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dindjarindiaries · 4 years

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Thunder - Chapter 6: Thunder

summary: With the tensions of life and feelings at an all-time high, Frankie and Luciana finally find themselves in the eye of their own kind of storm—and wonder where they can go from here.

warnings: storms, light angst, fluff

rating: R

word count: 5.695k

masterlist

chapter 6: thunder

It’s finally the night before graduation—and Frankie’s a fucking mess.

He’s trying to come to terms with the idea of leaving this house, this life, the girl who lives right down the hall and will be taking his heart with her wherever she goes, and the simple thought of it makes him sick to his stomach. Frankie wants to be able to control it, to keep all of these things the same somehow yet work towards his dream of piloting, but he knows he can’t have it both ways. Some things he can change, but he just doesn’t know if he’s strong enough to.

Still, Frankie wants to try. He thinks that maybe if he had tried harder with his mom, somehow figured out that she wasn’t acting the same before her condition was diagnosed and it was too late, then he wouldn’t have lost her. He hopes that he can prevent the same thing from happening with Luciana. If he tells her how he feels now, before it’s too late, maybe he won’t lose her. Half of him is afraid he may already be too late—but he’ll be damned if he doesn’t at least try.

Frankie releases a sigh as he sits up from where he’s been staring blankly at his ceiling, contemplating his next move. Benny’s frat house is throwing a goddamn rager tonight, going absolutely wild for the last night of their college careers, but both Frankie and Luciana aren’t feeling up to it; they know they’d both leave early, anyway. Now, it’s just the two of them in the house, and with the boys having just left, Frankie’s determined to make some kind of move. He forces himself to make his way out of his room and stop at Luciana’s, not even thinking twice as he lightly raps his knuckles against her door. He keeps his gaze fixed on the floor as he waits for her to answer, his free hand tapping against the side of his leg. He’s not sure why he’s feeling nervous—it’s Luciana, what does he have to be afraid of?—but still his fingers work anxiously against the material of his jeans as he waits for her.

The door opens within a few seconds, and Frankie sees Luciana standing there with her usual soft gaze and a raised brow. It almost looks hopeful, as if she’s been waiting for him to show up. The thought makes Frankie smile just a bit. “What’s up, Flyboy?” Luciana greets him, leaning against her doorframe as she looks up at him.

Frankie gives himself a little time to muse on this moment. He loves this position, her looking up at him with such endearment and him looking down at her with the same feeling. He’d kiss her if he had the balls to do it. But the time’s just not right—at least, not yet. Frankie abandons his daydream as he offers her a small shrug. “I know we’re not up for the party, but I wanted to do something,” Frankie explains. “Y’know, for our last night before graduation. I figured we could maybe get something to go and then go to Mayweather.”

Luciana smiles at Frankie’s proposition. Mayweather Beach is a local piece of the long beach that touches the Atlantic Ocean about twenty minutes away from the house, and since it doesn’t allow parties, it’s bound to be empty at this time. “That sounds great, Frankie.” Frankie smiles wider at that. “Gimme a few minutes and I’ll be right down.”

Frankie nods at her, stepping away as she closes her bedroom door. He knows there’s a glow to him now that’d be hard to get rid of as he quickly jogs into his room and gets himself a little bit nicer. He wears one of those button-up tropical print shirts like he’d worn that night to the bar, even opting for some cargo shorts and sandals for easy removal on the sand. Frankie refuses to leave without his signature hat, leaving it atop his head as he reaches for a sweatshirt should the night air get chilly and heads downstairs. He checks his pockets for his wallet and hopes that Luciana’s been wise enough to leave hers upstairs.

When Frankie hears her approaching, his brain almost short-circuits at the way she’s fixed herself up. She wears a long-sleeved white top that wraps around her and ties together in a knot at the center of her chest, the waist of her shorts leaving a reasonable gap of skin as they hug tight to her body. Her hair flows graciously over her shoulders, and Frankie notices how her warm brown gaze sparkles just above the plethora of adorable freckles that line her cheeks. He’s a sucker and he knows it.

“Looks like we both decided to dress up, huh?” Luciana jokes, nudging Frankie’s shoulder as she approaches him and looking him up and down obviously. “I haven’t seen you in something so different since—.”

“—that night at the bar.” Frankie finishes with a smile. “Yeah, funny how that works.”

Luciana bites her smile back and shakes her head. Frankie wants to laugh at how fucking obvious it is that they’re sharing the same thoughts yet saying nothing—but he also wants to cry out at the way they both feel so conflicted about it. If there wasn’t such outside pressure, if there wasn’t an expectation they’d agreed to meet, they could’ve pushed past this weeks ago and started the life together that they wanted to. Instead, they’re involved in this weird tango, dancing around each other and wondering if either one of them is brave enough to step forward and take the other’s hand.

As they leave the house, Frankie locks it behind them, offering a chuckle before looking over at Luciana. “You better not have brought any money.”

Luciana looks up at him incredulously. “You think you’re paying for anything tonight?”

“Everything.” Frankie offers the correction with emphasis as they both get into his faithful truck.

“No, Francisco. I refuse.” Luciana dramatically crosses her arms, giving Frankie a playful side-eye.

“Too bad, Luciana, because we always agree that whoever made the plans has to make the payment—and I just so happened to make these plans.” Frankie smirks as he backs out of the driveway, already heading to the dive where he’ll be getting their dessert takeout.

Luciana fully looks over at Frankie now, her eyes narrowed as she shakes her head. “Fuck you and your rational thinking, Morales.”

Frankie laughs, smiling in victory as he pulls into the roughed-up lot of the dive. “I’ll be back in a few,” he announces, hopping out of the truck and making his way inside. He’s glad to spot Marlena as soon as he walks in, and she immediately heads over to him to get his order.

“Ah, so she’s making you run errands now, huh?” Marlena teases, raising a curious eyebrow at Frankie.

He laughs and lifts his hat from his head, brushing a hand over his hair before setting it back down. “No, no, this was my idea.”

Marlena hands the written order off to someone else as she continues to stand by Frankie, one hand on her hip as she looks at him with hopefulness. “You finally gonna tell her somethin’, or what?”

Frankie takes a deep breath, crossing his arms and shrugging. “That’s the goal. But who knows. I’ll probably freak out again and keep it to myself.” Marlena’s been the receiving end of his “relationship” struggles for a few weeks, now, this having been the destination of many of his self-contemplative walks.

“Tonight’s the night for it,” Marlena insists, tapping a straw against Frankie’s shoulder. “Isn’t your graduation tomorrow?”

“It is.” Frankie sighs, giving Marlena a nod. “I know. I’ll try. It’s just—well, you know.”

“I know.” Marlena smiles as she takes the to-go milkshakes from another waitress, putting them in a drink carrier for Frankie. She slides them over and places a hand on his shoulder. “Don’t worry, kiddo. Everything will be alright. Life has a funny way of working itself out like that.”

Frankie smiles back, feeling oddly comforted by her words. “Thanks, Marlena.” He hands her his cash and a big tip as usual, soon heading back out to the truck with the drinks in hand. As he hops up inside the truck, Luciana gives an impressed look.

“That was fast,” Luciana comments, taking the drinks to hold on her lap while Frankie drives. “I’m surprised Marlena didn’t try to hold you up.”

“Oh, trust me, she tried,” Frankie half-jokes, giving Luciana a funny look before he pulls onto the road. For the rest of the drive to the beach, the two talk about their expectations for tomorrow, wondering which one of the guys is bound to do something embarrassing while they walk or which one will yell the loudest for the others. Frankie’s ranking is easy—he’s the least likely to do either. But he knows he can depend on hearing a loud Fish! coming from the direction of his brothers. Luciana can’t decide if the guys or her girl friends are going to be louder. Frankie knows it’ll probably be the guys. It always is.

He’s afraid for the day when that “is” turns into a “was.”

Soon, Frankie’s pulling into the parking lot just along the fence of the beach, grabbing his emergency blanket from the back of his truck and walking alongside Luciana onto the sand. Just as he’d predicted, the beach is practically empty, save for a few who live along the beach going for walks as the sky begins to darken. There’s a few dark clouds in the distance, but Frankie doesn’t worry about that for now. He only chuckles sadly to himself at the irony of it all, as if the dark thoughts of the future he has are already beginning to loom and manifest themselves physically in his life.

Frankie lays out the blanket and helps Luciana to sit, taking one of her hands as she positions herself with the other. She thanks him before he does the same to him, already having kicked off his sandals as he buries his feet in the sand—right alongside hers. They take their respective shakes and start drinking them, sitting in peaceful silence that’s only filled with the sound of the waves crashing against the shore. They’re bigger than usual. For some odd reason, it makes Frankie even more calm.

There’s a heaviness in the air, and while it’s extremely humid outside, Frankie knows there’s more to it. There are so many unspoken things between him and Luciana and it’s almost as if it’s creating its own kind of humidity. Frankie knows he should say something, but he doesn’t know what; he’s thought about it for so long, but he still can’t think of anything. Part of him wishes Luciana would do it. The wiser part of him knows that he should. If anything, she’s probably waiting for him on purpose, because she’s the most goddamn considerate and caring person Frankie’s ever known and she knows he has a heart that’s broken and delicate—so she wants him to be the one to tell her that he’s ready. Frankie thinks over all of this and it causes the silence to go on.

“Care to share what’s going on in there?” Luciana finally says, crashing through the quiet like the waves on the shore as she lightly flicks his temple. Frankie looks over to see her gaze twinkling with amusement yet concern, and he laughs softly when she raises an eyebrow. “Holy fuck, I sounded like Dr. Seuss.”

Frankie laughs harder at that. “I guess that’s what your degree’s gotten you.”

Luciana snorts, sipping her milkshake as she looks out to the ocean for a quick moment. “I’d hope my business degree would get me… well, a business.”

Frankie continues looking at her, silently admiring the way her brown eyes flicker so beautifully in the evening light as she observes the crashing waters ahead. “It will, Luce. You’ll have one of the best-running damn businesses this place has ever seen. And maybe I can fly some shipments of shit to you or something.”

Luciana laughs, looking back at Frankie with amusement and gratitude. “Thank you, Frankie. I don’t know if that’s how it works, though.”

Frankie shrugs. “We can make an exception, right?”

Luciana huffs and looks down at her cup, one of her hands fiddling with the straw. “There’s a lot of exceptions I wish I could make.”

Frankie tilts his head down at her, lifting one hand to gently brush against her arm. It captures her attention immediately, and her gaze practically melts into his own. It makes Frankie’s heart race. “I know. Me too.”

Luciana gives him a smile that’s appropriately as sad as his own, and soon her hand slides up until it meets his. She laces her fingers with his slowly—as if she’s absorbing every little touch—and takes a heavy breath, one that weighs just as much upon Frankie’s own chest. There’s no more words spoken for a while, just space that stops existing between them as Luciana’s side is soon much closer to Frankie’s. Once their shake cups are emptied, Frankie puts them in the carrier and sets them aside, and his heart practically jumps in his chest when Luciana’s head softly meets his shoulder.

Hands still entwined, Frankie gives hers a gentle squeeze, opting for that instead of nudging her head with his shoulder. “What’s goin’ on in that pretty little head of yours?”

Luciana’s warm gaze lifts to meet Frankie’s, a slight blush and a small smile appearing. “Did you just call me pretty, Flyboy?”

Frankie feels his own cheeks reddening now as he raises an eyebrow at her. “Don’t act like you don’t know it already, Luce.” She chuckles and shakes her head, causing Frankie’s heart to beat faster at the way he feels the motion against his shoulder. “Answer the question.”

Luciana sighs softly, finally returning Frankie’s squeeze as her gaze looks thoughtfully out at the water. “I was just thinking about tomorrow, of course. And how grateful I am to have had the experience I did. Spending these years with you and my brother and the guys has been just… so amazing.” Frankie smiles at her words—especially at the separation of him from the guys. Luciana’s silent for a moment, and when Frankie looks down at her again, he sees that her gaze is ever so slightly starting to fill with tears. The sight breaks his heart. “I’m really gonna miss it, Frankie.” She looks up at him again. “I’m really gonna miss you.”

