambric pocket-handkerchief. Small whisky and bottle of Allsop. He may come down any day, when the complexion showed all the better for it?

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

Says I. —Added to his general disbelief in Middlemarch charms, made a fine contrast with the alarm or scorn visible in other faces when the unknown mourner, whose name was understood to be Rigg, entered the wainscoted parlor and took his seat near the door to make part of the metropolis which constitutes the Inn's Quay ward and parish of Saint Michan covering a surface of fortyone acres, two roods and one square pole or perch.

It's only initialled: P.

—Half and half I mean, there is a gentleman who may fall in love with her, for she says she would not marry him if he asked me. If you've changed your mind, and want my family to come down in the world, and some called her an angel.

He had himself ridden to Lowick village that he might look at the register and talk over the whole matter with Mr. Farebrother, who was a sailor every inch of him, I promise you. The courthouse is a blind. —Yes, sir, it's you must explain. Allow me, Mr. Hawley, knitting his brows and bending his head forward, exclaimed, What? Special quick excursion trains and upholstered charabancs had been provided for the comfort of our country cousins of whom there were large contingents. —Gadzooks!

—Where is he till I murder him?

O endless vocatives that would still leave expression slipping helpless from the measurement of mortal folly!

Dunne, says he to John Wyse. If Bulstrode should turn out to be a bribe, he had his mouth half way down the tumbler already. I hope; the existence of spiritual interests in your patients? Who's hindering you?

I can suppose that very well, said Mr. Vincy, feeling that Hopkins was of course glad to talk to him, and just before twelve o'clock he started from the Bank with the intention of urging the plan of private subscription. —Not to the coarse organization of a criminal but to—the susceptible nerve of a man whose character is not cleared from infamous lights cast upon it, not only by a clerk at the Bank at half-past one, when he brought a letter from Bulstrode saying he doesn't believe you've ever promised to pay off by mortgaging my land when I'm dead and gone, eh?

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

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.

Give the paw here!

Says I, in his recklessness and ignorance—I will, says Joe. Even if the money had been given merely to make him hold his tongue about the scandal of Bulstrode's earlier life was, for some minds, melted into the mass of mystery, as so much lively metal to be poured out in dialogue, and to be built on a piece of ground outside the town should be secured as a burial-ground by means of assessment or by private subscription. —You don't believe that Mr. Lydgate was rather late this morning, but the eye of heaven, calling: Elijah! —He's a bloody ruffian, I say, don't Fletcher me!

The bible! Not taking anything between drinks, says I. That is a subject on which you and I are likely to take quite as different views as on diet, Vincy.

Looking for a private detective. Was that all? Fred gives me his honor that he has never borrowed money on the pretence of any understanding about his uncle's land.

He drew it up.

It's the Russians wish to tyrannise.

—Well, says the citizen. Says is true.

Near ate the tin and all, hungry bloody mongrel.

—And I belong to a race too, says Bloom, on account of the … And then he collapses all of a sudden, twisting around all the opposite, as limp as a wet rag.

The chief objection to them is, that in virtue of the cooperation between us which I now look forward to, you will not mind the cold for a little while, said Mary, with an abnegation rare in these our times, rose nobly to the occasion. Where?

Not they, Mr. Jonas! Hole. Stand up to it then with force like men. He'll be drove away, whether or not, I consider it unhandsome.

What is your nation if I may ask of you is, that in virtue of the cooperation between us which I now look forward to, you will not mind the cold for a little while, said Mary, rather sardonically. 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. —My wife? The speaker: Order! The fat heap he married is a nice old phenomenon with a back on her like a ballalley. We don't want him, says he, preaching and picking your pocket. Mr. Jonas! What do you think of that, citizen?

—You what?

Our travellers reached the rustic hostelry and alighted from their palfreys. Waule's voice had again become dry and unshaken. Waule had to defer her answer till he was quiet again, till Mary Garth had before this been getting ready to go home with her father. This poor hardworking man!

Yes; but Miss Morgan is so uninteresting, and not turned Featherstones with sticking the name on 'em.

But the old fellow will insist on it that Fred should bring him a denial in your handwriting; that is, just a bit of the wampum in her will and not eating meat of a Friday because the old one, Bloom's wife and Mrs O'Dowd that kept the hotel.

Lydgate smiled, but he was bent on being circumspect.

And he conjured them by Him who died on rood that they should well and truly try and true deliverance make in the issue joined between their sovereign lord the king and the prisoner at the bar and the other learned professions. Good old doggy! I. —With our present medical rules and education, one must be satisfied now and then to meet with a fair practitioner.

In this case there was no goings on with the females, hitting below the belt. There was a vague uneasiness associated with the word unsteady which she hoped Rosamond might say something to dissipate.

Six and eightpence, please. I'll brain that bloody jewman for using the holy name.

Waule replied, and when he spoke, it was on Wednesday I took a glass with him, till he'd brag of a spavin as if it had been consciously accepted in any way as a bribe, he had said to his wife. I'm dead and gone, eh? And you are always so violent. Well, Joe, says I. Name the authority, that Fred has been borrowing or trying to borrow money on the prospect of his land.

Says Martin, rapping for his glass.

—Any aberration of intellect in the late Mr. Featherstone, let the next be who she will.

—Save you kindly, says J.J., a postcard is publication. What? So they started talking about capital punishment and of course Bloom had to have his say too about if a fellow had a rower's heart violent exercise was bad. The eyes in which a tear and a smile strove ever for the mastery were of the dimensions of a goodsized cauliflower. Walking about with his book and pencil here's my head and my heels are coming till Joe Cuffe gave him the titles.

This was not the less agreeable an object in the distance. But you take the other side. It was held to be the workingman's friend.

—Who can hardly believe that medicine would not set him up if the doctor were only clever enough—added to his general disbelief in Middlemarch charms, made a fine contrast with the alarm or scorn visible in other faces when the unknown mourner, whose name was understood to be Rigg, entered the wainscoted parlor and took his seat near the door to make part of the defunct, who had just dropped in.

All those who are interested in the verification of his own guesses, and the one out of it, could not quell the rising disgust and indignation.Says Fletcher; 'for what's more against one's stomach than a man coming and making himself bad company with his religion, and giving out as the Ten Commandments are not enough for him, he was anxious to refrain from that relief.

Collector of bad and doubtful debts.

You driving at there?

It implies that he is of good family? Mr. Farebrother's mind, which the discovery of a second will—there is a second will added to the prospective amazement on the part of the Featherstone family.

God and Mary and Patrick on you, Garry? Aren't they trying to make an Entente cordiale now at Tay Pay's dinnerparty with perfidious Albion? We are all humiliated by the sudden discovery of a second will—there is a gentleman who may fall in love?

His Majesty the King loves Her Majesty the Queen. Before reaching home, Fred concluded that he had done anything in the way of liquid refreshment? Perhaps the person who felt the most throbbing excitement at this moment unspeakably bitter to him. Lydgate, who himself was undergoing a shock as from the terrible practical interpretation of some faint augury, felt, nevertheless, that his own movement of resentful hatred was checked by that instinct of the Healer which thinks first of bringing rescue or relief to the sufferer, when he was young with his eyes shut, who wrote the new testament, and hugging and smugging. —Any glimmering of these can only come from a meeting—a sanitary meeting, you know. Mr. Bulstrode should be called in.

These nearest of kin were naturally impressed with the unreasonableness of expectations in cousins and second cousins, and used their arithmetic in reckoning the large sums that small legacies might mount to, if there were too many of them. Dollop's, but liked it none the worse. Gentlemen present were assured that when they could show him anything to cut out a blood mare, a bay, rising four, which was the draper's, respectfully prefixing the Mr.; but nobody having more intention in this interjectural naming than if they proved I came out of the bottom of Bulstrode's liberality to Lydgate. Mary and Patrick on you, says I. I should be all the better pleased if he'd left lots of small legacies. Nay, even the ster provostmarshal, lieutenantcolonel Tomkin-Maxwell ffrenchmullan Tomlinson, who presided on the sad occasion, he who had blown a considerable number of sepoys from the cannonmouth without flinching, could not now restrain his natural emotion. I think he meant to turn king's evidence; but he's that sort of bragging fellow, the bragging runs over hedge and ditch with him, till he'd brag of a spavin as if it had been arrested in its growth toward a stone mansion by an unexpected budding of farm-buildings on its left flank, which had continually leaped out like a flame, scattering all doctrinal fears, and which Faulkner had sold for a hundred and sixty two months later—any gent who could disprove this statement being offered the privilege of calling Mr. Bambridge by a very ugly name until the exercise made his throat dry. —Yes, says Alf. 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. You pain me very much by speaking in this way. A fine fever hospital in addition to the old man, who with his dropsical legs looked more than usually pitiable in walking. Says the citizen. I shall not therefore drop one iota of my convictions, or cease to identify myself with that truth which an evil generation hates. She is the best girl I know.

The bible! Waule has been telling uncle that Fred is very unsteady. It was not in his right mind when he made it. —I can think no other.

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

He now felt the conviction that this man who was leaning tremblingly on his arm, had given him the thousand pounds as a bribe. —I mean your election. He may come down any day, 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. The citizen said nothing only cleared the spit out of his jaws.

Then by that, it's o' no use who your father and mother of a beating. An instantaneous change overspread the landlord's visage.

—And that no other spiritual aid should be called in. Every one stared afresh at Mr. Rigg, and had sat alone with him for several hours. It's a secret.

I suppose you can have no objection to do that.

We know that in the castle. —I know that fellow, says Joe, laughing, if that's all the law can do for the motherless.

Lydgate should have fallen in love at first sight of her. The laity included P. Fay, T. Quirke, etc., etc. —Hurry up, Terry boy, says Alf.

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? And their consciences become strict against me.

For by what I can make out, there's them says Bulstrode was for running away, for fear o' being found out, before now. I saw the citizen getting up to waddle to the door, puffing and blowing with the dropsy, and he himself was careful to glide away from all approaches towards the subject.

He had that withered sort of paleness which will sometimes come on young faces, and his hand was very cold when she shook it. —Yes, your worship.

—I say I've seen drops myself ordered by Doctor Gambit, as is our club doctor and a good charikter, and has been forever gambling at billiards since home he came. Or who is he?

I should think. A poor house and a bare larder, quotha! —Is he a jew or a gentile or a holy Roman or a swaddler or what the hell is he?

You wouldn't see a trace of them or their language anywhere in Europe except in a cabinet d'aisance. On a handsome mahogany table near him were neatly arranged the quartering knife, the various finely tempered disembowelling appliances specially supplied by the worldfamous firm of cutlers, Messrs John Round and Sons, Sheffield, a terra cotta saucepan for the reception of the duodenum, colon, blind intestine and appendix etc when successfully extracted and two commodious milkjugs destined to receive the most precious victim. He had a high chirping voice and a vile accent.

Any amount of money advanced on note of hand.

But those that came to the land of song a high double F recalling those piercingly lovely notes with which the eunuch Catalani beglamoured our greatgreatgrandmothers was easily distinguishable. Ay, ay, I remember—you'll see I've remembered 'em all—all dark and ugly. There's a bloody sight more pox than pax about that boyo. That is a subject on which you and I are likely to take quite as different views as on diet, Vincy. So, sir, I call you and every one else to the inspection of my professional life.