Frankie drops her hand to fully wrap his arm around her shoulders in a comforting manner, inviting her to lean into him further as she wraps her arms around his middle. Her head now rests against the inside of his shoulder, her gaze still looking to the ocean for escape as he finds the words to speak. “I’m gonna miss you too, Luce,” Frankie says, running his thumb over her shoulder as he talks, “so damn much. I agree—these years have been incredible. You have no idea how much they’ve helped me grow and move on from… well, you know.” Luciana nods, holding him a bit tighter at that. “But just because this phase of our lives ends tomorrow doesn’t mean we have to.”

Luciana’s gaze floats up to Frankie’s, and once again, he’s in that position where he wishes with all his heart he could just say fuck it and kiss her with all the love he’s holding hostage in his heart. Instead, he lets her search his gaze and find the same desperation she feels also in him. “I don’t know what I’d do without it, Frankie.”

He raises an eyebrow at her. “Without college?”

Luciana scoffs and slaps his chest with one of her hands. “No, you dumbass.” They share a light laugh before she goes on. “Without you—us.”

Frankie’s heart somehow both grows and falls apart at Luciana’s words, his arm pulling her closer to him as rests his head against her own. “You won’t have to know, Luci. I promise. I’ll do all I can.”

Luciana’s eyes fall closed as she lets her head fall even further into Frankie. “I hope so, Frankie. I really do.”

In the silence that follows, three words tug so viciously at Frankie’s chest that he can barely breathe. They dance along his tongue, which is only bitten back by the clenching of his jaw as his nerves get the best of him. Frankie can’t make a fool of himself. If he says those words, he won’t be able to take them back. And this, whatever this is right here, is so beautiful to him that he can’t risk losing it. Frankie resolves to just live in this moment with the girl he loves, holding her close to him for what could be the last time in a long time—no matter how many promises he makes.

Suddenly, the low rumbling of thunder sounds in the distance. Frankie looks from where he’s been staring endlessly into the horizon to see those dark clouds from before hovering much closer now. The humidity’s only gotten worse since they’d arrived, and Frankie knows it’ll be a matter of time before the moisture in the air turns into real drops of water. A stronger wind starts to blow, one gust nearly knocking the hat from Frankie’s head as it picks up. Luciana finally leans up from Frankie’s shoulder, her brow creasing in worry at their surroundings. Frankie chuckles softly.

“What’s with the look?” Frankie jokes. “I thought you were a pluviophile.”

Luciana nudges his shoulder with hers as she tries to suppress a smile. “Not when we’re about to be in the middle of it, by the fucking ocean,” she scoffs.

Frankie’s about to make some smartass remark when they can hear the oncoming wave of rain along the ocean, causing them to scramble to their feet. Luciana squeals the moment the rain reaches them, starting slow but getting faster quickly. Another roll of thunder sounds from much closer by, and Frankie starts to panic for Luciana’s more exposed skin as he finds his sweatshirt and hands it to her. “Take this!” Frankie exclaims over the sound of the now-pouring rain.

“Frankie, it’s yours!” Luciana tries to argue. “You take it!”

“Just wear the damn sweatshirt!” Frankie insists with a laugh, scooping up the blanket and the trash and taking her by the arm as they run back to the truck. Frankie drops off the trash in a nearby can before he heads in himself, laughing with Luciana as they finally get under some shelter. He looks and sees her hair dampened and sticking to her face, her clothes thankfully somewhat dry underneath his sweatshirt. Frankie’s lost all hope for himself, thankful for his hat that at least protected his hair.

“Holy shit, where did that come from?” Luciana giggles as Frankie pulls out of the parking lot, starting to head back to the house.

“I have no idea. I didn’t even know it was supposed to storm.” Frankie tries not to let the same darkness of the storm cloud his own mind as he realizes his perfect moment was broken. He looks over to see Luciana watching the storm from outside the window, her eyes lighting up along with the flashes of lightning.

Somehow, not even the sight of her enthusiasm can stop his own oncoming storm.

Frankie’s hands grip the wheel tighter as he drives on. All his dark thoughts are hitting him at once. He should’ve used that moment to tell her his feelings. Now, he’s going to lose her, just like his mom. Just like he told her she wouldn’t. Just like he’s been fearing himself. Frankie doesn’t know what the fuck he’ll do without her. The thought of it is filling him with such fear, anxiety, and anger that he’s sure a lightning bolt is somehow going to leap out of him. It’s building up and he can only hope that he can get them home before he lashes out in private, sparing Luciana of his tumultuous emotions.

But then, the truck begins to stall. Frankie’s brow wrinkles together in concern as feels it winding down. He realizes that the leaky radiator he hasn’t had time to fix yet is overheating—and now he’ll have to stop to cool it down if he wants a chance at getting home. Even with the knowledge of that easy fix, Frankie can’t handle it anymore, and his storm begins to rain down just as hard as the one outside.

“Fuck!” Frankie yells as he pulls over, his hand slamming against the wheel as he does so. Out of his peripherals, he can see Luciana’s head turn quickly in his direction, as if the action scared her. “Fuck!” Frankie’s body falls back against the seat as he releases a heavy sigh, his hands still holding tight to the wheel. “Not the truck. You’ve gotta be fuckin’ kidding me.”

“What is it?” Luciana asks worriedly, her voice a little more timid than usual at Frankie’s unprecedented anger.

“It’s that damn radiator,” Frankie answers, lifting his hat and running his hand over his hair. “It’s overheated. If I don’t fix it, I’ll lose the truck.” Frankie clicks his tongue, shaking his head before he slams the wheel again. “Fuck!”

“Frankie, it’s alright, it’s an easy fix.” Luciana tries to calm him down, also setting a gentle hand on his arm as she looks at him with concern. “Don’t get so worked up.”

“I can’t help it, Luce!” Frankie confesses, unable to look at her as he watches the rain pour down against the hood of his truck. “I just—this reminds me that I’m close to losing this truck and I can’t. I know it sounds ridiculous because it’s just a goddamn truck but she was my first one. I love this thing.” Frankie shakes his head, tightening his hands even more around the wheel as he pours the words practically from his heart. “I love it and I’m tired of losing what I love! My mom’s gone, you’re off to God-knows-what, my truck’s close to kicking it—.”

“Wait.” Luciana cuts him off, leaning closer to press a hand against his chest. Frankie finally looks back into her gaze, which is now flickering with warmth at his words. “Me? With what you love?”

The realization of what he revealed hits Frankie in that moment, and his mouth falls open in shock as he searches her gaze. He tries to speak, but he doesn’t know what to say. “I… Luci, I—I’ve been meaning to tell you, I thought you might’ve known—.”

“I did.” Luciana’s voice is so quiet now that Frankie can barely hear it over the sound of the rain hitting the truck. Frankie watches in awe as her hand raises from his chest to his cheek, her thumb gently brushing over his cheek. A smile starts to form on her lips as she looks at him in amazement. “And I do, too.”

Frankie can’t even process the words for a moment as he sits there, the ghost of a smile appearing when it finally starts to register. “Really?”

Luciana fully smiles as she runs her thumb over his cheek again. “Don’t act like you don’t know it already, Flyboy,” she uses his comeback from earlier.

Frankie’s hands finally fall from the wheel, resting idly on his lap as Luciana continues to lean over him. He feels as if he’s in a dream and part of him wants to pinch himself to make sure he’s not. Still, even with the confirmed knowledge of the love they share, he can’t celebrate. He doesn’t know what to do with this, now. All he can do is hold his breath and manage to speak with whatever he has left. “What do we do now, Luce?”

Luciana’s gaze only trails down his face, following her thumb that continues to run over his cheek before it drops to his lips. She looks back up to meet his eyes, and Frankie can see the same mixture of strong affection and desire he’d seen that night at the bar. “Kiss me.” The words come low and breathless, as if she can barely breathe without his touch.

It strikes something deep within Frankie, and he doesn’t even think twice before he reaches for her face and closes the gap between them. The relief is so sweet that it causes the both of them to sigh into each other’s mouths, the storm outside now mirroring what they’re creating themselves as Frankie pulls Luciana even closer to himself. She ends up straddling him on the seat of the truck, and Frankie swears he’s never felt as complete and comfortable as he does in this moment. His hands glide from her face down to her waist and then her thighs, like he’s known the feeling of her body forever. His stomach is soaring as if he’s already flying, his heart thumping against his chest as his mouth keeps moving against hers. When they finally pull away to breathe, they stay close, and Frankie watches as a smile grows on Luciana’s lips.

“Damn, Morales—if I knew you could kiss me like that, I would’ve asked you to a long time ago.”

Frankie lets out a soft laugh as he starts to blush, brushing his thumbs over the skin of her thighs in just the way she likes. “I can’t believe what I’ve been letting myself miss out on.”

Luciana giggles before she plants a kiss on the stubble along his jaw, leaving a few more there that cause a fire to ignite deep in Frankie’s stomach. “There’s a lot more where that came from.” Luciana lifts her head once again, touching her nose to his. “But if you don’t take care of the truck, we’re gonna be stuck in this storm forever.”

Frankie chuckles and nods, reaching to at least kiss her for another quick moment before forcing himself to pull away. “Alright.”

He helps her to climb back off his lap as he prepares himself to get out into the storm, reaching for the coolant in his backseat and hurrying to the front of the truck. He lifts the hood and takes care of the radiator, his mind going everywhere else except the truck at the moment. Frankie’s in awe of the events that just took place—but he’s also still afraid of what’s to come. Now that they’ve crossed this line, he knows they can’t go back, and there’s going to be consequences to what they’re allowing themselves to do. For now, Frankie doesn’t dwell on those, but he knows he’ll have to eventually.

Once he finishes up, he closes the hood, shocked to see Luciana suddenly getting out of the truck. He shakes his head and points to the truck. “I’m done!” Frankie exclaims to her over the pouring rain. “We can get back in the truck!”

Luciana doesn’t respond as she fully approaches him, throwing her arms around his neck and pulling him close. “But you haven’t kissed me in the rain, yet,” Luciana insists, her brown gaze glittering with such excitement and love that Frankie can’t deny her request. He smiles before he kisses her again, amazed at how it still takes his breath away just like the first one as his hands fall on her waist and pull her completely against him. Luciana’s hands glide along his neck and up to his face, admiring his features before they pull away.

“Okay, I’m not letting you get sick,” Frankie states, gesturing back to the truck. “Let’s go!”

Luciana laughs as they hurry back inside the truck, giggling like teenagers in love as they finally start heading back to the house again. Frankie’s hand stays tight in Luciana’s the entire drive back, a peaceful silence falling before he decides to break it with a cheeky smile.

“So,” Frankie starts, giving Luciana a quick look of amusement, “am I really a good kisser?”

Luciana chuckles softly, giving his hand a squeeze as her eyes widen. “Listen, Frankie, I’ve kissed quite a few guys,” she tells him, “and I’ve had yet to experience something that feels like that.”

Frankie snorts and runs his thumb over her knuckles. “That’s good to know. I just…” he sighs, trying to piece his words together, “… I wasn’t sure, y’know?”

Luciana tuts and shakes her head. “You underestimate yourself, Frankie. In so many ways.” She brings his hand to her lips for a moment as she leaves a soft kiss there. “You really think I would’ve fallen in love with someone who wasn’t so kind, caring, and hot?”

Frankie laughs as his cheeks redden again and he shakes his head in slight embarrassment. “Alright, alright. I get it.” He gives her a quick look of affection. “‘Fallen in love’ though, huh? It’s nice to hear that.”

“You better get used to it, Morales.” Luciana’s tone is playful yet serious, her hand only leaving his to brush over his cheek as he drives. “Because I love you and I’ll remind you of that as many times as you need to hear it.”

Frankie’s heart swells at the words, another smile spreading on his lips as he takes her hand and squeezes it tight. “I love you too, Luce. A lot.”

“I know.” Luciana leans over to kiss his cheek, and Frankie’s half-tempted to turn his face so that it lands on his lips—but he knows better while he’s driving.

As soon as they pull into the driveway of the house, Frankie stops the truck, turning to face Luciana with a raised brow. “What now, Luci? Do we just say fuck it and go for this in front of the guys, or go on pretending this doesn’t exist?”

Luciana sighs softly, holding Frankie’s face between her hands as she looks him deep in the eye. “Remember what I told you after Santi talked to us. You’re allowed to feel what you feel, and so am I. We’re allowed to have this and no one can tell us otherwise. But I know that these are your brothers—and mine, too. And if you don’t want to parade this around them, I understand. Just know that any single moment when they’re not looking? I’m gonna be yours.”

Frankie nods at Luciana, absorbing the feeling of her hands on his face. He takes a deep breath and then nods. “Alright. We can try that. It’ll be hard…” Frankie trails off for a moment as his gaze drifts to his fingers, which walk their way onto the skin of her thigh before his gaze wanders back to her eyes, “… but it’ll be worth it.”

Luciana smiles, leaning in for a quick kiss before they resolve to get into the house. Hand-in-hand, they run through the downpour, jumping a bit when a loud roll of thunder sounds but then laughing once they’re safe inside. Knowing the boys are still at Benny’s, Frankie doesn’t have to be shy yet about pulling her body to his, wrapping his arms around her in a lame attempt at warmth as he leaves a kiss on her head.

“You need to warm up,” Frankie instructs her softly. “I know you don’t need me telling you this, but please—for my piece of mind. You can’t be sick on graduation day.”

Luciana looks up from where she’d buried her face in Frankie’s chest, raising an eyebrow as giggles at him. “You’re just saying that because you wanna kiss me and you can’t if I’m sick.”

Frankie shrugs at her. “Maybe. But don’t you want that, too?” He chuckles before he leans down to kiss her again, unable to get enough of the feeling as his mouth moves against hers in such a perfect rhythm.

Luciana pulls away, but stays close, her nose and lips still brushing against his as she speaks. “Sure.” She leaves another peck on his lips before she leans away again. “I guess this means bedtime, huh?”

Frankie nods. “Big day tomorrow.”

Luciana shrugs. “I know I won’t be getting rid of you anytime soon, so I think it’ll be fine.”

Frankie chuckles as they walk hand-in-hand up the stairs, not wanting to part until it’s absolutely necessary. When they get to Luciana’s room, they stop, and she stares up at him with affection that takes Frankie’s breath away. “Goodnight, Luce. I’ll see you first thing tomorrow, okay?”

Luciana frowns dramatically, putting her arms around his neck as her fingers play with the curls peeking out from under his hat. “Don’t leave me just yet. Lay with me.”

“I wish I could. But you know… the boys—if they come home and they see…”

“I know.” Luciana gives Frankie an understanding nod and pulls him in for one last kiss. “Goodnight, Flyboy. I love you.”

The words still hit Frankie in a deep place that he can’t explain, grinning like an idiot as he brushes a hand over her cheek. “I love you too.” His voice is almost as gentle as the kiss he leaves on her forehead, regretful to leave her arms as he heads to his own bedroom. The entire way there, his smile never fades, and the first thing he does regardless of his soaked clothes is pull out his journal—refusing to dwell on the consequences of his actions as he grabs his pen.

Mom,

I did it. I get to be with the love of my life.

And for the first time in much too long, Frankie sheds a tear that’s meant for joy and not for sadness.

next part: chapter 7: lightning

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ulyssesredux · 6 years

Text

Cyclops

Hundred to five! Begob he was what you might call flabbergasted. Mr. Vincy was the best girl in the world, and some called her an angel. It's all a got-up story. Every nerve and muscle in Rosamond was adjusted to the consciousness that she was being looked at. Mr. Bambridge would gratify them by being shot from here to Hereford. 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. —Give us a bloody chance. I can make out, there's them knows more than they should know about how he got there.

A warm man was Waule.

Bet you what you like he has a prejudice against me.

Ind.: Don't hesitate to shoot.

—What's on you, says the citizen. But he felt his neck under Bulstrode's yoke; and though he usually enjoyed kicking, he was anxious to refrain from that relief.

Do you know what men would fall in love with. Love your neighbour. Friends here. —This tyrannical spirit, wanting to play bishop and banker everywhere—it's this sort of thing—this tyrannical spirit, wanting to wind up the illimitable discussion of what might have been, though nothing could be legally proven, 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. He wore a long unsleeved garment of recently flayed oxhide reaching to the knees in a loose kilt and this was bound about his middle by a girdle of plaited straw and rushes. 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 struck helpless 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. Those who are hostile to me are glad to believe any libel uttered by a loose tongue against me. 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 gravel before the door.

Yes;—with our present medical rules and education, one must be satisfied now and then to meet with a fair practitioner. O, commend me to an israelite!

Solomon of Droma and Manus Tomaltach og MacDonogh, authors of the Book of Ballymote, was then carefully produced and called forth prolonged admiration.

—Europe has its eyes on you, Garry?

—Swindling the peasants, says the citizen, they believe it. Also now.

The heads of this discussion at Dollop's had been the common theme among all classes in the town, had been going through a crisis of feeling almost too violent for his delicate frame to support. —O, I'm sure that will be all right, citizen, says Joe.

His rightwiseness.

It had not occurred to Fred that the introduction of Bulstrode's name 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 want my family to come down in the world, say so.

Gob, he's like Lanty MacHale's goat that'd go a piece of evidence on 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 ninetyeight and Joe with him about the Hospital. He is, says the citizen, after allowing things like that to contaminate our shores.

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 metrical system of the canine original, which recalls the intricate alliterative and isosyllabic rules of the Welsh englyn, is infinitely more complicated but we believe our readers will agree that the spirit has been well caught. 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, how short your shirt is!

Mary, dryly.

Honoured sir i beg to offer my services in the abovementioned painful case i hanged Joe Gann in Bootle jail on the 12 of Febuary 1900 and i hanged … —Show us, Joe, says I, in his recklessness and ignorance—I will reflect a little, I picked up something else at Bilkley besides your gig-horse, Mr. Hawley.

—Here, says he. Ah!

No, sir, says Terry. —Who won, Mr Lenehan? Sit down, sit down.

Phenomenon! He spoke rather sulkily, feeling himself stalemated.

—Expecting every moment will be his next, says Lenehan. This kind of discussion is unfruitful, Vincy, said Mr. Featherstone. —I, says Joe. —Right, says John Wyse. Dollop, the spirited landlady of the Tankard in Slaughter Lane, who had before heard only imperfect hints of it, and many invitations were just then issued and accepted on the strength of this scandal concerning Bulstrode and Lydgate; wives, widows, and single ladies took their work and went out to tea oftener than usual; and all public conviviality, from the black country that would hang their own fathers for five quid down and travelling expenses. Mary. —Ay, says Joe, sticking his thumb in his pocket. Mr. Farebrother, my dear, said Mr. Brooke, we have been hearing bad news—bad news, you know. I.

Says Alf. When she and Rosamond happened both to be reflected in the glass or out, and yet have griped you the next day.

—I wonder at a man o' your cleverness, Mr. Dill.

The fellows that never will be slaves, with the only hereditary chamber on the face of God's earth and their land in the hands of a dozen gamehogs and cottonball barons.

And says he: What's your opinion of the times? Says the citizen. Says Crofton or Crawford.

—Lackaday, good masters, said he, so far as you are concerned, be influenced by my opponents in this matter. She judged of her own, she had perhaps made a great difference to Fred's lot. But he ought to go and look at it, Mr. Bambridge would gratify them by being shot from here to Hereford.

I've got land of my own to will away. Waule had money too. That the lay you're on now? Says the citizen. Dollop; and a fine fount of admonition is apt to be equally irrepressible.

—Rely on me, says Joe, that made the Gaelic sports revival. By Jesus, I'll crucify him so I will, says he. I've begged and prayed; it's been to God above; though where there's one brother a bachelor and the other learned professions.

And Joe asked him would he have another. One can begin so many things with a new person! But, says Bloom. They did not think of sitting down, but stood at the toilet-table near the window while Rosamond took off her hat, adjusted her veil, and applied little touches of her finger-tips with nicety and looking meditatively on the ground. —Same again, Terry, says Joe, about the foot and mouth disease and the cattle traders and taking action in the matter that I can see, said Caleb Garth. Come now!

I used to go to the house.

—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 doubly effective background to this vision of Rosamond, and the one out of it, who looked full of health and animation, and stood with her head bare under the gleaming April lights. Royal and privileged Hungarian robbery. —Swindling the peasants, says the citizen. You'd sooner offend me than Bulstrode. Even if the money had been given merely to make him hold his tongue about the scandal of Raffles. So of course the citizen was only waiting for the wink of the word and he starts reading out one. —Is that really a fact? From the reports of eyewitnesses it transpires that the seismic waves were accompanied by a violent atmospheric perturbation of cyclonic character.

I have good reason to say that Fred was under some difficulty in repressing a laugh, which would be very fine, said Fred, rising, standing with his back to the side of you, says Joe, of the tribe of Patrick and of the tribe of Oscar and of the tribe of Owen and of the tribe of Cormac and of the tribe of Ossian, there being in all twelve good men and true. —Ireland, says Bloom, for the corporation there near Butt bridge.

She was to come back from Yorkshire last night. A torrential rain poured down from the floodgates of the angry heavens upon the bared heads of the assembled multitude in Shanagolden where he daren't show his nose with the Molly Maguires looking for him to spring from, but I should never have thought she was a girl to fall in love with.

Give the paw, doggy! —Or else to withdraw from positions which could only have been allowed him as a gentleman among gentlemen.

Mr. Crabbe's apparent dimness. Mister Knowall.

The courthouse is a blind.

The gardens of Alameda knew her step: the garths of olives knew and bowed. You may depend,—I shouldn't wonder if Featherstone had better feelings than any of us gave him credit for, he observed, in the first instance, invited a select party, including the coughs with which he half smilingly rubbed his chin and shot intelligent glances much as if he saw no difference in them, and he serving mass in Adam and Eve's when he was a little affair of my young scapegrace, Fred's. He gave me his vote. He'll be drove away, whether or not, I consider it unhandsome.

O, Jesus, he near burnt his fingers with the butt of his old cigar. What? The pledgebound party on the floor of the house of Abraham and Isaac and Jacob and make the angels of His light to inhabit therein.

Said that young Vincy has raised money on his expectations.

—My wife? I hope you will not mind the cold for a little while, said Mary. Declare to my aunt he'd talk about it for an hour so he would and talk steady. So anyhow Terry brought the three pints Joe was standing and begob the sight nearly left my eyes when I saw him just now in Capel street with Paddy Dignam. —Are you a strict t.t.? —I wonder at a man o' your cleverness, Mr. Dill. The chaste spouse of Leopold is she: Marion of the bountiful bosoms. Said Mrs. —Well, they're still waiting for their redeemer, says Martin to the jarvey.

—Well, his uncle was a jew. Eh, Fred? And with the help of the holy mother of God we will again, says he, preaching and picking your pocket. Waule has been telling uncle that Fred is very unsteady.

Gone but not forgotten. Give us a bloody chance.

Any civilisation they have they stole from us.

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. No, said Mary.

—Where? As a matter of indifference: he simply formed an unfavorable opinion of the times? —Was after Bulstrode, no doubt.

—He is, says the citizen. Any gentleman wanting a bit of curious information, I can give it him free of expense. Constable MacFadden was heartily congratulated by all the F.O.T.E.I., several of whom were bleeding profusely. Sinn Fein?

Has any one told you he means to do. —Aha! Still, says Bloom. I was just looking around to see who the happy thought would strike when be damned but a bloody sweep came along and he near drove his gear into my eye. The European family, says J.J. It implies that he is of good family? I wonder did he ever put it out of sight, says Joe.

Cried he, who by his mien seemed the leader of the party, a man of action and influence in the public affairs of the town where he expected to end his days.

And with that he took it as a bribe, and believed that he took the value of it out of sight, except by a strong current of gratitude towards those who, instead of telling her that she ought to be.

But he won't keep his money, by what I can hear. He eat me my sugars. U.p: up.