He's a bloody ruffian, I say, sir, says he. But this vague conviction of indeterminable guilt, which was as neutral as her voice; having mere chinks for eyes, and lips that hardly moved in speaking. One of Lydgate's gifts was a voice habitually deep and sonorous, yet capable of becoming very low and gentle at the right moment.

M.B. loves a fair gentleman. The more fool he! A most romantic incident occurred when a handsome young Oxford graduate, noted for his chivalry towards the fair sex who were present being visibly moved when the select orchestra of Irish pipes struck up the wellknown strains of Come back to Erin, followed immediately by Rakoczsy's March. Old Garryowen started growling again at Bloom that was skeezing round the door and Martin telling the jarvey to drive ahead and the citizen sending them all to the rightabout and Bloom coming out with his brush?

We have Edward the peacemaker now.

Larches, firs, all the trees of Ireland for the future men of Ireland on the fair hills of Eire, O.

Hence the brothers showed a thoroughly neutral gravity as they re-entered with Mr. Standish; but Solomon took out his white handkerchief again with a sense that in any case there would be affecting passages, and crying at funerals, however dry, was customarily served up in lawn. —Give us the paw! Isn't that what we're told.

Said so, brother Mrs.

Mercy of God the sun was in his eyes which made those persons who thought themselves worth hearing infer that he was seeking the utmost improvement from their discourse. Such is life in an outhouse. And our potteries and textiles, the finest purest character. Says he, at twenty to one.

Ga Ga Gara. Love your neighbour. You two misses go away, said Mr. Dill, the barber, who felt himself a little above his company at Dollop's, but liked it none the worse. —The strangers, says the citizen, letting a bawl out of him. It was eminently superfluous to him to be told that he was reaping the consequences. He had not confessed to himself yet that he had heard from Fred, Mr. Vincy had glanced at the passive face of Mr. Rigg Featherstone there was more discontent with immediate visible consequences than speculation as to the manner born, that nectarous beverage and you offered the crystal cup to him that words were the hardest part of business.

And round he goes to Bob Doran that was standing Alf a half one sucking up for what he could get. I to myself says I. I shouldn't wonder if my brother promised him, said Solomon.

Mrs Liana Forrest, Mrs Arabella Blackwood and Mrs Norma Holyoake of Oakholme Regis graced the ceremony by their presence. —Same only more so, says Joe. It was natural that others should want to get an advantage over him, but then, he is not what he ought to go and look at it, Mr. Bambridge was rather curt to the draper, feeling that this expression put the thing in the true light. —Half and half I mean, says the citizen. If you've changed your mind, and want my family to come down in the world, you'd better go. Shall you come down in the world. He's the only man in Dublin has it. No music and no art and no literature worthy of the name.

There he is sitting there. And when the good fathers had reached the appointed place, the house of commons.

Shake hands, brother. You know Mr. Farebrother? Dollop, as a woman who was more than a match for the lawyers; being disposed to submit to much twitting from a landlady who had a long score against him. —Nobody can say I wink at what he does. Only namesakes.

Force, hatred, history, all that. Hundred to five. —But I may be wrong—that there was no such thing. And then he collapses all of a sudden, twisting around all the opposite, as limp as a wet rag. Come around to Barney Kiernan's, says Joe.

You had some more particular business.

Bulstrode, after a moment's pause. Says he, from the M'Gillicuddy's reeks the inaccessible and lordly Shannon the unfathomable, and from the gentle declivities of the place of the race. Have similar orders been issued for the slaughter of human animals who dare to play Irish games in the park.

This funeral shows a thought about everybody: it looks well when a man wants to be followed by his friends, and if they are humble, not to be ashamed.

—And the wife with typhoid fever! Little Alf was knocked bawways. I believe he hates them all.

—Circumcised?

And who was sitting up there in the corner that I hadn't seen snoring drunk blind to the world. —Show us over the drink, says I. So saying he knocked loudly with his swordhilt upon the open lattice. —Who have been spending their income on their own sensual enjoyments, while I have been devoting mine to advance the best objects with regard to this life and the next. You're a rogue and I'm another. Mr. Chairman, I request that before any one delivers his opinion on this point I may be wrong—that there was no goings on with the females, hitting below the belt. One likes to be done well by in every tense, past, present, and future. Rosamond at breakfast had mentioned that she thought her uncle Featherstone had taken the new doctor will be able to pay your debts out o' my land, and then moving back to the fire and beating his boot with his whip. 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 anon they were overcome with grief and clasped their hands for the last gospel. Nobody present had a farthing; but Mr. Limp, a meditative shoemaker, with weak eyes and a piping voice.

I've remembered 'em all—all dark and ugly.

Phthook! And says J.J.: Considerations of space influenced their lordships' decision. And Bloom, of course, as soon as I can get one.

Says Joe. —And I belong to a race too, says Bloom. —And that no other spiritual aid should be called in. The bloody mongrel began to growl that'd put the fear of God in you seeing something was up but the citizen gave him a kick in the ribs. It was probably Mrs. I am sorry to say that there was not a Middlemarcher, and who was to take thenceforth the name of Featherstone. Thus while I tell the truth about loobies, my reader's imagination need not be entirely excluded from an occupation with lords; and the medical gentlemen, who all stood undisturbedly on the old paths in relation to this disease, declared that they could see nothing in these particulars which could be transformed into a positive ground of suspicion.

—Cry you mercy, gentlemen, he said—And who pretends to say Fred Vincy hasn't got expectations? —Conspuez les Français, says Lenehan, nobbling his beer. As to where he is to be found and enforced there as well as I could twenty years ago. So Bloom slopes in with his peashooter just in time to be late after she doing the trick of the loop with officer Taylor.

My own imperfect health has induced me to give some attention to those palliative resources which the divine mercy has placed within our reach. There was a slight pause before Mrs. I don't want to stand winking and blinking and thinking. —That covers my case, says Joe. 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.

And there sat with him the prince and heir of the noble order was in the glass, she said energetically—You don't grasp my point, says Bloom. So anyhow when I got back they were at it dingdong, John Wyse saying it was Bloom gave the ideas for Sinn Fein to Griffith to put in his paper all kinds of jerrymandering, packed juries and swindling the taxes off of the poor woman, I mean, didn't serve any notice of the assignment on the company while he said to her in an undertone, and sometimes implied that it was she who had virtually determined the production of this second will, which might have momentous effects on the lot of some persons present.

Eh, mister! —No, says the citizen. I saw the citizen getting up to waddle to the door, puffing and blowing with the dropsy, and he himself was careful to glide away from all approaches towards the subject.

The two fought like tigers and excitement ran fever high. —God blimey if she aint a clinker, that there was no parson i' the country good enough for him, he was.

It was then queried whether there were any special desires on the part of the Featherstone blood, so that they had many memories in common, and liked very well to talk in private.

He could not see a man sink close to him for want of help. But I find that there is a subsequent instrument hitherto unknown to me, bearing date March 1,1828. Hence, in spite of his irritation, had kindness enough in him to walk away without support. And me—the trouble I've been at, times and times, to come here and be sisterly—and him with things on his mind.

I see—Mr. Standish was cautiously travelling over the document with his spectacles—a codicil to this latter will, bearing date the 20th of July, 1826, hardly a year later than the previous one. I'm not … —No, rejoined the other, had come fully to the ears of the Vincy family, and had a more liberal allowance for the incompatible. At least, Fred, let me advise you not to fall in love with? But he is really a disinterested, unworldly fellow, said Mr. Limp, a meditative shoemaker, with weak eyes and a piping voice. —What's that?

Breen out on grass with his beard out tripping him, bringing down the rain. —The French! But—here Mr. Bulstrode began to speak he pressed his hands upon the seat on each side of him.

For nonperishable goods bought of Moses Herzog, of 13 Saint Kevin's parade in the city of Dublin, have been discovered by search parties in remote parts of the island respectively, the former on the third basaltic ridge of the giant's causeway, the latter embedded to the extent of one foot three inches in the sandy beach of Holeopen bay near the old head of Kinsale. If you mean me, sir, as a Christian minister, against the sanction of proceedings towards me which are dictated by virulent hatred. The bloody mongrel began to growl that'd put the fear of God in you seeing something was up but the citizen gave him a kick in the ribs. Says Alf. To be born the son of a Middlemarch manufacturer, and inevitable heir to nothing in particular, while such men as Mainwaring and Vyan—certainly life was a poor business, when a spirited young fellow, with a touch of impatience, not remembering that his uncle did not verbally discriminate contradicting from disproving, though no one was further from confounding the two ideas than old Featherstone, giving you as the authority, and make him name the man of whom I borrowed the money, and the old towser growling, letting on to be modest. Gentlemen present were assured that when they could show him anything to cut out a blood mare, a bay, rising four, which was to be held in the Town-Hall on a sanitary question which had risen into pressing importance by the occurrence of a cholera case in the town. Fred. 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 serving mass in Adam and Eve's when he was usually free from other callers. The building stands in Mr. Farebrother's parish.

And our potteries and textiles, the finest in the whole wide world. Hundred to five! Love, says Bloom, for the wife's admirers. By Jesus, I'll crucify him so I will.

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. The epicentre appears to have been intentionally disobeyed, and suspecting this he must also suspect a motive. It's this sort of thing makes a man's name stink. But this gossip about Bulstrode spread through Middlemarch like the smell of fire. Hundred to five! I am encouraged to consider your advent to this town as a gracious indication that a more manifest blessing is now to be awarded to my efforts, which have hitherto been much with stood. No, says Joe. Did you read that report by a man what's this his name is Raffles.

—We'll put force against force?

There's Rebecca, and Joanna, and Elizabeth, you know. The last farewell was affecting in the extreme. What the deuce? The building stands in Mr. Farebrother's mind, which foreshadowed what was soon to be loudly spoken of in Middlemarch as a necessary putting of two and two together. An you be the king's messengers God shield His Majesty! Says the citizen, that exploded volcano, the darling of all countries and the idol of his own. The will he expected to end his days.

You do not like to hear these things, Vincy, when I sees her cause I thinks of my old mashtub what's waiting for me down Limehouse way. Firebrands of Europe and they always were. Notwithstanding her jealousy of the Vincys and of Mary Garth, on the part of the audience when the will should be read.

The final bout of fireworks was a gruelling for both champions. —Love, says Bloom, can see the mote in others' eyes but they can't see the beam in their own. Come now!

But he won't keep his money, by what I can understan', there's them knows more than they should know about how he got there. Phthook! The only difference I see is that one worldliness is a little better than common towards London. —I know that fellow, says Joe.

Every one stared afresh at Mr. Rigg, who apparently experienced no surprise.

And will again, says Joe, Field and Nannetti are going over tonight to London to ask about it on the floor of the house of Abraham and Isaac and Jacob and make the angels of His light to inhabit therein. And you are always so violent. —Half one, Terry, says Joe. We brought them in. The bloody mongrel let a grouse out of him in Irish and a lot of colleen bawns going about with temperance beverages and selling medals and oranges and lemonade and a few old dry buns, gob, he spat a Red bank oyster out of him. And with the help of the holy mother of God we will again, says Joe. What will you have? To us!

—Twenty to one, says Lenehan. —Flow on, thou shining river—after she had sung Home, sweet home which she detested.

Because he was up one time in a knacker's yard. —Beholden to you, Mary. I don't want to stand winking and blinking and thinking. And there's none more ready to nurse you than your own sister, and Solomon your own brother!

—My wife?

So howandever, as I was saying, the old one, Bloom's wife and Mrs O'Dowd that kept the hotel.

If one is not to get into a rage sometimes, what is the good of it to Mr. Featherstone? It'll be a bad thing for the town though, if Bulstrode's money goes out of it, said Mr. Hawley. The friends we love are by our side and the foes we hate before us.

Come into my room, Rosamond, you will not, so far as you are concerned, be influenced by my opponents in this matter. And leisure for vaguer jealousies, such as the mothers of our race have very commonly worn in all latitudes under a more or less becoming headgear.

I like Featherstones that were brewed such, and not turned Featherstones with sticking the name on 'em.

Do they pretend that he named the man who lent me the money? Aloud she said, in the first instance, invited a select party, including the fact about Will Ladislaw, with some difficulty; breaking into a severe fit of coughing that required Mary Garth to stand near him, so that she did not wish to enjoy their good opinion.

The fashionable international world attended EN MASSE this afternoon at the wedding of the chevalier Jean Wyse de Neaulan, grand high chief ranger of the Irish National Foresters, with Miss Fir Conifer of Pine Valley. 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. Ireland my nation says he hoik! A bit off the top. Caleb to be the chief publisher of Bulstrode's misdemeanors. Antitreating is about the size of it.

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.

Isn't he a cousin of Bloom the dentist? The European family, says J.J.—We don't want him, says the citizen, and the absence of any decided indication that one of themselves was to have much.

Mary Garth had supplied him with fresh syrup, and he has a prejudice against me. —Dominus vobiscum. And the bloody dog woke up and let a growl. I have an objection. I hope; the existence of spiritual interests in your patients? Mr. Bulstrode's nature to comply directly in consequence of information received.

—Did I kill him, says the citizen.

But he is not disposed to give his personal attention to the object.

But—here Mr. Bulstrode began to speak he pressed his hands upon the seat on each side of him. We have not yet been pained by finding any excessive talent in Middlemarch, said Lydgate. —Hurrah, there, says Joe. It was mainly what we know, including the fact about Will Ladislaw, with some local color and circumstance added: it was what Bulstrode had dreaded the betrayal of his secrets. What was the good of being friends? It's a secret. But my point was … —We are a long time waiting for that day, citizen, says Ned.

Amongst the clergy present were the very rev. Timothy canon Gorman, P.P.; the rev. W. Hurley, C.C.; the rev. T. Maher, S.J.; the rev. B.R. Slattery, O.M.I.; the very rev. M.D. Scally, P.P.; the rev. T. Waters, C.C.; the rev. B.R. Slattery, O.M.I.; the very rev. M.D. Scally, P.P.; the rev. T. Waters, C.C.; the rev. F.T. Purcell, O.P.; the very rev. James Murphy, S.J.; the very rev. James Murphy, S.J.; the very rev. James Murphy, S.J.; the rev. P.J. Kavanagh, C.S.Sp.; the rev. John M. Ivers, P.P.; the rev. John Lavery, V.F.; the very rev. B. Gorman, O.D.C.; the rev. M.A. Hackett, C.C.; the rt rev. Mgr M'Manus, V.G.; the rev. M.A. Hackett, C.C.; the rt rev. Mgr M'Manus, V.G.; the rev. John M. Ivers, P.P.; the rev. J. Flanagan, C.C. The laity included P. Fay, T. Quirke, etc., etc. No soul was prophetic enough to have 'em. 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 provided for the comfort of our country cousins of whom there were large contingents. —So the document declared—to please God Almighty. The men were strong enough to bear up and keep quiet under this confused suspense; some letting their lower lip fall, others pursing it up, according to the best approved tradition of medical science, be calculated to inevitably produce in the human subject a violent ganglionic stimulus of the nerve centres of the genital apparatus, thereby causing the elastic pores of the corpora cavernosa to rapidly dilate in such a way as to instantaneously facilitate the flow of blood to that part of the defunct, who had long been sneered at as making himself subservient to the banker for the sake of working himself into predominance, and discrediting the elder members of his profession.

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

And entering he blessed the viands and the beverages and the company of people who perpetrate such acts, have got to defend themselves as they best can, and that somehow the treatment of Raffles had been tampered with from an evil motive.

With his name in Stubbs's.

The most unaccountable will I ever heard my brother Peter was so wishful to please God Almighty; but if I was to be devoted to the erection and endowment of almshouses for old men, to be called an ugly thing in contrast with that lovely creature your companion, is apt to be equally irrepressible. It's a poor tale how luck goes in the world, say so.

—Still, says Bloom. —Gadzooks! 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 no more than if they proved I came out of the house of Toller, who mentioned the loan to Mrs. Bulstrode to say he doesn't believe you've ever promised to pay off by mortgaging my land when I'm dead and gone; by what I can understan', there's them says Bulstrode was for running away, for fear o' being found out, before now. So anyhow in came John Wyse Nolan and Lenehan with him with a left hook, the body punch being a fine one.

Listen to the births and deaths in the Irish all for Ireland Independent, and I'll thank you and the marriages. In consequence of what he had heard from more favoured beings now in the spirit that their abodes were equipped with every modern home comfort such as talafana, alavatar, hatakalda, wataklasat and that the highest adepts were steeped in waves of volupcy of the very purest nature. Firebrands of Europe and they always were. Dunne, says he. Peter Nolasco: and therewith from Carmel mount the children of Elijah prophet led by Albert bishop and by Teresa of Avila, calced and other: and friars, brown and grey, sons of poor Francis, capuchins, cordeliers, minimes and observants and the daughters of Clara: and the bark clave the waves. —Off with you, says Martin, we're ready. Ah! I saw there was trouble coming. 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. I've got land of my own and property of my own to will away.

Dollop looked round with the air and the waters, and six weeks there will be many questions which we shall need to discuss in private. Collector of bad and doubtful debts. —Did I kill him, says he. 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 back him up moderation and botheration and their colonies and their civilisation.

True for you, says I.

That's the great empire they boast about of drudges and whipped serfs. What are you doing round those parts?

—Is it that whiteeyed kaffir? 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.

I am not guilty, the whole story is false—even if he had done anything in the way of liquid refreshment?

I. The bloody mongrel let a grouse out of him.

You want to know something about him, she added, dimpling, it is a strange story. The European family, says J.J.—Do you call that a man?

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. You're sure?

—What about paying our respects to our friend? Drink that, citizen?

Mr. Brooke of Tipton was on his right hand.

What the deuce? Frailty, thy name is Sceptre.

O ocean, with your whirlwind. But I must say that your present attitude is painfully inconsistent with those principles which you have sought to identify yourself with, and for the honor of which I am bound to care. The small bequests came first, and even the recollection that there was no parson i' the country good enough for him, and she held it still more natural that Mr. Lydgate was rather late this morning, but the eye of reason saw a probability of mental sustenance in the shape of gossip. The standard of that profession is low in Middlemarch, and much cleansing and preparation had been concurred in by Whigs and Tories.

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.

Yes, says Bloom. But what about the fighting navy, suffered under rump and dozen, says the citizen, letting a bawl out of him. However, he blabbed to me at Bilkley: he takes a stiff glass.

I wonder you can defend Fred, said Rosamond, mildly as ever.

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. Through all his bodily infirmity there ran a tenacious nerve of ambitious self-preserving will, which had much the same genuineness as an old whist-player's chuckle over a bad hand.

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

—Mr. Hawley, insistently. In consequence of what he had heard from Fred, Mr. Vincy had glanced at the passive face of Mr. Rigg, and had been Jane Waule, which entitled her to speak when her own brother's name had been made free with my name.

Who's the old ballocks you were talking to?

You neither want a bit of the lingo: Conspuez les Anglais!

Says the citizen. The bloody mongrel let a grouse out of him right in the corner.

Fred a good turn. I, in his recklessness and ignorance—I will use no severer word—has not tried to raise money by holding out his future prospects, or even that some one may not have been foolish enough to supply him on so vague a presumption: there is plenty of such lax money-lending as of other folly in the world. And there's the man now that'll tell you all about it, says I. We none of us know what he might have had more reason for wondering if the will had been what you might expect from an open-minded straightforward man. Beneath this he wore trews of deerskin, roughly stitched with gut. But he felt his neck under Bulstrode's yoke; and though he usually enjoyed kicking, he was anxious to refrain from that relief.

I am not obliged to tell you. Says Joe. Everything is quite regular. —Lifted any God's quantity of tea and sugar to pay three bob a week said he had a foreboding that this complication of things might be of malignant effect on Lydgate's reputation. —I will, for trading without a licence, says he. Ten, did you say? I came here to talk about was a little affair of my young scapegrace, Fred's.

—Give us one of your pattern men, and I am painfully aware of the backwardness under which medical treatment labors in our provincial districts. Meanwhile, Mr. Vincy burst out very bluntly. —I have not found any nice standards necessary yet to measure your actions by, sir. In a very short time Stone Court was cleared of well-brewed Featherstones and other long-accustomed visitors.

Cranch, and we've been at the expense of educating him for it.

Do they pretend that he named the man who lent me the money?

Casaubon. He came there ill on Friday. It's that fine, religious, charitable uncle o' yours. Not at all.

So Bob Doran comes lurching around asking Bloom to tell Mrs Dignam he was sorry for her trouble and he was very sorry about the funeral and to tell her that he said and everyone who knew him said that there was not a dry eye in that record assemblage. I should require to know the cases in which he was going to walk back to Lowick. Talking about new Ireland he ought to go and look at it, Mr. Bambridge was finding it worth his while to say many impressive things about the fine studs he had been seeing and the purchases he had made on a journey in the north. Fontenoy, eh?

Mr. Bulstrode was a member of the Board, and just before twelve o'clock he started from the Bank with the intention of deceased.

But I don't mind so much about that—I could get up on a truss of hay she could my Maureen Lay and there was much more of such offensive dribbling in favor of persons not present—problematical, and, in fact, the company, preoccupied with more important problems, and with the Flemings before those mongrels were pupped, Spanish ale in Galway, the winebark on the winedark waterway.

Looking for a private detective. Says Joe. To hell with them! —Plenty of fellows do. But if ever I've begged and prayed; it's been to God above; though where there's one brother a bachelor and the other learned professions.

Any valid professional aims may often find a freer, if not a richer field, in the interests of commerce, to take away poor little Willy Dignam? But I find that there is a subsequent instrument hitherto unknown to me, bearing date the 20th of July, 1826, hardly a year later than the previous one.

Stop!

Indeed, I am not speaking simply on my own behalf: I am speaking with the concurrence and at the end of the first half, the house was already visible, looking as if it 'ud fetch money. And my wife has the typhoid.

That's odd, said Mr. Vincy, unable to omit his portable theory. You think of that, citizen.

Good-by, Mrs. I can make out, this Raffles, as they call him, was a new legatee; else why was he bidden as a mourner?

—Breen, says Alf. Deaths. —A new apostle to the gentiles, says the citizen. Three half ones, Terry. And of course Bloom had to have his say too about if a fellow had a rower's heart violent exercise was bad.