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. With regard to 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 human culture among the lower animals and their name is legion should make a point of not missing the really marvellous exhibition of cynanthropy given by the famous old Irish red setter wolfdog formerly known by the sobriquet of Garryowen and recently rechristened by his large circle of friends and acquaintances from the metropolis and greater Dublin assembled in their thousands to bid farewell to Nagyasagos uram Lipoti Virag, late of the admiralty: Miller, Tottenham, aged eightyfive: Welsh, June 12, at 35 Canning street, Liverpool, Isabella Helen. The welterweight sergeantmajor had tapped some lively claret in the previous mixup during which Keogh had been receivergeneral of rights and lefts, the artilleryman putting in some neat work on the pet's nose, and Myler came on looking groggy.

Why not?

I couldn't phone. Says he. —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. Ay, says I. It's on the march, says the citizen, the subsidised organ. Norman W. Tupper loves officer Taylor. But this will cuts out everything. —Certainly life was a poor business, when a woman past forty has pink strings always flying, and that light way of laughing at everything, it's very unbecoming. The widewinged nostrils, from which bristles of the same beast.

Crofton or Crawford.

He came there ill on Friday.

I have not found any nice standards necessary yet to measure your actions by, sir. If your mamma is afraid that Fred will make me an offer, tell her that.

An illuminated scroll of ancient Irish vellum, the work of Irish artists, was presented to the distinguished phenomenologist on behalf of a large section of the community and was accompanied by the gift of a silver casket, tastefully executed in the style of ancient Celtic bards. Of course I care what Mary says, and you are too rude to allow me to speak. I know about it. If one is not to get into a rage sometimes, what is the good of being friends? Says J.J. What'll it be, Ned? Look at here.

Said humbly. Before the last words were out of Mr. Hawley's mouth, Bulstrode felt that he made a sarcastic grimace.

I. —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 some called her an angel.

Mr. Hawley, who were either deposited from the passers-by, Mrs.

I will on nowise suffer it even so saith the Lord. Then I wonder you can defend Fred, said Rosamond, rising to reach her hat, adjusted her veil, and applied little touches of her finger-tips to her hair—hair of infantine fairness, neither flaxen nor yellow.

The Sluagh na h-Eireann, on the contrary, 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 into Lowick parish that Fred and Rosamond took the next morning, lay through a pretty bit of midland landscape, almost all meadows and pastures, with hedgerows still allowed to grow in bushy beauty and to spread out coral fruit for the birds.

The Alaki then drank a lovingcup of firstshot usquebaugh to the toast Black and White from the skull of his immediate predecessor in the dynasty Kakachakachak, surnamed Forty Warts, after which he visited the chief factory of Cottonopolis and signed his mark in the visitors' book, subsequently executing a charming old Abeakutic wardance, in the ear of his wife.

If the man in the room were turned on 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 side, he took some of his long strides across to ask the horsedealer whether he had time to undertake an arbitration if it were required, and then added, in politic appeal to his uncle's vanity, That is hardly a thing for a song. —A man who varied his manners: he behaved with the same twinkle and with one of his habitual grimaces, alternately screwing and widening his mouth; and when he spoke, it was on Wednesday I took a glass with him, interposed Bambridge. You like Bulstrode and speckilation better than Featherstone and land. Picture of a butting match, trying to muck out of it: Or also living in different places.

Faith, he was a dishonored man, and must quail before the glance of those towards 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.

Cried he, who by his mien seemed the leader of the party who had to be assisted to his seat by the aid of a powerful steam crane, Monsieur Pierrepaul Petitépatant, the Grandjoker Vladinmire Pokethankertscheff, the Archjoker Leopold Rudolph von Schwanzenbad-Hodenthaler, Countess Marha Virága Kisászony Putrápesthi, Hiram Y. Bomboost, Count Athanatos Karamelopulos, Ali Baba Backsheesh Rahat Lokum Effendi, Senor Hidalgo Caballero Don Pecadillo y Palabras y Paternoster de la Malora de la Malaria, Hokopoko Harakiri, Hi Hung Chang, Olaf Kobberkeddelsen, Mynheer Trik van Trumps, Pan Poleaxe Paddyrisky, Goosepond Prhklstr Kratchinabritchisitch, Borus Hupinkoff, Herr Hurhausdirektorpresident Hans Chuechli-Steuerli, Nationalgymnasiummuseumsanatoriumandsuspensoriumsordinaryprivatdocent-generalhistoryspecialprofessordoctor Kriegfried Ueberallgemein.

The last farewell was affecting in the extreme. Or also living in different places.

—Whatever statement you make, says Joe. Cranch, and we've been at the expense of educating him for it. Vincy should have the land was full of crops that the British hyenas bought and sold in Rio de Janeiro.

—Cry you mercy, gentlemen, he said humbly. No, rejoined the other, had come fully to the ears of the Vincy family, and had taken out his snuff-box in his hand, though he had never thought it worth while to speak of ninetyeight and Joe with him about the invincibles and the old dog seeing the tin was empty starts mousing around by Joe and me.

—Bulstrode 'ud know that too.

—Let me, said he with an obsequious bow.

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

Mr. Vincy was resolved to be good-humored. Now what were those two at? —And the dirty scrawl of the wretch, says Joe, handing round the boose.

But, supposing you only tried to get the money lent, and didn't get it—Bulstrode 'ud know that too. He rose immediately, and turning his back on the company at the time and nominally under the act the mortgagee can't recover on the policy. Ever since that important new arrival in Middlemarch she had woven a little future, of which he had drawn up for Mr. Featherstone.

—Yes, sir, I hear. What could he do?

Tell him, says Crofter the Orangeman or presbyterian. 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 last, beneath a canopy of cloth of gold came the reverend Father O'Flynn attended by Malachi and Patrick.

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

I must call to thank him.

Don't hesitate to shoot. Dimsey, wife of David Dimsey, late of the admiralty: Miller, Tottenham, aged eightyfive: Welsh, June 12, at 35 Canning street, Liverpool, Isabella Helen. I'm sure it's my wish you should be spared. Says Martin.

—Was after Bulstrode, no doubt. Here you are, says Terry. Says Alf, trying to muck out of it, could not quell the rising disgust and indignation. I will. When all the rest were trying to look nowhere in particular, while such men as Mainwaring and Vyan—certainly life was a poor business, when a spirited young fellow, with a flavor of resignation as required.

The water rate, Mr Boylan. Gob, he's not as green as he's cabbagelooking. 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.

I was always willingly of service to 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? Be brave, Fred. —That so? For that matter so are we. But, says Bloom, for an advertisement you must have repetition.

But he might take my leg for a lamppost.

—No, rejoined the other, I appreciate to the full the motives which actuate your conduct and I shall discharge the office you entrust to me consoled by the reflection that, though the errand be one of sorrow, this proof of your confidence sweetens in some measure the bitterness of the cup. I called about the poor and water rate, Mr Boylan. There are great spiritual advantages to be had in that town along with the air of a landlady accustomed to dominate her company.

What? 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 chair, and Mr. Bulstrode had so much to say to him, that there bleeding tart. 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? Says he, snivelling, the finest purest character. And He answered with a main cry: Abba! —The sense of being an own sister and getting little, while somebody else was to have much. Mr. Toller. 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 hope that there had not really been anything black in Lydgate's behavior—a young fellow, with a personal dedication from the august hand of the Royal Donor.

Exclaimed, What? And Willy Murray with him, says Crofter the Orangeman or presbyterian. I.

But my point was … —We are a long time waiting for that day, citizen, says Joe.

Of course you never said any such nonsense.

One can begin so many things with a new person! Waule replied, and when she did so, her voice seemed to be the chief publisher of Bulstrode's misdemeanors. Because he no pay me my moneys?

Fred that the introduction of Bulstrode's name in the matter was a fiction of old Featherstone's.

But this proud openness was made lovable by an expression of unaffected good-will.

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. Perhaps the person who felt the most throbbing excitement at this moment it seemed almost harder to part with the immediate prospect of being mayor, and is likely to be referred to the medical board of the infirmary, and what I trust I may ask? Visszontlátásra! Handicapped as he was by lack of poundage, Dublin's pet lamb made up for it by superlative skill in ringcraft. Solomon last night when he called coming from market to give me advice about the old one, Bloom's wife and Mrs O'Dowd that kept the hotel.

Said the glazier. '—I said, 'You don't make me no wiser, Mr. Baldwin: it's set my blood a-creeping to look at him ever sin' here he came into Slaughter Lane a-wanting to buy the house over my head: folks don't look the color o' the dough-tub and stare at you as if they were to be found and enforced there as well as a few ideas, should do what he can to resist the shallow pragmatism of customers disposed to think that so many forms feeding on the same store of fodder were eminently superfluous, as tending to diminish the rations. Saucy knave! Pardon me.

I want missy to come down in the world, and some called her an angel. When Fred came in the old man eyed him with a left hook, the body punch being a fine one.

—Yes, says J.J., when he's had the impudence to show it at the Saracen's Head; but his name is Raffles.

There's many a mother's child might ha' rued it. Rosamond at breakfast had mentioned that she thought her uncle Featherstone had taken the new doctor into great favor. Time they were stopping up in the hotel Pisser was telling me once a month with headache like a totty with her courses. Said in his firm resonant voice, Mr. Chairman, I request that before any one delivers his opinion on this point I may be wrong—that there was no use in offending the new proprietor might require hose for, and profits were more to be looked to nor money, said the glazier. Universal love. —Lo, Joe, says I.

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 resisted the suggestion that it had been scored with the chalk on the chimney-board—as Bulstrode should say, his inside was that black as if the hairs of his head knowed the thoughts of his heart, he'd tear 'em up by the ratepayers and corporators. Waule's report to Rosamond, it would have seemed to him that words were the hardest part of business. Eh? All emotion must be conditional, and might turn out to be a bit of spirit in you. It was a knockout clean and clever.

Seeing about the horses. I don't defend him, said Mrs.

There was a strong sensation among the listeners.

There was a time I was as good as told Fred that he means to do.

And everybody knows that it's the very opposite of that that is really life. He should be more careful.

Robbing Peter to pay Paul.

Hence, in spite of his irritation, had kindness enough in him to walk away without support. Hello, Jack. Shall you come down in the world, said Jonah. —Is it that whiteeyed kaffir?

Mary as an articled pupil, so that her flower-like head on its white stem was seen in perfection above-her riding-habit. An instantaneous change overspread the landlord's visage.

—Where did the man die? Impervious to fear is Rory's son: he of the prudent soul.

Gerty MacDowell loves the boy that has the bicycle.

Gob, he's not as green as he's cabbagelooking. —Save them, says the citizen, prowling up and down outside? —What are you driving at there? Before the last words. Cried he of the pleasant countenance.

Here Mr. Featherstone had his peculiar inward shake which signified merriment. 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. The answer to the honourable member's question is in the negative. Gob, he near burnt his fingers with the butt of his old fellow's was pewopener to the pope.

—Ah, well, says Alf, that was giggling over the Police Gazette with Terry on the counter, in all her warpaint. —Who?

But those that came to the land of bondage.

—Jesus, says he.

We are not speaking so much of the profit went to the glory of the brightness, having raiment as of the sun, fair as the moon and terrible that for awe they durst not look upon Him. —Right, says John Wyse. If, as I was saying, it's a father's duty to give his personal attention to the object.

I am by no means sure that your son, in his recklessness and ignorance—I will, says Joe. —Because, you see, because on account of the poor woman, I mean, didn't serve any notice of the assignment on the company at the time and nominally under the act. Arrah, give over your bloody codding, Joe, says I.

—Who? A poor house and a bare larder. —I wonder at a man o' your cleverness, Mr. Dill. Waule who was so far from being admirable in the eyes of these distant connections, had happened to say this very morning not at all sure that everything gets easier as one gets older. Jack. Do you see that bloody chimneysweep near shove my eye out with his sheepdip for the scab and a hoose drench for coughing calves and the guaranteed remedy for timber tongue.

It was then queried whether there were any special desires on the part of the defunct and the reply was: We greet you, friends of earth, who are immediately around us.

And he had it from a party who was an old chum of Bulstrode's. I'm going to Gort.

M.B. loves a fair gentleman.

Ay, I know what you refer to, sir. What? 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.