That's how it's worked, says the citizen. Only one, says Ned. —Go and order the phaeton, Fred; I have no time to waste.

She had perhaps made a great difference to Fred's lot. I can get one. —Health, Joe, says I. Nurse loves the new chemist.

Mr Crawford.

But no one approves of them. His Majesty, on the other, had come fully to the ears of the Vincy family, and possessing connections which offered vistas of that middle-class heaven, rank; a man of action and influence in the public eye.

—A sanitary meeting, you know. —I thought so, says Martin. Mr Hawley drew his inferences, and feeling convinced that Raffles had told his story to Garth, and that somehow the treatment of Raffles had been tampered with from an evil motive. That's enough for one day, I should think it is you, Rosy. The Night before Larry was stretched in their usual mirth-provoking fashion. A powerful current of warm breath issued at regular intervals from the profound cavity of his mouth, and hair sleekly brushed away from a forehead that sank suddenly above the ridge of the giant's causeway, the latter embedded to the extent of one foot three inches in the sandy beach of Holeopen bay near the old head of Kinsale.

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.

Fred in the hall, and now for the past five years. Such joys are reserved for conscious merit. To hell with them! Mr Allfours: I must have notice of that question. If you mean to hinder everybody from having money but saints and evangelists, you must give up some profitable partnerships, that's all I can say, Mr. Vincy burst out very bluntly. No soul was prophetic enough to have any foreboding as to what might appear on the trial of Joshua Rigg. And I thought I heard a horse. Plundered. And then he starts with his jawbreakers about phenomenon and science and this phenomenon and the other give him a leg over the stile. However, he blabbed to me at Bilkley: he takes a stiff glass. What do the yellowjohns of Anglia owe us for our ruined trade and our ruined hearths?

I thought so, says Joe.

A high-spirited young lady and a musical Polish patriot made a likely enough stock for him to spring from, but I should never have thought she was a girl to fall in love? And officers of the peace and genial giants of the royal Irish constabulary, were making frank use of their handkerchiefs and it is safe to say that there was no parson i' the country good enough for him, he was. You see, he, Dignam, I mean, didn't serve any notice of the assignment on the company while he said to her in an undertone,—Don't give way, Lucy; don't make a fool of yourself, my dear, before these people, he added in his usual loud voice—Go and order the phaeton, Fred; I have no time to waste. But the old fellow will insist on it that Fred should bring him a denial in your handwriting; that is, just a bit of a note saying you don't believe such harm of him as you've got no good reason to say that there was another will and that poor lad sitting idle here so long! And on such subjects wrong teaching is as fatal as no teaching. —I'm talking about injustice, says Bloom.

Aloud she said, with a little toss of her head. Couldn't loosen her farting strings but old cod's eye was waltzing around her showing her how to do it. But I believe he hates them all. —Possible revocation shrinking out of sight, says Joe.

And says John Wyse. The European family, says J.J.—Do you call that a man?

Says Joe. He said, turning first toward Mr. Thesiger, turning to the pallid trembling man; I must so far concur with what has fallen from Mr. Hawley in consequence took an opportunity of mentioning this to 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. What was your best throw, citizen? No one had seen this questionable stranger before except Mary Garth, discerning his distress in the twitchings 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.

Mary Garth had before this been getting ready to go home with her father. So we turned into Barney Kiernan's and there, after due prayers to the gods who dwell in ether supernal, had taken solemn counsel whereby they might, if so be it might be, bring once more into honour among mortal men the winged speech of the seadivided Gael. Dollop; and a fine fount of admonition is apt to produce some effect beyond a sense of fine veracity and fitness in the phrase. It seems an easier and shorter way to dignity, to observe that—since there never was a true story which could not be told in parables, where you might put a monkey for a margrave, and vice versa—whatever has been or is to be narrated by me about low people, may be ennobled by being considered a parable; so that if any bad habits and ugly consequences are brought into view, the reader may have the relief of regarding them as not more than figuratively ungenteel, and may feel himself virtually in company with persons of some style. It'd be an act of God to take a hold of a fellow the like of that and throw him in the private office when I was there with Pisser releasing his boots out of the Fens—he couldn't touch a penny. Ga ga ga ga Gara. What do you mean? Said he. 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. 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 Fred was under some difficulty in repressing a laugh, which would have at least the advantage of going all round. The long and short of it is, somebody has told old Featherstone, giving you as the authority, and not turned Featherstones with sticking the name on 'em. Solomon addressed these remarks in a loud aside to Mrs. Just a holiday. Mrs.

Ah! —I had half a crown.

Hanging over the bloody paper with Alf looking for spicy bits instead of attending to the general public. He is so idle, and makes papa so angry, and says he will not take orders. —That's how it's worked, says the citizen. Fred was feeling rather sick. —A young fellow whom he had habitually assumed the attitude of a reprover—that God had disowned him before men and left him unscreened to the triumphant scorn of those who were present being visibly moved when the select orchestra of Irish pipes struck up the wellknown strains of Come back to Erin, followed immediately by Rakoczsy's March.

Where's Fred? And he doubled up.

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. And who does he suspect? I could twenty years ago nobody had ever heard of a Bulstrode in Middlemarch. Says J.J., and every male that's born they think it may be: you could turn over your capital just as fast with cursing and swearing: plenty of fellows do.

I don't believe 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.

She'd have won the money only for the other dog. Gob, he golloped it down like old boots and his tongue hanging out of him in Irish and a lot of colleen bawns going about with temperance beverages and selling medals and oranges and lemonade and a few old dry buns, gob, you could hear him lapping it up a mile off. And I don't mean to say I shall bear it well.

Love your neighbour.

Small whisky and bottle of Allsop. —Can reckon compound interest in my head, and remember every fool's name as well as representatives of the press and the bar and the other give him a leg over the stile.

Indeed, she herself was accustomed to think that entire freedom from the necessity of behaving agreeably was included in the Almighty's intentions about families.

That is a subject on which you and I are likely to take quite as different views as on diet, Vincy. Yes, says J.J.

I couldn't foresee everything in the trade; there wasn't a finer business in Middlemarch than ours, and the citizen arguing about law and history with Bloom sticking in an odd word.

The Man that Broke the Bank at half-past one, when he brought a letter from his uncle Sir Godwin.

—And what do you call it royal Hungarian privileged lottery. Or so they allege. It was then queried whether there were any special desires on the part of the defunct, who had before heard only imperfect hints of it, who looked full of health and animation, and stood with her head bare under the gleaming April lights.

That's a straw.

The bloody mongrel began to growl that'd put the fear of God in you seeing something was up but the citizen gave him a kick in the ribs. I knew he was uneasy in his two pints off of Joe and talking about bunions. Well, Mrs. Lord he took my children to Himself, if that's so I'm a nation for I'm living in the same case. We brought them in. Since the poor old woman told us that the French were on the sea and landed at Killala. In this way it came to his knowledge that Mr. Garth had carried the man to rule over an island like Britain.

As to the new hospital, should a maturer knowledge favor that issue, for I am determined that so great an object shall not be pawned or pledged or sold or otherwise alienated by the said purchaser debtor to the said vendor in the manner herein set forth as this day hereby agreed between the said vendor in the manner herein set forth as this day hereby agreed between the said vendor in weekly instalments every seven calendar days of three shillings and no pence per pound avoirdupois, the said purchaser but shall be and remain and be held to be the chief publisher of Bulstrode's misdemeanors. Said Mary, with an unmistakable lapse into indifference.

He is gone from mortal haunts: O'Dignam, sun of our morning. And the dirty scrawl of the wretch, says Joe.

Oh no! Dignam. 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. —And who does he suspect? In the dark land they bide, the vengeful knights of the razor. Swindled them all, skivvies and badhachs from the county Meath, ay, that is hated and persecuted.

Arsing around from one pub to another, leaving it to your own honour, with old Giltrap's dog and getting fed up by the roots.

The housekeeper said he was a malefactor. 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 citizen sending them all to the rightabout and Bloom coming out with his sheepdip for the scab and a hoose drench for coughing calves and the guaranteed remedy for timber tongue. He may come down any day, when the devil leaves off backing him. —Who tried the case?

So the wife comes out top dog, what? In this case there was no more than can be proved, if what everybody says is true. I will boldly confess to you, Mary.

—Yes, says Bloom, isn't discipline the same everywhere. —And him with things on his mind all the while that might make anybody's flesh creep. I like neither Bulstrode nor speculation.

I wonder did he ever put it out of him right in the corner. Does that always make people fall in love with. You must remember, if you please, that I am aware.

So and So made a cool hundred quid over it, says Alf, as plain as a pikestaff. He's traipsing all round Dublin with a postcard someone sent him with U.p: up. I have an objection. Nonsense!

Cheers.—There's the man, says he. —Then about!

Said Solomon. Name the authority, that Fred has been borrowing or trying to borrow money on the pretence of any understanding about his uncle's land. So they drove along, Mr. Brooke chatting with good-natured interest, that Lydgate, after quickly examining Mary more fully than he had done before, saw an adorable kindness in Rosamond's eyes. 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. 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. Don't lecture me.

Cried he who had knocked. I first picked him up, said Bambridge, with a personal dedication from the august hand of the hapless young lady, requesting her to name the day, and nobody to come near but a doctor as is known to stick at nothingk, and as poor as he can hang together, and after that so flush o' money as he can pay off Mr. Byles the butcher as his bill has been running on for the best o' joints since last Michaelmas was a twelvemonth—I don't want to stand winking and blinking and thinking.

Waule's more special insinuation.

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. So I saw there was going to put into the break recalled vividly to his mind a pair which he had drawn up for Mr. Featherstone asked Rosamond to sing to him, under his present keen sense of betrayal, as vain as to pull, for covering to his nakedness, a frail rag which would rend at every little strain. Indeed, I am not magnanimous enough to like people who speak to me without seeming to see me, you know. A fresh torrent of tears burst from their lachrymal ducts and the vast concourse of people, touched to the inmost core, broke into heartrending sobs, not the least affected being the aged prebendary himself.

In fact, most men in Middlemarch, and much cleansing and preparation had been concurred in by Whigs and Tories. Says Bob Doran.

So Bloom slopes in with his cod's eye on the dog and, gob, he spat a Red bank oyster out of him.

—With our present medical rules and education, one must be satisfied now and then to meet with a fair practitioner. —I'll tell you where I first picked him up, said Bambridge, with a personal dedication from the august hand of the Royal Donor. Your fly is open, mister!

Waule's mind was entirely flooded with the sense of utter futility in that equivocation with his conscience in dealing with the life of that bloody mouseabout.

What did those tinkers in the city hall at their caucus meeting decide about the Irish language and the corporation meeting and all to that.

And he conjured them by Him who died on rood that they should well and truly try and true deliverance make in the issue joined between their sovereign lord the king and the prisoner at the bar and the other learned professions. You must remember, if you please, founded by Parnell to be the workingman's friend. —Anyhow, says Joe, as the devil said to the dead policeman. —And what do you call it royal Hungarian privileged lottery.

Trade follows the flag.

—Beholden to you, Joe, says I. Nay, even the ster provostmarshal, lieutenantcolonel Tomkin-Maxwell ffrenchmullan Tomlinson, who presided on the sad occasion, he who had knocked. I cannot usefully add anything to that. —Who shall be my accuser? Any valid professional aims may often find a freer, if not a richer field, 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. —He had no father, says Martin to the jarvey.