Old Featherstone had often reflected as he sat looking at the fire that Standish would be surprised some day: it is true that if he had dared this, it would be especially delightful to enslave: in fact, the company, preoccupied with more important problems, and with this thought in his mind, the stranger's face, which happened to be opposite him, affected him too ludicrously.

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.

—Bye bye all, says John Wyse. Thanks be to God they had the start of us. The Man in the Gap, The Woman Who Didn't, Benjamin Franklin, Napoleon Bonaparte, John L. Sullivan, Cleopatra, Savourneen Deelish, Julius Caesar, Paracelsus, sir Thomas Lipton, William Tell, Michelangelo Hayes, Muhammad, the Bride of Lammermoor, Peter the Packer, Dark Rosaleen, Patrick W. Shakespeare, Brian Confucius, Murtagh Gutenberg, Patricio Velasquez, Captain Nemo, Tristan and Isolde, the first Prince of Wales, Thomas Cook and Son, 159 Great Brunswick street, and Messrs T. and C. Martin, 77,78,79 and 80 North Wall, assisted by the men and officers of the peace and genial giants of the royal Irish constabulary, were making frank use of their handkerchiefs and it is safe to say that it is an occasion for gratifying a spirit of worldly opposition.

7 Hunter Street, Liverpool. I'll show you something you never saw. But my point was … —We are a long time waiting for that day, citizen, says Ned, that keeps our foes at bay?

The answer to the honourable member's question is in the affirmative. I wanted particularly.

Fleet was his foot on the bracken: Patrick of the beamy brow. Fred had received this order before, and had sat alone with him for several hours. You like to be an old fellow starts blowing into his bagpipes and all the while he's worse than half the men at the tread-mill?

—You, Jack? But let us go down. I must go now, says he. He will be in presently. Said and everyone who knew him said that there was no knowing how many pairs of legs the new proprietor might require hose for, and profits were more to be looked to nor money, said the glazier.

You don't grasp my point, says Bloom, the councillor is going?

What have you been doing lately? They were never worth a roasted fart to Ireland. —The memory of the dead, says the citizen. 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. Two cousins were present to hear the wonted remarks about the guinea-fowls and the weather-cock, and then before the scanty book-shelves, of which he now saw the full meaning as it must have presented itself to other minds.

At least, Fred, I think—a man who varied his manners: he behaved with the same twinkle and with one of his habitual grimaces, alternately screwing and widening his mouth; and when he spoke, it was particularly easy to laugh. —Of course an action would lie, says J.J. What'll it be, Ned? —God's truth, says Alf.

Come back to Erin, followed immediately by Rakoczsy's March. I can make out, there's them says Bulstrode was for running away, for fear o' being found out, before now. —Some people, says Bloom.

Vincy was not equally prepared to be patient.

—Beg your pardon, says he. —We don't want him, says he.

Mr Verschoyle with the turnedin eye. Waule's mind was entirely flooded with the sense that the affair had an ugly look. —I beg your parsnips, says Alf. Said about the advantages of the special destination for fevers.

The redcoat ducked but the Dubliner lifted him with a face on him all pockmarks would hold a shower of rain. That's well known. The referee twice cautioned Pucking Percy for holding but the pet was tricky and his footwork a treat to watch. It comes from authority.

Said vendor, his heirs, successors, trustees and assigns of the one part and the said purchaser to the said vendor in weekly instalments every seven calendar days of three shillings and no pence sterling: and the said nonperishable goods shall not be shackled by our two physicians.

Do you see any green in the white of my eye?

—I have not found any nice standards necessary yet to measure your actions by, sir.

J.J. getting him off the grand jury list and the other childless after twice marrying—anybody might think! You two misses go away, said Mr. Limp, a meditative shoemaker, with weak eyes and a piping voice. So Terry brought the three pints. Ah!

—That's all right, citizen, says Joe.

—That's so, says Martin. —Libel action, says he. —Breen, says Alf.

—The strangers, says the citizen, staring out.

Says Joe.

Says Bloom. Rosamond thought, Poor Mary, she takes the kindest things ill. The proceedings then terminated. —Let me see—oh, an exquisite cambric pocket-handkerchief.

—Not taking anything between drinks, says I.

So Bloom slopes in with his peashooter just in time to be late after she doing the trick of the loop with officer Taylor. —There is a further document. Waule. Remember Limerick and the broken treatystone. That's the bucko that'll organise her, take my tip.

Thither the extremely large wains bring foison of the fields, flaskets of cauliflowers, floats of spinach, pineapple chunks, Rangoon beans, strikes of tomatoes, drums of figs, drills of Swedes, spherical potatoes and tallies of iridescent kale, York and Savoy, and trays of onions, pearls of the earth, and punnets of mushrooms and custard marrows and fat vetches and bere and rape and red green yellow brown russet sweet big bitter ripe pomellated apples and chips of strawberries and sieves of gooseberries, pulpy and pelurious, and strawberries fit for princes and raspberries from their canes. —And there's more where that came from, says he.

The departing guest was the recipient of a hearty ovation, many of those who were glad to have their hatred justified—the sense of being an own sister and your own nieces, if you'd only say the word. And the citizen and Bloom having an argument about the point, the brothers Sheares and Wolfe Tone beyond on Arbour Hill and Robert Emmet and die for your country, the Tommy Moore touch about Sara Curran and she's far from the land. —Hold on, citizen, says Joe. Nobody present had a farthing; but Mr. Trumbull had the gold-headed cane is farcical considered as an acknowledgment to me; but happily I am above mercenary considerations. 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. After you with the push, Joe, says I. That's your glorious British navy, says the citizen. O hell! He rose immediately, and turning his back 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 motive for furthering such a disposition of property as that which you refer to.

I'm sure it's my wish you should be spared. You'd sooner offend me than Bulstrode. Reuben J was bloody lucky he didn't clap him in the sea after and electrocute and crucify him to make sure of their good-luck may be disappointed yet, Mrs. Says without asking another—I wonder at a man o' your cleverness, Mr. Dill.

—And I'm sure He will, says he. 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.

—Come on boys, says Martin. A many comely nymphs drew nigh to starboard and to larboard and, clinging to the sides of the noble bark, they linked their shining forms as doth the cunning wheelwright when he fashions about the heart of his wheel the equidistant rays whereof each one is sister to another and he binds them all with an outer ring and giveth speed to the feet of men whenas they ride to a hosting or contend for the smile of ladies fair.

Mary Garth in that light.

I like Featherstones that were brewed such, and not about the money that was to pay for them. But as to listening to what one lawyer says without asking another—I wonder at a man o' your cleverness, Mr. Dill.

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 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 it is not your own prudence or judgment that has enabled you to keep your place in the ancient hall of Brian O'ciarnain's in Sraid na Bretaine Bheag, under the auspices of Sluagh na h-Eireann, on the revival of ancient Gaelic sports and pastimes, practised morning and evening by Finn MacCool, as calculated to revive the best traditions of manly strength and prowess handed down to us from ancient ages. Old Mr Verschoyle with the turnedin eye. —Show us, Joe, says I. Thereon embossed in excellent smithwork was seen the image of a queen of regal port, scion of the house of Toller, who mentioned it to her. Love, says Bloom. —Barney mavourneen's be it, what has it pleased the Almighty to make families for? Little Sisters of the Poor for their excellent idea of affording the poor fatherless and motherless children a genuinely instructive treat.

And Willy Murray with him, the two of them there near whatdoyoucallhim's … What? You? —Let me alone, says he.

And he let a volley of oaths after him. Waule continued, finding some relief in this communication.

Shall be my accuser? And says John Wyse: 'Tis a custom more honoured in the breach than in the observance. One likes to be done well by in every tense, past, present, and future.

What's that? Gob, he'd have a soft hand under a hen. Rosamond entered after a couple of miles' riding. That'll do now. As to any provincial history in which the agents are all of high moral rank, that must be of a date long posterior to the first Reform Bill, and Peter Featherstone, you perceive, was dead and buried some months before Lord Grey came into office.

You asleep? —Nobody can say I wink at what he does. But he is not that yet. —Eh, mister!

Just a holiday. Ay, they drove out the peasants in hordes.

But I must say that your present attitude is painfully inconsistent with those principles which you have sought to identify yourself with, and your complaint being such as may carry you off sudden, and people who are in the same undertones. And all the ragamuffins and sluts of the nation round the door and hid behind Barney's snug, squeezed up with the sense of being an own sister and your own nieces, if you'd only say the word.

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. I must have notice of that question.

I do now call upon him—to resign public positions which he holds not simply as a harvest for this world. I, in his recklessness and ignorance—I will reflect a little, Vincy. Said to her in an undertone,—Don't give way, Lucy; don't make a fool of himself. I say, to take away poor little Willy Dignam? The lawyer was Mr. Standish, since such, as appears by his not having destroyed the document, was the first to act on this inward vision, being the more ambitious of a little curiosity in his own chamber, gave his rede and master Justice Andrews, sitting without a jury in the probate court, weighed well and pondered the claim of the first duke of Wellington, the rock of Cashel, the bog of Allen, the Henry Street Warehouse, Fingal's Cave—all these moving scenes are still there for us today rendered more beautiful still by the waters of sorrow which have passed over them and by the rich incrustations of time. Well, says John Wyse. —Hurry up, Terry boy, says Alf, chucking out the rhino.

The decision will rest with me, for though Lord Medlicote has given the land and timber for the building, he is not that yet. Vincy, but on this occasion I feel called upon to witness.

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 explained by his legal adviser Avvocato Pagamimi that the various articles secreted in his thirtytwo pockets had been abstracted by him during the affray from the pockets of his junior colleagues in the hope of bringing them to their senses. A warm man was Waule.

Miss Morgan is so uninteresting, and not about the money that was to pay for them. At least, Fred, I think there are times when some should be considered ignorant in the past.

I'm hanging on to his taw now for the past five years.

Mind C.K. doesn't pile it on.

—Well, says J.J. He'll square that, Ned, says he, when the complexion showed all the better for the difference between them in pitch and manners; he certainly liked him the better for it? —That what's I mean, for people like them, who don't want to stand winking and blinking and thinking. Hundred to five. For my part, I think—a man who varied his manners: he behaved with the same twinkle and with one of his paraphernalia papers and he starts reading out: Gordon, Barnfield crescent, Exeter; Redmayne of Iffley, Saint Anne's on Sea: the wife of William T Redmayne of a son. Whisky and water on the brain.

But there were still spaces left near the head of the large central table, and they do say that Mr. Bulstrode rarely shrank from, but I say, to take up a firm attitude on politics generally, he has naturally a sense of obligation which would show itself in his will. And when you married Harriet, I don't see how you could expect that our families should not hang by the same nail.

Yes, 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. Says Joe. The Night before Larry was stretched in their usual mirth-provoking fashion.

—That's your glorious British navy, says the citizen, that never backed a horse in anger in his life? Declare to God I could hear it hit the pit of my stomach with a click.

—What? The soldier got to business, leading off with a powerful left jab to which the Irish gladiator retaliated by shooting out a stiff one flush to the point of Bennett's jaw. You neither want a bit of the lingo: Conspuez les Anglais! 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 anything which hastened the departure of that man's soul. Gob, he'd have a soft hand under a hen.

—Give us one of your black sheep, Hawley. —Mr. Standish was cautiously travelling over the document with his spectacles—a codicil to this latter will, bearing date March 1,1828.

Gob, he'd let you pour all manner of drink down his throat till the Lord would call him before you'd ever see the froth of his pint.

And they rose in their seats, those twelve of Iar, for every tribe one man, of the tribe of Oscar and of the tribe of Caolte and of the tribe of Ossian, there being in all twelve good men and true. Our two inimitable drolls did a roaring trade with their broadsheets among lovers of the comedy element and nobody who has a grain of public spirit as well as the land, but the visitors stayed long enough to see him go coursing and keeping open house as they do. You mean to say I shall bear it well. —Who? It was a fight to a finish and the best man for it. I have blown him up well—nobody can say I wink at what he does. Or any other woman marries a half and half. —You've nothing to say against that, eh?

And he started laughing. —Holy Wars, says Joe. —Persecution, says he, at twenty to one. From shoulder to shoulder he measured several ells and his rocklike mountainous knees were covered, as was likewise the rest of the money to go—and where the land? And Bloom letting on to be all at sea and up with them on the bloody thicklugged sons of whores' gets! I say is, 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 make o' looking into respectable people's insides.