Jesus, I'll crucify him so I will, says Joe. If I'd known, a wagon and six horses shouldn't have drawn me from Brassing.

Ind.: Don't hesitate to shoot. Gob, he'd adorn a sweepingbrush, so he would and talk steady. 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. Not at all, says Martin.

Fred had known men to whom he would have been ashamed of confessing the smallness of his scrapes. —Look at him, says he. Your God.

Mr. Toller, Mr. Chichely, and Mr. Brooke of Tipton was on his right hand. When she lays her egg she is so glad. Mary. Gob, they ought to drown him in the bloody sea. —Considerations of space influenced their lordships' decision. —But do you know what it is? Before changing his course, he always needed to shape his motives and bring them into accordance with his habitual standard. About his ordinary bearing there was a fellow with a Ballyhooly blue ribbon badge spiffing out of him.

Solomon your own brother!

No security. Brother Jonah felt himself capable of much more stinging wit than this, but he was bent on being circumspect. —It's the Russians wish to tyrannise. His Majesty the heartfelt thanks of British traders for the facilities afforded them in his dominions. —I don't want to spend anything. Let me alone, says he, and I don't pretend to be.

Gerty MacDowell loves the boy that has the bicycle. I spend my income, it is not my principle to maintain thieves and cheat offspring of their due inheritance in order to support religion and set myself up as a saintly Killjoy. I should think.

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

It was then queried whether there were any special desires on the part of the audience when the will should be read. Did you see that straw?

Beggar my neighbour is his motto. But I shall not therefore drop one iota of my convictions, or cease to identify myself with that truth which an evil generation hates. It was probably Mrs. But Fred was feeling rather sick. There's more ways than one of being a fool, said Solomon. Everybody liked better to conjecture how the thing was, than simply to know it; for it had beforehand entered into the gossip about Lydgate's affairs, that neither his father-in-law nor his own family would do anything for him, and before Bulstrode himself suspected the betrayal of—and hoped to have buried forever with the corpse of Raffles—it was that haunting ghost of his earlier life which as he rode past the archway of the Green Dragon. The men came to handigrips. Take a what? Takes the biscuit, and talking about the Gaelic league and the antitreating league and drink, the curse of Ireland. Have similar orders been issued for the slaughter of human animals who dare to play Irish games in the park. Hence Mr. Bulstrode's close attention was not agreeable to the publicans and sinners in Middlemarch; it was attributed by some to his being a Pharisee, and by others to his being Evangelical. They're all barbers, says he. As to any certainty that a particular method of treatment would either save or kill, Lydgate himself was constantly arguing against such dogmatism; he had no right to speak, and he had begun to rub the gold knob of his stick, looking bitterly at the fire, he said humbly. Talking through his bloody hat. Said, meditatively, I rather like a haughty manner. What is it? Walking about with his book and pencil here's my head and my heels are coming till Joe Cuffe gave him the titles. 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. Klook Klook. Old Mr Verschoyle with the turnedin eye. Love, moya!

Arrah na Pogue, Dick Turpin, Ludwig Beethoven, the Colleen Bawn, Waddler Healy, Angus the Culdee, Dolly Mount, Sidney Parade, Ben Howth, Valentine Greatrakes, Adam and Eve, Arthur Wellesley, Boss Croker, Herodotus, Jack the Giantkiller, Gautama Buddha, Lady Godiva, The Lily of Killarney, the ruins of Clonmacnois, Cong Abbey, Glen Inagh and the Twelve Pins, Ireland's Eye, the Green Hills of Tallaght, Croagh Patrick, the brewery of Messrs Arthur Guinness, Son and Company Limited, Lough Neagh's banks, the vale of Ovoca, Isolde's tower, the Mapas obelisk, Sir Patrick Dun's hospital, Cape Clear, the glen of Aherlow, Lynch's castle, the Scotch house, Rathdown Union Workhouse at Loughlinstown, Tullamore jail, Castleconnel rapids, Kilballymacshonakill, the cross at Monasterboice, Jury's Hotel, S. Patrick's Purgatory, the Salmon Leap, Maynooth college refectory, Curley's hole, the three sons of Milesius. Hence, in spite of the negative as to any direct sign of guilt in relation to this disease, declared that they could see nothing in these particulars which could be transformed into a positive ground of suspicion. What say you, good masters, to a squab pigeon pasty, some collops of venison, a saddle of veal, widgeon with crisp hog's bacon, a boar's head with pistachios, a bason of jolly custard, a medlar tansy and a flagon of old Rhenish? A many comely nymphs drew nigh to starboard and to larboard and, clinging to the sides of the noble order was in the Church, and would have made her broad features look out of the room; yet this act, which might have momentous effects on the lot of some persons present.

I have certainly never borrowed any money on such an insecurity. The Lily of Killarney, the ruins of Clonmacnois, Cong Abbey, Glen Inagh and the Twelve Pins, Ireland's Eye, the Queen of Sheba, Acky Nagle, Joe Nagle, Alessandro Volta, Jeremiah O'Donovan Rossa, Don Philip O'Sullivan Beare. God A'mighty sticks to the land of the free remember the land of bondage.

We are a long time waiting for that day, citizen, says Joe. Jesus, says I.

I should like to know how you will back that up, Garth! He's an Irishman. It was mainly what we know, including the fact about Will Ladislaw, with some difficulty; breaking into a severe fit of coughing that required Mary Garth to stand near him, so that her flower-like head on its white stem was seen in perfection above-her riding-habit with much grace.

—Give you good den, my masters, said the draper.

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.

Nevertheless, Mr. Lydgate, I hope the new doctor will be able to do something handsome for him; indeed he has as good as told Fred that he means to punish him for it. But he felt his neck under Bulstrode's yoke; and though he usually enjoyed kicking, he was a relation of the master's. Mr. Featherstone asked Rosamond to sing to him, that there was no such thing as a will. Why, Trumbull himself is pretty sure of five hundred—that you may depend,—I shouldn't wonder if Featherstone had better feelings than any of us gave him credit for, he observed, in the course of which he swallowed several knives and forks, amid hilarious applause from the girl hands.

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

I first picked him up, said Bambridge, with a trifle more eagerness and paleness than usual. —Of course an action would lie, says J.J.—We don't want him, says he. So saying he knocked loudly with his swordhilt upon the open lattice. What's your opinion of the banker's constitution, and concluded that he would tell the whole affair as simply as possible to his father, or try to get through the affair without his father's knowledge. That's the whole secret. And all the while he's worse than half the men at the tread-mill? Says Alf, you can do without me, that's pretty clear, said old Featherstone, who often wondered that so many forms feeding on the same store of fodder were eminently superfluous, as tending to diminish the rations. Mr. Farebrother? —The susceptible nerve of a man whose intensest being lay in such mastery and predominance as the conditions of his life had shaped for him.

—Are you a strict t.t.? It's only initialled: P. —Ten thousand pounds, says Alf. —And why was there a Lowick parish church, and the poor of Ireland. We know those canters, says he, or what?

Meanwhile, Mr. Vincy had given that invitation which he had had no experience. There was a slight pause before Mrs. Then prove it. Bet you what you like he 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. —Europe has its eyes on you, Garry? —Not at all.

Mr. Rigg in conversation: there was no such thing as a will. It's pretty good authority, I think—a man who varied his manners: he behaved with the same deep-voiced, off-hand civility to everybody, as if the scorching power of Mrs. Ay, ay; money's a good egg; and if Mary Garth had before this been getting ready to go home with her father.

Any amount of money advanced on note of hand. —I say I've seen drops myself ordered by Doctor Gambit, as is our club doctor and a good charikter, and has brought more live children into the world nor ever another i' Middlemarch—I say I've seen drops myself ordered by Doctor Gambit, as is our club doctor and a good charikter, and has brought more live children into the world nor ever another i' Middlemarch—I say I've seen drops myself as made no difference to the chill-looking purplish tint of Mrs. Peter was so wishful to please God Almighty.

As soon as you can neither smell nor see, neither before they're swallowed nor after.

Mrs Barbara Lovebirch, Mrs Poll Ash, Mrs Holly Hazeleyes, Miss Daphne Bays, Miss Dorothy Canebrake, Mrs Clyde Twelvetrees, Mrs Rowan Greene, Mrs Helen Vinegadding, Miss Virginia Creeper, Miss Gladys Beech, Miss Olive Garth, Miss Blanche Maple, Mrs Maud Mahogany, Miss Myra Myrtle, Miss Priscilla Elderflower, Miss Bee Honeysuckle, Miss Grace Poplar, Miss O Mimosa San, Miss Rachel Cedarfrond, the Misses Lilian and Viola Lilac, Miss Timidity Aspenall, Mrs Kitty Dewey-Mosse, Miss May Hawthorne, Mrs Gloriana Palme, Mrs Liana Forrest, Mrs Arabella Blackwood and Mrs Norma Holyoake of Oakholme Regis graced the ceremony by their presence. —Eh, mister! This very moment.

Vincy? —The European family, says J.J.—Do you call that a man? —By Jesus, I'll crucify him so I will. Abel in connection with Lydgate's certificate, that the diligent narrator may lack space, or what is often the same thing may not be able to pay your debts out o' my land, and He makes chaps rich with corn and cattle.

—Of course an action would lie, 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?

—All this rushed through him like the agony of terror which fails to kill, and leaves the ears still open to the returning wave of execration.

Sit down, sit down. 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. Yes, says Alf, you can cod him up to the business end of a gun.

There was a slight pause before Mrs. Mary Garth in that light.

—Who have been so unexpectedly called away from our midst. She bowed ceremoniously to Mrs.

He should be more careful.

Altogether, reckoning hastily, here were about three thousand disposed of. There's one thing it hasn't a deterrent effect on, says Alf, chucking out the rhino. I picked up something else at Bilkley besides your gig-horse, Mr. Hawley, thrusting his hands into his pockets, and pushing a little forward under the archway in the early afternoon was as certain to attract companionship as a pigeon which has found something worth pecking at.

But I am sorry to say that Fred was under some difficulty in repressing a laugh, which would be very fine, by God! —Yes, says Bloom.

Hello, Alf. Ever since that important new arrival in Middlemarch she had woven a little future, of which something like this scene was the necessary beginning. —A dishonoured wife, says the citizen.

Jesus, he did.

If your mamma is afraid that Fred will make me an offer, tell her that he said and everyone who knew him said that there was little chance of the interview being over in half an hour. —I have not yet been pained by finding any excessive talent in Middlemarch, said Lydgate, smiling, but I knew nothing of him then—he slipped through my fingers—was after Bulstrode, no doubt. —He knows which side his bread is buttered, says Alf. Selling bazaar tickets or what do you call it royal Hungarian privileged lottery. She is the best girl in the world. —Was it you did it, Alf? The eldest, that sits there, is but nineteen—so I leave you to guess.

I know that fellow, says Joe. So of course the citizen was only waiting for the wink of the word and he starts talking with Joe, telling him he needn't trouble about that little matter till the first but if he would just say a word to Mr Crawford.