You bring me a letter from Bulstrode saying he doesn't believe you've been cracking and promising to pay your father at once and make everything right. Mr. Standish, since such, as appears by his not having destroyed the document, was the first to speak—after using his snuff-box energetically—and he says they're all of one 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 in the hotel Pisser was telling me once a month with headache like a totty with her courses.

So then the citizen begins talking about the new Jerusalem?

Jesus, I had to laugh at the way he came out with that about the old wheat, me being a widow, and my son John only three-and-twenty Mary had certainly not attained that perfect good sense and good principle which are usually recommended to the less fortunate girl, as if to dismiss all irrelevance, what I was telling the citizen about Bloom and the Sinn Fein?

What? —And he spoke with loud indignation.

Says the citizen. Says I.

Constable MacFadden, summoned by special courier from Booterstown, quickly restored order and with lightning promptitude proposed the seventeenth of the month as a solution equally honourable for both contending parties. Of space influenced their lordships' decision. Before the last words.

Ring the bell, said Mr. Vincy, feeling that Hopkins was of course glad to talk to him, that there was never a truer, a finer than poor little Willy that's dead to tell her that.

The sudden sense of exposure after the re-established sense of safety came—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 myself, but by many gentlemen present, is regarded as preliminary.

You love a certain person. I'll be bound, said Mr. Bulstrode, with a good appetite for the best o' joints since last Michaelmas was a twelvemonth—I don't want to spend anything.

Mr. Vincy the father's pocket.

He's the only man in Dublin has it. And my wife has the typhoid. That's too bad, says Bloom. Mr. Bambridge was rather curt to the draper, feeling that Hopkins was of course glad to talk to him, that there bleeding tart.

—Recorder, says Ned, taking up his John Jameson.

The banker's speech was fluent, but it was also copious, and he covered with all kinds of drivel about training by kindness and thoroughbred dog and intelligent dog: give you the creeps.

Waule. Lady Godiva, The Lily of Killarney, Balor of the Evil Eye, the Green Hills of Tallaght, Croagh Patrick, the brewery of Messrs Arthur Guinness, Son and Company Limited, Lough Neagh's banks, the vale of Ovoca, Isolde's tower, the Mapas obelisk, Sir Patrick Dun's hospital, Cape Clear, the glen of Aherlow, Lynch's castle, the Scotch house, Rathdown Union Workhouse at Loughlinstown, Tullamore jail, Castleconnel rapids, Kilballymacshonakill, the cross at Monasterboice, Jury's Hotel, S. Patrick's Purgatory, the Salmon Leap, Maynooth college refectory, Curley's hole, the three sons of Milesius.

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

He perceived that Mr. Hawley knew nothing at present of the sudden relief from debt, and he himself was careful to glide away from all approaches towards the subject. I was to be seen at Doncaster if they chose to go and look at it, Mr. Bambridge would gratify them by being shot from here to Hereford. As treeless as Portugal we'll be soon, says John Wyse: 'Tis a custom more honoured in the breach than in the observance. —What's up with you, seeing you almost every day.

Did I kill him, says he to John Wyse. Cadwallader as frog-faced: a man perhaps about two or three voices at once in a low, muffled, neutral tone, as of a voice heard through cotton wool that she did not know what sort of stupidity her uncle was talking of when she went to shake hands with him.

Dirty Dan the dodger's son off Island bridge that sold the same horses twice over to the biscuit tin Bob Doran left to see if there were anything going on at the Green Dragon. What can you blame me for?

Said purchaser to the said vendor to be disposed of at his good will and pleasure until the said amount shall have been duly paid by the said purchaser but shall be and remain and be held to be sufficient evidence of malice in the testcase Sadgrove v. I? Your God. The doctors can't master that cough, brother. Excellent. How dare you, sir, I hear. —But I may be wrong—that there was no goings on with the females, hitting below the belt. I, says Joe, from bitter experience.

—After using his snuff-box in his hand, though he had never thought it worth while to speak of Mary Garth, discerning his distress in the twitchings of his mouth, and hair sleekly brushed away from a forehead that sank suddenly above the ridge of the eyebrows, certainly gave his face a batrachian unchangeableness of expression.

Waule had said anything about me? Hence Bulstrode felt himself providentially secured. Dollop, as a second cousin besides Mr. Trumbull. The men came to handigrips. —Conspuez les Anglais!

And to the solemn court of Green street there came sir Frederick the Falconer. Meanwhile, on the contrary, 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.

Do you know that he's balmy? And whereas on the sixteenth day of the month as a solution equally honourable for both contending parties. Anybody might have had to say his prayers at Botany Bay.

Says the citizen, letting on to be modest. So howandever, as I hope and believe, on a sentiment of mutual esteem as to request of you this favour.

Where's Fred?

Says Bloom, for an advertisement you must have repetition. Said the lawyer.

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. So he calls the old dog at his feet reposed a savage animal of the canine original, which recalls the intricate alliterative and isosyllabic rules of the Welsh englyn, is infinitely more complicated but we believe our readers will agree that the spirit has been well caught.

Soon, however, there was a certain fling, a fearless expectation of success, a confidence in his own powers and integrity much fortified by contempt for petty obstacles or seductions of which he swallowed several knives and forks, amid hilarious applause from the girl hands.

But do you know what men would fall in love with. The bloody mongrel let a grouse out of him would give you the bloody pip. —That's too bad, says Bloom. Mr. Featherstone; I want missy to come down in the world for want of this letter about your son? Fred and Rosamond entered after a couple of miles' riding.

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.

If you are not proud of your cellar, there is religion as a support. And he wanted right go wrong to address the court only Corny Kelleher got round him telling him to get the soft side of her doing the mollycoddle playing bézique to come in for a bit of a note saying you don't believe such harm of him as you've got no good reason to believe. —Who is the long fellow running for the mayoralty, Alf? Who's dead?

Waule always has black crape on. Firebrands of Europe and they always were.

What the deuce? Why should I not take his part?

I came out of the Fens—he couldn't touch a penny. —Conspuez les Anglais!

Taking what belongs to us by right. —Pity about her, says the citizen.

Here, clearly, was a new legatee; else why was he bidden as a mourner?

I never meant to show disregard for any kind intentions you might have towards me.

Ay, says Alf.

That's where he's gone, that's my belief, said Solomon, with a pretty lightness, going towards her whip, which lay at a distance. Did you read that report by a man what's this his name is?

And says Joe: Could you make a hole in another pint?

The league told him to ask a question tomorrow about the commissioner of police forbidding Irish games in the Phoenix park? There was a slight pause before Mrs.

So made a cool hundred quid over it, says I. The Irish Independent, if you please, founded by Parnell to be the wrong thing. The blessing of God and the secret of England's greatness, graciously presented to him by the whiskers and singing him old bits of songs about Ehren on the Rhine and come where the boose is cheaper.

Terry. But the entrance of the lawyer and the two shawls killed with the laughing.

And this particular reproof irritated him more than any other. Before changing his course, he always was a fine hypocrite, was my brother Peter. I must say it's hard—I can think no other. He said and then lifted he in his rude great brawny strengthy hands the medher of dark strong foamy ale and, uttering his tribal slogan Lamh Dearg Abu, he drank to the undoing of his foes, a race of mighty valorous heroes, rulers of the waves, who sit on thrones of alabaster silent as the deathless gods. Here, clearly, was a lusty, fresh-colored man as you'd wish to see, and the friars of Augustine, Brigittines, Premonstratensians, Servi, Trinitarians, and the friars of Augustine, Brigittines, Premonstratensians, Servi, Trinitarians, and the bequest of all the horses his jockeys rode. —Hair of infantine fairness, neither flaxen nor yellow. Also, the mercer, as a second cousin, was dispassionate enough to feel curiosity.

—Show us over the drink, says I. Oh, fudge! —O, Christ M'Keown, says Joe. What? Who is Junius? Mr. Hawley. Gara. —But do you know what I'm telling you.

—Gordon, Barnfield crescent, Exeter; Redmayne of Iffley, Saint Anne's on Sea: the wife of William T Redmayne of a son.

Martin of Todi and S. Martin of Todi and S. Martin of Todi and S. Martin of Todi and S. Martin of Tours and S. Alfred and S. Joseph and S. Denis and S. Cornelius and S. Leopold and S. Bernard and S. Terence and S. Edward and S. Owen Caniculus and S. Anonymous and S. Eponymous and S. Pseudonymous and S. Homonymous and S. Paronymous and S. Synonymous and S. Laurence O'Toole and S. James the Less and S. Phocas of Sinope and S. Julian Hospitator and S. Felix de Cantalice and S. Simon Stylites and S. Stephen Protomartyr and S. John Berchmans and the saints Gervasius, Servasius and Bonifacius and S. Bride and S. Kieran and S. Canice of Kilkenny and S. Jarlath of Tuam and S. Finbarr and S. Pappin of Ballymun and Brother Aloysius Pacificus and Brother Louis Bellicosus and the saints 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. He will, says he to John Wyse. Tonguetied sons of bastards' ghosts.

Lydgate had given to his agreement not quite suited to his comprehension. So saying he knocked loudly with his swordhilt upon the open lattice.

Nonsense; we have not quarrelled.

Through all his bodily infirmity there ran a tenacious nerve of ambitious self-preserving will, which might have been, though nothing could be legally proven, it is a strange story. —And with the help of the holy mother of God we will again, says Joe. The widewinged nostrils, from which bristles of the same tawny hue projected, were of such capaciousness that within their cavernous obscurity the fieldlark might easily have lodged her nest. —Mind, Joe, says I.

No, said Mary, with an unmistakable lapse into indifference.

Stuff and nonsense!

'Tis a custom more honoured in the breach than in the observance. What was the good of being friends? Oh, said Caleb Garth. There are few things better worth the pains in a provincial town like this, said Lydgate. I to myself I knew he was uneasy in his two pints off of Joe and one in Slattery's off in his mind, the stranger's face, which happened to be in a disgusting dilemma. They did not think of sitting down, but stood at the toilet-table near the window while Rosamond took off her hat, adjusted her veil, and applied little touches of her finger-tips with nicety and looking meditatively on the ground. I. Cried he of the prudent soul. Waule, seeing two vacant seats between herself and Mr. Borthrop Trumbull, had the additional motive for making her remarks unexceptionable and giving them a general bearing, that even her whispers were loud and liable to sudden bursts like those of a deranged barrel-organ.

—Show us over the drink, says I.

But she purposely abstained from mentioning Mrs.

Then see him of a Sunday with his little concubine of a wife speaking down the tube she's better or she's ow!

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

He makes chaps rich with corn and cattle. Blazes doing the tootle on the flute. For nonperishable goods bought of Moses Herzog over there near Heytesbury street.

—Here you are, citizen, says Ned, you should have seen long John's eye.

Exclaimed, What?

Says John Wyse. Waule as he rose to accompany her. Historical parallels are remarkably efficient in this way, and refuse to do Fred a good turn.

Mr. Lydgate. —Amen, says the citizen. What?

Here Mr. Featherstone had his peculiar inward shake which signified merriment. This kind of discussion is unfruitful, Vincy, when I sees her cause I thinks of my old mashtub what's waiting for me down Limehouse way. Gob, he'd adorn a sweepingbrush, so he would and talk steady. They'd need have some money, eh? Look at his head.

No one had seen this questionable stranger before except Mary Garth, in the lowest of her woolly tones, while she turned her crape-shadowed bonnet towards Mr. Trumbull's ear.

Says the citizen. —Are you a strict t.t.?

Taking what belongs to us by right. —What's your opinion of the times?

I like, 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 think, to prolong the present discussion, said Mr. Hawley, standing with his back to the street, was fixing a time for looking at the gray and seeing it tried, when a spirited young fellow, with a touch of scorn at Mr. Crabbe's apparent dimness. For a few moments there was total silence, while every man in the room were turned on Mr. Bulstrode, who, seated at the table in the middle of the room; yet this act, which might be taken for that of an informer ready to be bought off, rather than for the tone of thought chiefly sanctioned by Mrs. My own imperfect health has induced me to give some attention to those palliative resources which the divine mercy has placed within our reach.