Come in, come on, he won't eat you, says the citizen. —Here Mr. Bulstrode began to speak with Mr. Bulstrode in his private room at the Bank, send a man off for his carriage, and wait to accompany him home.

So in comes Martin asking where was Bloom. I don't pretend to be.

Shall be exceedingly obliged if you will look in on me here occasionally, Mr. Lydgate, I hope we shall not vary in sentiment as to a measure in which you are not proud of your cellar, there is no thrill of satisfaction in seeing your guest hold up his wine-glass to the light and look judicial. And me—the trouble I've been at, times and times, to come here and be sisterly—and him with things on his mind. —The last yellow gig left, I should think it is you, Rosy.

Waule, which entitled her to speak when her own brother's hearth, and had secretly disobeyed it. —How did that Canada swindle case go off?

Then by that, it's o' no use who your father and mother is. —And Bass's mare? I was born here.

You what? Ind.: Don't hesitate to shoot. And all the while had got his own lawful family—brothers and sisters and nephews and nieces—and has sat in church with 'em whenever he thought well to come, said Mrs. —The subject is likely to be actively concerned, but in the case of Mr. Rigg Featherstone there was more discontent with immediate visible consequences than speculation as to the course you have pursued with your eldest son. But nothing had been betrayed 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.

Well, whether or not, I consider it very unhandsome of you to refuse it. Brother Solomon, I shall consider what you have said?

Sinn Fein! Growling and grousing and his eye all bloodshot from the drouth is in it and the hydrophobia dropping out of his jaws. Fred, pettishly. Damme if I think he meant to turn king's evidence; but he's that sort of bragging fellow, the bragging runs over hedge and ditch with him, the two of them there near whatdoyoucallhim's … What? Here, clearly, was a lusty, fresh-colored man as you'd wish to see, and the fact that at this critical moment he had given Lydgate the help which he must for some time kept himself in the coarse unflattering mirror which that manufacturer's mind presented to the distinguished phenomenologist on behalf of a large section of the community and was accompanied by the gift of a silver casket, tastefully executed in the style of ancient Celtic ornament, a work which reflects every credit on the makers, Messrs Jacob agus Jacob. Says Joe. No, rejoined the other, had come fully to the ears of the Vincy family, and possessing connections which offered vistas of that middle-class heaven, rank; a man of action and influence in the public affairs of the town where he expected to end his days.

This very moment. Mr. Bulstrode sat up with him one night. The unfortunate yahoos believe it. But, as I was saying, the old one, Bloom's wife and Mrs O'Dowd that kept the hotel. I suppose you can have no objection to do that.

Says he, take them to hell out of my sight, Alf. He's the only man in Dublin has it. Hello, Ned.

That's odd, said Mr. Featherstone, captiously.

Anybody might have had more reason for wondering if the will had been what you might expect from an open-minded straightforward man.

—Those expectations!

I wish there was no use in offending the new proprietor of Stone Court, which Fred and Rosamond entered after a couple of miles' riding. —Those expectations!

Then he rubs his hand in his eye and says he, I'll brain that bloody jewman for using the holy name. 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 all the ordinary currents of conjecture were disturbed by the presence of a strange mourner who had plashed among them as if from the moon. Want a small fortune to keep him from tumbling off the bloody stool atop of the bloody old towser by the scruff of the neck and, by the holy Moses he was stuck for two quid.

Where can he be found? —Show us, Joe, says I. Mr. Hawley. The poor bugger's tool that's being hanged, says Alf.

The bloody mongrel began to growl that'd put the fear of God in you seeing something was up but the citizen gave him a kick in the ribs. The will I hold in my hand, said Mr. Vincy, thoroughly nettled a result which was seldom much retarded by previous resolutions. There is the bell—I think we must go down.

Well, they're still waiting for their redeemer, says Martin. Who's dead? —Amen, says the citizen. It's well known there's always two sides, if no more; else who'd go to law, I should think that was enough, Fred.

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

If you've changed your mind, and another. It's only a natural phenomenon, don't you see, about this insurance of poor Dignam's. If, as I was saying, the old one, Bloom's wife and Mrs O'Dowd that kept the hotel.

Says he.

The fashionable international world attended EN MASSE this afternoon at the wedding of the chevalier Jean Wyse de Neaulan, grand high chief ranger of the Irish National Foresters, with Miss Fir Conifer of Pine Valley. 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.

That'll do now.

Bulstrode's voice rose and took on a more biting accent, till it seemed a low cry—who shall be my accuser?

How it had been brought to her she didn't know, but it is not desirable, I think there are times when some should be considered more than others. —Here you are, citizen, says Joe.

My own imperfect health has induced me to give some attention to those palliative resources which the divine mercy has placed within our reach. That's what he is. You care so very much what Mary says. Mary as an articled pupil, so that her flower-like head on its white stem was seen in perfection above-her riding-habit with much grace.

Elijah! I should be all the better for the difference between them in pitch and manners; he certainly liked him the better for it?

But really, Fred, let me tell you. There's no-one would know him in the middle of them letting on to be modest. Before Mr. Featherstone's cough was quiet, Rosamond entered, bearing up her riding-habit. Said to the dead policeman.

The men came to handigrips.

You can neither smell nor see, neither before they're swallowed nor after. So off they started about Irish sports and shoneen games the like of that and throw him in the private office when I was there with Pisser releasing his boots out of the pop.

#Ulysses (novel)#James Joyce #1922 #automatically generated text #Patrick Mooney #Cyclops #George Eliot #Victorian novels #British novelists #Bildungsromaener #didactic literature #Marian Evans #19th century #Middlemarch (novel)

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Tyrion

I do not sleep as I did when I was younger," Grand Maester Pycelle told him, by way of apology for the dawn meeting. "I would sooner be up, though the world be dark, than lie restless abed, fretting on tasks undone," he said—though his heavy-lidded eyes made him look half-asleep as he said it.

In the airy chambers beneath the rookery, his girl served them boiled eggs, stewed plums, and porridge, while Pycelle served the pontifications. "In these sad times, when so many hunger, I think it only fitting to keep my table spare."

"Commendable," Tyrion admitted, breaking a large brown egg that reminded him unduly of the Grand Maester's bald spotted head. "I take a different view. If there is food I eat it, in case there is none on the morrow." He smiled. "Tell me, are your ravens early risers as well?"

Pycelle stroked the snowy beard that flowed down his chest. "To be sure. Shall I send for quill and ink after we have eaten?"

"No need." Tyrion laid the letters on the table beside his porridge, twin parchments tightly rolled and sealed with wax at both ends. "Send your girl away, so we can talk."

"Leave us, child," Pycelle commanded. The serving girl hurried from the room. "These letters, now . . . "

"For the eyes of Doran Martell, Prince of Dorne." Tyrion peeled the cracked shell away from his egg and took a bite. It wanted salt. "One letter, in two copies. Send your swiftest birds. The matter is of great import."

"I shall dispatch them as soon as we have broken our fast."

"Dispatch them now. Stewed plums will keep. The realm may not. Lord Renly is leading his host up the roseroad, and no one can say when Lord Stannis will sail from Dragonstone."

Pycelle blinked. "If my lord prefers—"

"He does."

"I am here to serve." The maester pushed himself ponderously to his feet his chain of office clinking softly. It was a heavy thing, a dozen maester's collars threaded around and through each other and ornamented with gemstones. And it seemed to Tyrion that the gold and silver and platinum links far outnumbered those of baser metals.

Pycelle moved so slowly that Tyrion had time to finish his egg and taste the plums—overcooked and watery, to his taste—before the sound of wings prompted him to rise. He spied the raven, dark in the dawn sky, and turned briskly toward the maze of shelves at the far end of the room.

The maester's medicines made an impressive display; dozens of pots sealed with wax, hundreds of stoppered vials, as many milkglass bottles, countless jars of dried herbs, each container neatly labeled in Pycelle's precise hand. An orderly mind, Tyrion reflected, and indeed, once you puzzled out the arrangement, it was easy to see that every potion had its place. And such interesting things. He noted sweetsleep and nightshade, milk of the poppy, the tears of Lys, powdered greycap, wolfsbane and demon's dance, basilisk venom, blindeye, widow's blood . . .

Standing on his toes and straining upward, he managed to pull a small dusty bottle off the high shelf. When he read the label, he smiled and slipped it up his sleeve.

He was back at the table peeling another egg when Grand Maester Pycelle came creeping down the stairs. "It is done, my lord." The old man seated himself. "A matter like this . . . best done promptly, indeed, indeed . . . of great import, you say?"

"Oh, yes." The porridge was too thick, Tyrion felt, and wanted butter and honey. To be sure, butter and honey were seldom seen in King's Landing of late, though Lord Gyles kept them well supplied in the castle. Half of the food they ate these days came from his lands or Lady Tanda's. Rosby and Stokeworth lay near the city to the north, and were yet untouched by war.

"The Prince of Dorne, himself. Might I ask . . . "

"Best not."

"As you say." Pycelle's curiosity was so ripe that Tyrion could almost taste it. "Mayhaps . . . the king's council . . . "

Tyrion tapped his wooden spoon against the edge of the bowl. "The council exists to advise the king, Maester."

"Just so," said Pycelle, "and the king—"

"—is a boy of thirteen. I speak with his voice."

"So you do. Indeed. The King's Own Hand. Yet . . . your most gracious sister, our Queen Regent, she . . . "

" . . . bears a great weight upon those lovely white shoulders of hers. I have no wish to add to her burdens. Do you?" Tyrion cocked his head and gave the Grand Maester an inquiring stare.

Pycelle dropped his gaze back to his food. Something about Tyrion's mismatched green-and-black eyes made men squirm; knowing that, he made good use of them. "Ah," the old man muttered into his plums. "Doubtless you have the right of it, my lord. It is most considerate of you to . . . spare her this . . . burden."

"That's just the sort of fellow I am." Tyrion returned to the unsatisfactory porridge. "Considerate. Cersei is my own sweet sister, after all."

"And a woman, to be sure," Grand Maester Pycelle said. "A most uncommon woman, and yet . . . it is no small thing, to tend to all the cares of the realm, despite the frailty of her sex . . . "

Oh, yes, she's a frail dove, just ask Eddard Stark. "I'm pleased you share my concern. And I thank you for the hospitality of your table. But a long day awaits." He swung his legs out and clambered down from his chair. "Be so good as to inform me at once should we receive a reply from Dorne? "

"As you say, my lord."

"And only me?"

"Ah . . . to be sure." Pycelle's spotted hand was clutching at his beard the way a drowning man clutches for a rope. It made Tyrion's heart glad. One, he thought.

He waddled out into the lower bailey; his stunted legs complained of the steps. The sun was well up now, and the castle was stirring. Guardsmen walked the walls, and knights and men-at-arms were training with blunted weapons. Nearby, Bronn sat on the lip of a well. A pair of comely serving girls sauntered past carrying a wicker basket of rushes between them, but the sellsword never looked. "Bronn, I despair of you." Tyrion gestured at the wenches. "With sweet sights like that before you, all you see is a gaggle of louts raising a clangor."

"There are a hundred whorehouses in this city where a clipped copper will buy me all the cunt I want," Bronn answered, "but one day my life may hang on how close I've watched your louts." He stood. "Who's the boy in the checkered blue surcoat with the three eyes on his shield?"

"Some hedge knight. Tallad, he names himself. Why?"

Bronn pushed a fall of hair from his eyes. "He's the best of them. But watch him, he falls into a rhythm, delivering the same strokes in the same order each time he attacks." He grinned. "That will be the death of him, the day he faces me."

"He's pledged to Joffrey; he's not like to face you." They set off across the bailey, Bronn matching his long stride to Tyrion's short one. These days the sellsword was looking almost respectable. His dark hair was washed and brushed, he was freshly shaved, and he wore the black breastplate of an officer of the City Watch. From his shoulders trailed a cloak of Lannister crimson patterned with golden hands. Tyrion had made him a gift of it when he named him captain of his personal guard. "How many supplicants do we have today?" he inquired.

"Thirty odd," answered Bronn. "Most with complaints, or wanting something, as ever. Your pet was back."

He groaned. "Lady Tanda?"

"Her page. She invites you to sup with her again. There's to be a haunch of venison, she says, a brace of stuffed geese sauced with mulberries, and—"

"—her daughter," Tyrion finished sourly. Since the hour he had arrived in the Red Keep, Lady Tanda had been stalking him, armed with a never-ending arsenal of lamprey pies, wild boars, and savory cream stews. Somehow she had gotten the notion that a dwarf lordling would be the perfect consort for her daughter Lollys, a large, soft, dim-witted girl who rumor said was still a maid at thirty-and-three. "Send her my regrets."

"No taste for stuffed goose?" Bronn grinned evilly.

"Perhaps you should eat the goose and marry the maid. Or better still, send Shagga."

"Shagga's more like to eat the maid and marry the goose," observed Bronn. "Anyway, Lollys outweighs him."

"There is that," Tyrion admitted as they passed under the shadow of a covered walkway between two towers. "Who else wants me?"

The sellsword grew more serious. "There's a moneylender from Braavos, holding fancy papers and the like, requests to see the king about payment on some loan."

"As if Joff could count past twenty. Send the man to Littlefinger, he'll find a way to put him off. Next?"

"A lordling down from the Trident, says your father's men burned his keep, raped his wife, and killed all his peasants."

"I believe they call that war." Tyrion smelled Gregor Clegane's work, or that of Ser Amory Lorch or his father's other pet hellhound, the Qohorik. "What does he want of Joffrey?"

"New peasants," Bronn said. "He walked all this way to sing how loyal he is and beg for recompense."

"I'll make time for him on the morrow." Whether truly loyal or merely desperate, a compliant river lord might have his uses. "See that he's given a comfortable chamber and a hot meal. Send him a new pair of boots as well, good ones, courtesy of King Joffrey." A show of generosity never hurt.

Bronn gave a curt nod. "There's also a great gaggle of bakers, butchers, and greengrocers clamoring to be heard."

"I told them last time, I have nothing to give them." Only a thin trickle of food was coming into King's Landing, most of it earmarked for castle and garrison. Prices had risen sickeningly high on greens, roots, flour, and fruit, and Tyrion did not want to think about what sorts of flesh might be going into the kettles of the pot-shops down in Flea Bottom. Fish, he hoped. They still had the river and the sea . . . at least until Lord Stannis sailed.

"They want protection. Last night a baker was roasted in his own oven. The mob claimed he charged too much for bread."

"Did he?"

"He's not apt to deny it."

"They didn't eat him, did they?"

"Not that I've heard."

"Next time they will," Tyrion said grimly. "I give them what protection I can. The gold cloaks—"

"They claim there were gold cloaks in the mob," Bronn said. "They're demanding to speak to the king himself."

"Fools." Tyrion had sent them off with regrets; his nephew would send them off with whips and spears. He was half-tempted to allow it . . . but no, he dare not. Soon or late, some enemy would march on King's Landing, and the last thing he wanted was willing traitors within the city walls. "Tell them King Joffrey shares their fears and will do all he can for them."

"They want bread, not promises."

"If I give them bread today, on the morrow I'll have twice as many at the gates. Who else?"

"A black brother down from the Wall. The steward says he brought some rotted hand in a jar."

Tyrion smiled wanly. "I'm surprised no one ate it. I suppose I ought to see him. It's not Yoren, perchance?"

"No. Some knight. Thorne."

"Ser Alliser Thorne?" Of all the black brothers he'd met on the Wall, Tyrion Lannister had liked Ser Alliser Thorne the least. A bitter, mean-spirited man with too great a sense of his own worth. "Come to think on it, I don't believe I care to see Ser Alliser just now. Find him a snug cell where no one has changed the rushes in a year, and let his hand rot a little more."

Bronn snorted laughter and went his way, while Tyrion struggled up the serpentine steps. As he limped across the outer yard, he heard the portcullis rattling up. His sister and a large party were waiting by the main gate.

Mounted on her white palfrey, Cersei towered high above him, a goddess in green. "Brother," she called out, not warmly. The queen had not been pleased by the way he'd dealt with Janos Slynt.

"Your Grace." Tyrion bowed politely. "You look lovely this morning." Her crown was gold, her cloak ermine. Her retinue sat their mounts behind her: Ser Boros Blount of the Kingsguard, wearing white scale and his favorite scowl; Ser Balon Swann, bow slung from his silver-inlay saddle; Lord Gyles Rosby, his wheezing cough worse than ever; Hallyne the Pyromancer of the Alchemists' Guild; and the queen's newest favorite, their cousin Ser Lancel Lannister, her late husband's squire upjumped to knight at his widow's insistence. Vylarr and twenty guardsmen rode escort. "Where are you bound this day, sister?" Tyrion asked.

"I'm making a round of the gates to inspect the new scorpions and spitfires. I would not have it thought that all of us are as indifferent to the city's defense as you seem to be." Cersei fixed him with those clear green eyes of hers, beautiful even in their contempt. "I am informed that Renly Baratheon has marched from Highgarden. He is making his way up the roseroad, with all his strength behind him."

"Varys gave me the same report."

"He could be here by the full moon."

"Not at his present leisurely pace," Tyrion assured her. "He feasts every night in a different castle, and holds court at every crossroads he passes."

"And every day, more men rally to his banners. His host is now said to be a hundred thousand strong."

"That seems rather high."

"He has the power of Storm's End and Highgarden behind him, you little fool," Cersei snapped down at him. "All the Tyrell bannermen but for the Redwynes, and you have me to thank for that. So long as I hold those poxy twins of his, Lord Paxter will squat on the Arbor and count himself fortunate to be out of it."

"A pity you let the Knight of Flowers slip through your pretty fingers. Still, Renly has other concerns besides us. Our father at Harrenhal, Robb Stark at Riverrun . . . were I he, I would do much as he is doing. Make my progress, flaunt my power for the realm to see, watch, wait. Let my rivals contend while I bide my own sweet time. If Stark defeats us, the south will fall into Renly's hands like a windfall from the gods, and he'll not have lost a man. And if it goes the other way, he can descend on us while we are weakened."

Cersei was not appeased. "I want you to make Father bring his army to King's Landing."

Where it will serve no purpose but to make you feel safe. "When have I ever been able to make Father do anything?"

She ignored the question. "And when do you plan to free Jaime? He's worth a hundred of you."

Tyrion grinned crookedly. "Don't tell Lady Stark, I beg you. We don't have a hundred of me to trade."

"Father must have been mad to send you. You're worse than useless." The queen jerked on her reins and wheeled her palfrey around. She rode out the gate at a brisk trot, ermine cloak streaming behind her. Her retinue hastened after.

In truth, Renly Baratheon did not frighten Tyrion half so much as his brother Stannis did. Renly was beloved of the commons, but he had never before led men in war. Stannis was otherwise: hard, cold, inexorable. if only they had some way of knowing what was happening on Dragonstone . . . but not one of the fisherfolk he had paid to spy out the island had ever returned, and even the informers the eunuch claimed to have placed in Stannis's household had been ominously silent. The striped hulls of Lysene war galleys had been seen offshore, though, and Varys had reports from Myr of sellsail captains taking service with Dragonstone. If Stannis attacks by sea while his brother Renly storms the gates, they'll soon be mounting Joffrey's head on a spike. Worse, mine will be beside him. A depressing thought. He ought to make plans to get Shae safely out of the city, should the worst seem likely.

Podrick Payne stood at the door of his solar, studying the floor. "He's inside," he announced to Tyrion's belt buckle. "Your solar. My lord. Sorry."

Tyrion sighed. "Look at me, Pod. It unnerves me when you talk to my codpiece, especially when I'm not wearing one. Who is inside my solar?"

"Lord Littlefinger." Podrick managed a quick look at his face, then hastily dropped his eyes. "I meant, Lord Petyr. Lord Baelish. The master of coin. "

"You make him sound a crowd." The boy hunched down as if struck, making Tyrion feel absurdly guilty.

Lord Petyr was seated on his window seat, languid and elegant in a plush plum-colored doublet and a yellow satin cape, one gloved hand resting on his knee. "The king is fighting hares with a crossbow," he said. "The hares are winning. Come see."

Tyrion had to stand on his toes to get a look. A dead hare lay on the ground below; another, long ears twitching, was about to expire from the bolt in his side. Spent quarrels lay strewn across the hard-packed earth like straws scattered by a storm. "Now!" Joff shouted. The gamesman released the hare he was holding, and he went bounding off. Joffrey jerked the trigger on the crossbow. The bolt missed by two feet. The hare stood on his hind legs and twitched his nose at the king. Cursing, Joff spun the wheel to winch back his string, but the animal was gone before he was loaded. "Another!" The gamesman reached into the hutch. This one made a brown streak against the stones, while Joffrey's hurried shot almost took Ser Preston in the groin.

Littlefinger turned away. "Boy, are you fond of potted hare?" he asked Podrick Payne.

Pod stared at the visitor's boots, lovely things of red-dyed leather ornamented with black scrollwork. "To eat, my lord?"

"Invest in pots," Littlefinger advised. "Hares will soon overrun the castle. We'll be eating hare thrice a day."

"Better than rats on a skewer," said Tyrion. "Pod, leave us. Unless Lord Petyr would care for some refreshment?"

"Thank you, but no." Littlefinger flashed his mocking smile. "Drink with the dwarf, it's said, and you wake up walking the Wall. Black brings out my unhealthy pallor."

Have no fear, my lord, Tyrion thought, it's not the Wall I have in mind for you. He seated himself in a high chair piled with cushions and said, "You look very elegant today, my lord."

"I'm wounded. I strive to look elegant every day."

"Is the doublet new?"

"It is. You're most observant."

"Plum and yellow. Are those the colors of your House?"

"No. But a man gets bored wearing the same colors day in and day out, or so I've found."

"That's a handsome knife as well."

"Is it?" There was mischief in Littlefinger's eyes. He drew the knife and glanced at it casually, as if he had never seen it before. "Valyrian steel, and a dragonbone hilt. A trifle plain, though. It's yours, if you would like it."

"Mine?" Tyrion gave him a long look. "No. I think not. Never mine." He knows, the insolent wretch. He knows and he knows that I know, and he thinks that I cannot touch him.

If ever truly a man had armored himself in gold, it was Petyr Baelish, not Jaime Lannister. Jaime's famous armor was but gilded steel, but Littlefinger, ah . . . Tyrion had learned a few things about sweet Petyr, to his growing disquiet.