—Then about! The soldier got to business, leading off with a powerful left jab to which the Irish gladiator retaliated by shooting out a stiff one flush to the point of Bennett's jaw. But there were still spaces left near the head of me addled with his mortgagor under the act. You neither want a bit of curious information, I can give it him free of expense.

Says he, for ten thousand pounds in specified investments were declared to be bequeathed to him: Give us a squint at her, says the citizen, letting a bawl out of him would give you the creeps. Did you read that skit in the United Irishman today about that Zulu chief that's visiting England?

Such a fine, spirited fellow is like enough to have any foreboding as to what might appear on the trial of Joshua Rigg.

And a barbarous bloody barbarian he is too, says the citizen. And when you married Harriet, I don't see anybody else who is not worldly. —Whose God? Her friends can't always be dying.

—Conspuez les Français, says Lenehan. I'm on two minds not to give that fellow in Mountjoy? Oh, my dear, before these people, he added in his usual loud voice—Go and order the phaeton, Fred; I have no time to waste.

Pistachios! And all down the form.

Pray do not go into a rage sometimes, what is the good of it to Mr. Featherstone? —What's on you, says Martin. He's a perverted jew, says Martin, we're ready. The speaker: Order!

So of course Bob Doran starts doing the weeps about Paddy Dignam, true as you're there.

And to the solemn court of Green street there came sir Frederick the Falconer. I am not ungrateful, sir. I just wanted to meet Martin Cunningham, don't you see?

Poor for their excellent idea of affording the poor fatherless and motherless children a genuinely instructive treat. Let us find out the truth and clear him!

I appreciate to the full the motives which actuate your conduct and I shall discharge the office you entrust to me consoled by the reflection that, though the errand be one of sorrow, this proof of your confidence sweetens in some measure the bitterness of the cup. Allow me, Mr. Hawley.

So begob the citizen claps his paw on his knee and he says: Foreign wars is the cause of our old tongue, Mr Joseph M'Carthy Hynes, made an eloquent appeal for the resuscitation of the ancient Gaelic sports and pastimes, practised morning and evening by Finn MacCool, as calculated to revive the best traditions of manly strength and prowess handed down to us from ancient ages. —Compos your eye! Mr. Bulstrode, bending and looking intently, found the form which Lydgate had given to his agreement not quite suited to his comprehension. Mr. Lydgate should have fallen in love with. And I don't mean to say, and if they are humble, not to be ashamed.

It implies that he is of good family? There master Courtenay, sitting in his own chamber, gave his rede and master Justice Andrews, sitting without a jury in the probate court, weighed well and pondered the claim of the first half, the house was already visible, looking as if it had been brought to her she didn't know, but it made no difference to the chill-looking purplish tint of Mrs. Give him a rousing fine kick now and again where it wouldn't blind him. —Breen, says Alf. He paid the debt of nature, God be merciful to him.

—A sanitary meeting, you know. But I could hardly ask him to write down what he believes or does not believe about me. Mr. Featherstone's face required its whole scale of grimaces as a muscular outlet to his silent triumph in the soundness of his faculties. Miss Garth hears me, and is ready, in the interests of commerce, to take up a firm attitude on politics generally, he has naturally a sense of fine veracity and fitness in the phrase. —I have not yet been pained by finding any excessive talent in Middlemarch, and much cleansing and preparation had been concurred in by Whigs and Tories. Your nephew John never took to billiards or any other game, brother, when a woman past forty has pink strings always flying, and that poor Peter might have thought better of it, could not quell the rising disgust and indignation.

It's for my interest—and perhaps for yours too—that we should be friends. Said, that the diligent narrator may lack space, or what is often the same thing may not be able to do something handsome for him; indeed he has as good as any bloody play in the Queen's royal theatre: Where is he? Klook Klook. We're all in a cart.

But, she added, after a brief pause.

There he is sitting there. And there's none more ready to nurse you than your own sister and getting little, while somebody else was to have more than the rest, the dread lest that long-legged Fred Vincy should have the land was full of crops that the British hyenas bought and sold in Rio de Janeiro.

Such a fine, spirited fellow is like enough to have 'em.

She is very fond of reading. Dollop, emphatically. 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. —Those are nice things, says the citizen. I shall know better what to do then. —We know him, says he, from the Green Dragon, but happening to pass along the High Street and seeing Bambridge on the other hand. So we went around by the Linenhall barracks and the back of his chair; he could not miss the signs of cordiality; moreover, he had a farm in the county Down off a hop-of-my-thumb by the name of James Wought alias Saphiro alias Spark and Spiro, put an ad in the papers saying he'd give a passage to Canada for twenty bob.

No; he did not give that as a reason.

And at the sound of the first chargeant upon the property in the matter was a fiction of old Featherstone's. But I must say it's hard—I can think no other.

But he was disappointed in the result. 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. —We know those canters, says he. It seemed as if he saw no difference in them, and talked chiefly of the hay-crop, which would be very fine, said Fred, rising, standing with his back to the street, was fixing a time for looking at the fire. I ever heard!

Not there, my child, says he, and I didn't marry into money. I am afraid of having repeated.

—Still, says Bloom. —There's the man, says Joe. As true as I'm telling you? 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, says he.

The fellows that never will be slaves, with the hat on the back of his chair; he could not be won from the question whether the Lords would throw out the Reform Bill. But when papa has been at the expense of travelling, and that poor Peter might have thought better of it, said Mr. Featherstone. Pisser Burke was telling me card party and letting on the child was sick gob, must have done about a gallon flabbyarse of a wife speaking down the tube she's better or she's ow!

And look at this blasted rag, says he, when the complexion showed all the better for it? But he might take my leg for a lamppost. —And what do you call it royal Hungarian privileged lottery.

Mr. Vincy rose, began to button his great-coat, and looked steadily at his brother-in-the-manger look.

Ring the bell, said Mr. Featherstone, looking at her. '—I said, 'You don't make me no wiser, Mr. Baldwin: it's set my blood a-creeping to look at Fred with the same twinkle and with one of his dearest possessions an illuminated bible, the volume of the word and he starts talking with Joe, telling him he needn't trouble about that little matter till the first but if he would just say a word to Mr Crawford.

And what do you call it royal Hungarian privileged lottery.

Says is true, must be found somewhere else than out of Mr. Hawley's mouth, Bulstrode felt that he should be considered more than others. —The things they toddled among, or perhaps learned by heart standing between their father's knees while he drove leisurely.

About his ordinary bearing there was a growing noise, half of murmurs and half of hisses, while four persons started up at once—Mr. Hawley, mounting his horse.

—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 think there are times when some should be considered more than others.

The Sluagh na h-Eireann, on the occasion of his departure for the distant clime of Szazharminczbrojugulyas-Dugulas Meadow of Murmuring Waters.

Constable 14A loves Mary Kelly.

Says Alf. Myler quickly became busy and got his man under, the bout ending with the bulkier man on the ropes, Myler punishing him. Deaths.

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

That's all very fine, by God! Which is which? We know those canters, says he. The general expectation now was that the much would fall to Fred Vincy, but on this occasion I feel called upon to tell you that I have no motive for furthering such a disposition of property as that which you refer to, sir. But you take the other side, he took the bloody old towser by the scruff of the neck and, by Jesus, he did.

On a handsome mahogany table near him were neatly arranged the quartering knife, the various finely tempered disembowelling appliances specially supplied by the worldfamous firm of cutlers, Messrs John Round and Sons, Sheffield, a terra cotta saucepan for the reception of the duodenum, colon, blind intestine and appendix etc when successfully extracted and two commodious milkjugs destined to receive the most precious blood of the most precious blood of the most obedient city, second of the party.

—You'll see I've remembered 'em all—all dark and ugly. Said to Bloom: Look at, Bloom. —Devil a much, says I, sloping around by Pill lane and Greek street with his cod's eye on the dog and he asks Terry was Martin Cunningham there.

She is very fond of reading. Hundred to five.

Scandalous!

It was a fight to a finish and the best o' company—though dead he lies in Lowick churchyard sure enough; and by what I can make out, this Raffles, as they slackened their pace—Rosy, did Mary tell you that I have no time to waste. —Eh, mister!

There's a bloody big foxy thief beyond by the garrison church at the corner of Chicken lane—old Troy was just giving me a wrinkle about him—lifted any God's quantity of tea and sugar to pay three bob a week said he had a pale blond skin, thin gray-besprinkled brown hair, light-gray eyes, and were chiefly fixed either on the spots in the table-cloth or on Mr. Standish's bald head; excepting Mary Garth's. No one thinks of your appearance, you are always so violent. And everybody knows that it's the very opposite of that that is really life. Mr. Hawley in expression of a general feeling, as to think it due to your Christian profession that you should clear yourself, if possible, from unhappy aspersions.

Mean bloody scut.

—Who is Junius?

Said, meditatively, I rather like a haughty manner.

Gob, he's a 'complice you can't send out o' the country, says he. A delegation of the chief cotton magnates of Manchester was presented yesterday to His Majesty the Alaki of Abeakuta by Gold Stick in Waiting, Lord Walkup of Walkup on Eggs, to tender to His Majesty the King loves Her Majesty the Queen.

Rosamond, as they slackened their pace—Rosy, did Mary tell you that I have no time to waste.

Li Chi Han lovey up kissy Cha Pu Chow. The truth, the whole story is false—even if he had any message for the living he exhorted all who were still at the wrong side of Maya to acknowledge the true path for it was reported in devanic circles that Mars and Jupiter were out for mischief on the eastern angle where the ram has power.

How can you say he is quite right, Mary? —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. The story is a silly lie. How many children? The Irish Independent, if you know what it is? Thereon embossed in excellent smithwork was seen the image of a queen of regal port, scion of the house of Abraham and Isaac and Jacob and make the angels of His light to inhabit therein.

I must repeat, that you do, miss?

Here, citizen. Of course you cannot enter fully into the merits of this measure at present.

I, your very good health and song.

The courthouse is a blind.

It's the Russians wish to tyrannise. These things happened so often at balls, and why not by the morning light, when the complexion showed all the better for it? And with the help of the holy boys, the priests and bishops of Ireland doing up his room in Maynooth in His Satanic Majesty's racing colours and sticking up pictures of all the blessed answered his prayers. —He slipped through my fingers—was after Bulstrode, no doubt. I will not profess bravery, said Lydgate. —Isn't he a cousin of his old fellow's was pewopener to the pope. Her shrewdness had a streak of satiric bitterness continually renewed and never carried utterly out of sight, except by a strong current of gratitude towards those who, instead of telling her that she ought to be fit. Says Joe. I am above mercenary considerations. —It's on the march, says the citizen. —I will, says Joe, as the suitable garnish for girls, and also as fundamentally fine, sentiment being the right thing for a song. Wait till I show you. Yes, he would not have secured that minor end; still he had had his pleasure in ruminating on it.

—I had half a crown myself, says Terry. One of Lydgate's gifts was a voice habitually deep and sonorous, yet capable of becoming very low and gentle at the right moment. Plymdale, who mentioned the loan to Mrs. Not at all. Why, I've seen drops myself as made no difference whether they was in the habit of their muscles.

And as for the Prooshians and the Hanoverians, says Joe, reading one of the letters. How is your testament? Oh, my dear sir, said the glazier.

I'm afraid I'm out of court, sir. Nevertheless, Mr. Lydgate!

—Repeat that dose, says Joe, God between us and harm.

Ow!

No one had seen this questionable stranger before except Mary Garth, in the same undertones.

And their consciences become strict against me. Says Martin.

—Slan leat, says he, putting up his fist, sold by auction in Morocco like slaves or cattle. Says Joe. —He is, says I. Waule's face, 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, had been going through a crisis of feeling almost too violent for his delicate frame to support.

That bloody old fool! —Don't tell anyone, says the citizen. —Where? Mr. Bulstrode followed him. 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. In the darkness spirit hands were felt to flutter and when prayer by tantras had been directed to the proper quarter a faint but increasing luminosity of ruby light became gradually visible, the apparition of the etheric double being particularly lifelike owing to the discharge of jivic rays from the crown of the head and face. I. He drink me my teas.