Ten years ago, Jon Arryn had given him a minor sinecure in customs, where Lord Petyr had soon distinguished himself by bringing in three times as much as any of the king's other collectors. King Robert had been a prodigious spender. A man like Petyr Baelish, who had a gift for rubbing two golden dragons together to breed a third, was invaluable to his Hand. Littlefinger's rise had been arrow-swift. Within three years of his coming to court, he was master of coin and a member of the small council, and today the crown's revenues were ten times what they had been under his beleaguered predecessor . . . though the crown's debts had grown vast as well. A master juggler was Petyr Baelish.

Oh, he was clever. He did not simply collect the gold and lock it in a treasure vault, no. He paid the king's debts in promises, and put the king's gold to work. He bought wagons, shops, ships, houses. He bought grain when it was plentiful and sold bread when it was scarce. He bought wool from the north and linen from the south and lace from Lys, stored it, moved it, dyed it, sold it. The golden dragons bred and multiplied, and Littlefinger lent them out and brought them home with hatchlings.

And in the process, he moved his own men into place. The Keepers of the Keys were his, all four. The King's Counter and the King's Scales were men he'd named. The officers in charge of all three mints. Harbormasters, tax farmers, customs sergeants, wool factors, toll collectors, pursers, wine factors; nine of every ten belonged to Littlefinger. They were men of middling birth, by and large; merchants' sons, lesser lordlings, sometimes even foreigners, but judging from their results, far more able than their highborn predecessors.

No one had ever thought to question the appointments, and why should they? Littlefinger was no threat to anyone. A clever, smiling, genial man, everyone's friend, always able to find whatever gold the king or his Hand required, and yet of such undistinguished birth, one step up from a hedge knight, he was not a man to fear. He had no banners to call, no army of retainers, no great stronghold, no holdings to speak of, no prospects of a great marriage.

But do I dare touch him? Tyrion wondered. Even if he is a traitor? He was not at all certain he could, least of all now, while the war raged. Given time, he could replace Littlefinger's men with his own in key positions, but . . .

A shout rang up from the yard. "Ah, His Grace has killed a hare," Lord Baelish observed.

"No doubt a slow one," Tyrion said. "My lord, you were fostered at Riverrun. I've heard it said that you grew close to the Tullys."

"You might say so. The girls especially."

"How close?"

"I had their maidenhoods. Is that close enough?"

The lie—Tyrion was fairly certain it was a lie—was delivered with such an air of nonchalance that one could almost believe it. Could it have been Catelyn Stark who lied? About her defloration, and the dagger as well? The longer he lived, the more Tyrion realized that nothing was simple and little was true. "Lord Hoster's daughters do not love me," he confessed. "I doubt they would listen to any proposal I might make. Yet coming from you, the same words might fall more sweetly on their ears. "

"That would depend on the words. If you mean to offer Sansa in return for your brother, waste someone else's time. Joffrey will never surrender his plaything, and Lady Catelyn is not so great a fool as to barter the Kingslayer for a slip of a girl."

"I mean to have Arya as well. I have men searching."

"Searching is not finding."

"I'll keep that in mind, my lord. In any case, it was Lady Lysa I hoped you might sway. For her, I have a sweeter offer."

"Lysa is more tractable than Catelyn, true . . . but also more fearful, and I understand she hates you."

"She believes she has good reason. When I was her guest in the Eyrie, she insisted that Id murdered her husband and was not inclined to listen to denials." He leaned forward. "If I gave her Jon Arryn's true killer, she might think more kindly of me."

That made Littlefinger sit up. "True killer? I confess, you make me curious. Who do you propose?"

It was Tyrion's turn to smile. "Gifts I give my friends, freely. Lysa Arryn would need to understand that."

"Is it her friendship you require, or her swords?"

"Both."

Littlefinger stroked the neat spike of his beard. "Lysa has woes of her own. Clansmen raiding out of the Mountains of the Moon, in greater numbers than ever before . . . and better armed."

"Distressing," said Tyrion Lannister, who had armed them. "I could help her with that. A word from me . . . "

"And what would this word cost her?"

"I want Lady Lysa and her son to acclaim Joffrey as king, to swear fealty, and to—"

"—make war on the Starks and Tullys?" Littlefinger shook his head. "There's the roach in your pudding, Lannister. Lysa will never send her knights against Riverrun."

"Nor would I ask it. We have no lack of enemies. I'll use her power to oppose Lord Renly, or Lord Stannis, should he stir from Dragonstone. In return, I will give her justice for Jon Arryn and peace in the Vale. I will even name that appalling child of hers Warden of the East, as his father was before him." I want to see him fly, a boy's voice whispered faintly in memory. "And to seal the bargain, I will give her my niece."

He had the pleasure of seeing a look of genuine surprise in Petyr Baelish's grey-green eyes. "Myrcella?"

"When she comes of age, she can wed little Lord Robert. Until such time, she'll be Lady Lysa's ward at the Eyrie."

"And what does Her Grace the queen think of this ploy?" When Tyrion shrugged, Littlefinger burst into laughter. "I thought not. You're a dangerous little man, Lannister. Yes, I could sing this song to Lysa." Again the sly smile, the mischief in his glance. "If I cared to."

Tyrion nodded, waiting, knowing Littlefinger could never abide a long silence.

"So," Lord Petyr continued after a pause, utterly unabashed, "what's in your pot for me?"

"Harrenhal."

It was interesting to watch his face. Lord Petyr's father had been the smallest of small lords, his grandfather a landless hedge knight; by birth, he held no more than a few stony acres on the windswept shore of the Fingers. Harrenhal was one of the richest plums in the Seven Kingdoms, its lands broad and rich and fertile, its great castle as formidable as any in the realm . . . and so large as to dwarf Riverrun, where Petyr Baelish had been fostered by House Tully, only to be brusquely expelled when he dared raise his sights to Lord Hoster's daughter.

Littlefinger took a moment to adjust the drape of his cape, but Tyrion had seen the flash of hunger in those sly cat's eyes. I have him, he knew. "Harrenhal is cursed," Lord Petyr said after a moment, trying to sound bored.

"Then raze it to the ground and build anew to suit yourself. You'll have no lack of coin. I mean to make you liege lord of the Trident. These river lords have proven they cannot be trusted. Let them do you fealty for their lands."

"Even the Tullys?"

"If there are any Tullys left when we are done."

Littlefinger looked like a boy who had just taken a furtive bite from a honeycomb. He was trying to watch for bees, but the honey was so sweet. "Harrenhal and all its lands and incomes," he mused. "With a stroke, you'd make me one of the greatest lords in the realm. Not that I'm ungrateful, my lord, but—why?"

"You served my sister well in the matter of the succession."

"As did Janos Slynt. On whom this same castle of Harrenhal was quite recently bestowed—only to be snatched away when he was no longer of use."

Tyrion laughed. "You have me, my lord. What can I say? I need you to deliver the Lady Lysa. I did not need Janos Slynt." He gave a crooked shrug. "I'd sooner have you seated in Harrenhal than Renly seated on the Iron Throne. What could be plainer?"

"What indeed. You realize that I may need to bed Lysa Arryn again to get her consent to this marriage?"

"I have little doubt you'll be equal to the task."

"I once told Ned Stark that when you find yourself naked with an ugly woman, the only thing to do is close your eyes and get on with it." Littlefinger steepled his fingers and gazed into Tyrion's mismatched eyes. "Give me a fortnight to conclude my affairs and arrange for a ship to carry me to Gulltown."

"That will do nicely."

His guest rose. "This has been quite the pleasant morning, Lannister. And profitable . . . for both of us, I trust." He bowed, his cape a swirl of yellow as he strode out the door.

Two, thought Tyrion.

He went up to his bedchamber to await Varys, who would soon be making an appearance. Evenfall, he guessed. Perhaps as late as moonrise, though he hoped not. He hoped to visit Shae tonight. He was pleasantly surprised when Galt of the Stone Crows informed him not an hour later that the powdered man was at his door. "You are a cruel man, to make the Grand Maester squirm so," the eunuch scolded. "The man cannot abide a secret."

"Is that a crow I hear, calling the raven black? Or would you sooner not hear what I've proposed to Doran Martell?"

Varys giggled. "Perhaps my little birds have told me."

"Have they, indeed?" He wanted to hear this. "Go on."

"The Dornishmen thus far have held aloof from these wars. Doran Martell has called his banners, but no more. His hatred for House Lannister is well known, and it is commonly thought he will join Lord Renly. You wish to dissuade him."

"All this is obvious," said Tyrion.

"The only puzzle is what you might have offered for his allegiance. The prince is a sentimental man, and he still mourns his sister Elia and her sweet babe."

"My father once told me that a lord never lets sentiment get in the way of ambition . . . and it happens we have an empty seat on the small council, now that Lord Janos has taken the black."

"A council seat is not to be despised," Varys admitted, "yet will it be enough to make a proud man forget his sister's murder?"

"Why forget?" Tyrion smiled. "I've promised to deliver his sister's killers, alive or dead, as he prefers. After the war is done, to be sure."

Varys gave him a shrewd look. "My little birds tell me that Princess Elia cried a . . . certain name . . . when they came for her."

"Is a secret still a secret if everyone knows it?" In Casterly Rock, it was common knowledge that Gregor Clegane had killed Elia and her babe. They said he had raped the princess with her son's blood and brains still on his hands.

"This secret is your lord father's sworn man."

"My father would be the first to tell you that fifty thousand Dornishmen are worth one rabid dog."

Varys stroked a powdered cheek. "And if Prince Doran demands the blood of the lord who gave the command as well as the knight who did the deed . . . "

"Robert Baratheon led the rebellion. All commands came from him, in the end."

"Robert was not at King's Landing."

"Neither was Doran Martell."

"So. Blood for his pride, a chair for his ambition. Gold and land, that goes without saying. A sweet offer . . . yet sweets can be poisoned. If I were the prince, something more would I require before I should reach for this honeycomb. Some token of good faith, some sure safeguard against betrayal." Varys smiled his slimiest smile. "Which one will you give him, I wonder?"

Tyrion sighed. "You know, don't you?"

"Since you put it that way—yes. Tommen. You could scarcely offer Myrcella to Doran Martell and Lysa Arryn both."

"Remind me never to play these guessing games with you again. You cheat. "

"Prince Tommen is a good boy."

"If I pry him away from Cersei and Joffrey while he's still young, he may even grow to be a good man."

"And a good king?"

"Joffrey is king."

"And Tommen is heir, should anything ill befall His Grace. Tommen, whose nature is so sweet, and notably . . . tractable."

"You have a suspicious mind, Varys."

"I shall take that as a tribute, my lord. In any case, Prince Doran will hardly be insensible of the great honor you do him. Very deftly done, I would say . . . but for one small flaw."

The dwarf laughed. "Named Cersei?"

"What avails statecraft against the love of a mother for the sweet fruit of her womb? Perhaps, for the glory of her House and the safety of the realm, the queen might be persuaded to send away Tommen or Myrcella. But both of them? Surely not."

"What Cersei does not know will never hurt me."

"And if Her Grace were to discover your intentions before your plans are ripe?"

"Why," he said, "then I would know the man who told her to be my certain enemy." And when Varys giggled, he thought, Three.

#ClashofKings

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