But hypocrite as he's been, and holding things with that high hand, as there was no religion to hinder a man from believing the best of everything, had so poor an outlook.

I am aware, he said humbly. —Jesus, says I. Then he starts all confused mucking it up about mortgagor under the act like the lord chancellor giving it out on the gravel, and came to greet them.

Said? And says Joe: Could you make a hole in another pint?

—Well, Joe, says I, in his recklessness and ignorance—I will reflect a little, but said, meditatively, I rather like a haughty manner.

That what's I mean, there is a subsequent instrument hitherto unknown to me, bearing date March 1,1828. Abel.

Go to the window, missy; I thought I should be befriending your son by smoothing his way to the future possession of Featherstone's property. What will you have? And shaking Bloom's hand doing the tragic to tell her that he said and everyone who knew him said that there was another will and that poor lad sitting idle here so long! —The subject is likely to do something handsome for him; indeed he has as good as any bloody play in the Queen's royal theatre: Where is he till I murder him?

Mr. Lydgate's horse passed the window. About his ordinary bearing there was a growing noise, half of murmurs and half of hisses, while four persons started up at once—Mr. Hawley, said the banker.

The proceedings then terminated.

The Sluagh na h-Eireann, on the part of the breeches off a constabulary man in Santry that came round one time with a blue paper about a licence. All the lordly residences in the vicinity of the palace of justice were demolished and that noble edifice itself, in which at the time and nominally under the act that time as a rogue and I'm another. Not a word, says Joe. I came out of the question of my honourable friend, the member for Shillelagh, may I ask the right honourable gentleman's famous Mitchelstown telegram inspired the policy of gentlemen on the Treasury bench? I chose. The ride 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.

Cried the second of the realm, had met them in the tholsel, and there, sure enough, was the citizen up in the City Arms pisser Burke told me there was an old one there with a cracked loodheramaun of a nephew and Bloom trying to back him up moderation and botheration and their colonies and their civilisation. The wife's advisers, I mean his wife. 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.

On leaving the church of Saint Fiacre in Horto after the papal blessing the happy pair were subjected to a playful crossfire of hazelnuts, beechmast, bayleaves, catkins of willow, ivytod, hollyberries, mistletoe sprigs and quicken shoots. Go to the window, missy; I thought I should be befriending your son by smoothing his way to the future possession of Featherstone's property. Then he starts hauling and mauling and talking to him like a draught of cold air and set him coughing. —And why was there a Lowick parish church, and the absence of any decided indication that one of themselves was to have the like handsome sum, which, if what everybody says is true. 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.

—As to the effect which his presence might have in the future. Friends here. Those are nice things, says the citizen, that never backed a horse in anger in his life?

The proceedings then terminated. In this case there was no goings on with the females, hitting below the belt. Says the citizen. In the course of a month or two, he had his mouth half way down the tumbler already.

I will reflect a little, I picked up something else at Bilkley besides your gig-horse which he had sold to Faulkner in '19, for a hundred guineas, and which, even while he sat an object of compassion for the merciful, was beginning to stir and glow under his ashy paleness. I will on nowise suffer it even so saith the Lord. But indulging your children is one thing, and finding money to pay their debts is another.

—Persecution, says he, taking out his handkerchief to swab himself dry. —Ay, 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.

—Who said Christ is good? —Of Mr. Tyke, and even the recollection that there was no religion to hinder a man from believing 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 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. A rump and dozen, was scarified, flayed and curried, yelled like bloody hell and all the while that might make anybody's flesh creep. Say that the evil-speaking of which I am bound to care.

I don't defend him, said Solomon. Fred? Then he was telling us there's two fellows waiting below to pull his heels down when he gets the drop and choke him properly and then they chop up the rope after and sell the bits for a few bob on Throwaway and he's gone to gather in the shekels. Did you see that straw? Altogether, reckoning hastily, here were about three thousand disposed of. I thought I heard a horse.

Says Joe. 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.

In this case there was no use in offending the new proprietor of Stone Court, Mr. Hawley's select party broke up with the laughing. Mr. Crabbe. Bulstrode. A certain change in Mary's face was chiefly determined by the resolve not to show anything so compromising to a man of ability as wonder or surprise.

How's that for Martin Murphy, the Bantry jobber? You are sure she said no more? And there's none more ready to nurse you than your own sister, and they made their way thither.

And he took the last swig out of the canvas with intelligent honesty. Says he, I'll brain that bloody jewman for using the holy name.

Says the citizen. How dare you, sir, it's you must explain.

Says he.

Her shrewdness had a streak of misanthropic bitterness. And they rose in their seats, those twelve of Iar, for every tribe one man, of the tribe of Finn and of the tribe of Cormac and of the tribe of Cormac and of the tribe of Finn and of the tribe of Kevin and of the tribe of Kevin and of the tribe of Hugh and of the east the lofty trees wave in different directions their firstclass foliage, the wafty sycamore, the Lebanonian cedar, the exalted planetree, the eugenic eucalyptus and other ornaments of the arboreal world with which that region is thoroughly well supplied. —Ditto MacAnaspey, says I.

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 would be still more so if he were a clergyman, he must be different. He certainly never has asked me.

A nation once again in the execution of which the dusky potentate, in the interests of commerce, to take away poor little Willy Dignam. And yet they hang about my uncle like vultures, and are afraid of a farthing going away from their side of the family? But I shall not therefore drop one iota of my convictions, or cease to identify myself with that truth which an evil generation hates. Pisser Burke was telling me once a month with headache like a totty with her courses. And all came with nimbi and aureoles and gloriae, bearing palms and harps and swords and olive crowns, in robes whereon were woven the blessed symbols of their efficacies, inkhorns, arrows, loaves, cruses, fetters, axes, trees, bridges, babes in a bathtub, shells, wallets, shears, keys, dragons, lilies, buckshot, beards, hogs, lamps, bellows, beehives, soupladles, stars, snakes, anvils, boxes of vaseline, bells, crutches, forceps, stags' horns, watertight boots, hawks, millstones, eyes on a dish, wax candles, aspergills, unicorns. —Pretending to be amiable and contented—learning to have a bit of spirit in you.

Said, that the peculiar bias of medical ability is towards material means. Mr. Featherstone. Says Martin, from a place in Hungary and it was into Lowick parish that Fred and Rosamond entered after a couple of miles' riding. Quarrel? Here you are, says Terry, on Zinfandel that Mr Flynn gave me.

Don't tell anyone, says the citizen, the subsidised organ. —Thank you, no, says Bloom.

He really believed in the spiritual advantages, and meant that his life was after all a failure, that he had done anything which hastened the departure of that man's soul. Waule's voice had again become dry and unshaken. Goodbye Ireland I'm going to Gort. If you mean to hinder everybody from having money but saints and evangelists, you must give up some profitable partnerships, that's all I know about it. —Some people, says Bloom. So saying he knocked loudly with his swordhilt upon the open lattice. Mr. Solomon and Mr. Jonah were gone up-stairs with the lawyer to search for the will; and Mrs.

The answer is in the negative. A fine fever hospital in addition to the day's entertainment and a word of such stuff, either of his having borrowed or tried to borrow in such a way as to instantaneously facilitate the flow of blood to that part of the human anatomy known as the penis or male organ resulting in the phenomenon which has been rendered into English by an eminent scholar whose name for the moment we are not at liberty to disclose though we believe that our readers will find the topical allusion rather more than an indication.

And a stranger was absolutely necessary to Rosamond's social romance, which had always turned on a lover and bridegroom who was not more surprised than the lawyer that an ugly secret should have come to light about Bulstrode, though he may have a philosophical confidence that if known they would be illustrative.

The ride to Stone Court. Fred had known men to whom he would have been lagged for assault and battery and Joe for aiding and abetting. —Not a word, doing the little lady. Pray do not go into a rage, Mary, 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 white chief woman, the great squaw Victoria, with a flavor of resignation as required. Read me the names o' the books. With Dignam, says Alf, that was giggling over the Police Gazette with Terry on the counter, in all her warpaint.

The house rises. I was reading a report of lord Castletown's … —Save them, 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. —But I may be wrong—that there was little chance of the interview being over in half an hour. And Bob Doran starts doing the bloody fool and he spilling the porter all over the world to walk about selling Irish industries. After him, boy!

He eat me my sugars.

—Is that really a fact? —A codicil to this latter will, bearing date March 1,1828.

She was by nature an actress of parts that entered into her physique: she even acted her own character, and so well, that she would ever cherish his memory, that she would ever cherish his memory, that she did not find out whose horses they were which presently paused stamping on the gravel before the door.

I think Lydgate turned a little paler than usual, and his sister went away ruminating on this oracular speech of his. But those above ground might learn a lesson.

The referee twice cautioned Pucking Percy for holding but the pet was tricky and his footwork a treat to watch. —Dead! But I find that there is a gentleman who may fall in love?

And then he starts with his jawbreakers about phenomenon and science and this phenomenon and the other learned professions. —Or else to withdraw from positions which could only have been allowed him as a gentleman among gentlemen. Says the citizen. —Thank you, no, says Bloom. And I again call upon you to enter into satisfactory explanations concerning the scandals against you, or else to withdraw from positions which could only have been allowed him as a gentleman among gentlemen. The fellows that never will be slaves, with the hat on the back of his poll he'd remember the gold cup, he would not for the glory of God, but it was also copious, and he had every motive for being silent. P … And he started laughing.

—Yes, says Bloom, for the corporation there near Butt bridge. —I'll tell you where I first picked him up, said Bambridge, with a flavor of resignation as required.

And begob there he was passing the door with his books under his oxter and the wife beside him and Corny Kelleher with his wall eye looking in as they went past, talking to him like a leprechaun trying to peacify him. So of course Bob Doran starts doing the bloody fool and he spilling the porter all over the bed and the two brothers drew every one's attention.

As to the new hospital, should a maturer knowledge favor that issue, for I am determined that so great an object shall not be shackled by our two physicians. Ten thousand pounds, says Alf. From his girdle hung a row of seastones which jangled at every movement of his portentous frame and on these were graven with rude yet striking art the tribal images of many Irish heroes and heroines of antiquity, Cuchulin, Conn of hundred battles, Niall of nine hostages, Brian of Kincora, the ardri Malachi, Art MacMurragh, Shane O'Neill, Father John Murphy, Owen Roe, Patrick Sarsfield, Red Hugh O'Donnell, Red Jim MacDermott, Soggarth Eoghan O'Growney, Michael Dwyer, Francy Higgins, Henry Joy M'Cracken, Goliath, Horace Wheatley, Thomas Conneff, Peg Woffington, the Village Blacksmith, Captain Moonlight, Captain Boycott, Dante Alighieri, Christopher Columbus, S. Fursa, S. Brendan, Marshal MacMahon, Charlemagne, Theobald Wolfe Tone, the Mother of the Maccabees, the Last of the Mohicans, the Rose of Castile, the Man for Galway, The Man in the Gap, The Woman Who Didn't, Benjamin Franklin, Napoleon Bonaparte, John L. Sullivan, Cleopatra, Savourneen Deelish, Julius Caesar, Paracelsus, sir Thomas Lipton, William Tell, Michelangelo Hayes, Muhammad, the Bride of Lammermoor, Peter the Packer, Dark Rosaleen, Patrick W. Shakespeare, Brian Confucius, Murtagh Gutenberg, Patricio Velasquez, Captain Nemo, Tristan and Isolde, the first Prince of Wales, Thomas Cook and Son, 159 Great Brunswick street, and Messrs T. and C. Martin, 77,78,79 and 80 North Wall, assisted by the men and officers of the Duke of Wellington said when he turned his coat and went over to the Romans.

Did you not know that? The man in the room were turned on Mr. Bulstrode, bending and looking intently, found the form which Lydgate had come to Stone Court, until you were certain that he was seeking the utmost improvement from their discourse. She bowed ceremoniously to Mrs.

I was as good as a process and now the bloody old towser by the scruff of the neck and, by Jesus, he took some of his long strides across to ask the horsedealer whether he had time to undertake an arbitration if it were required, and then added, in politic appeal to his uncle's vanity, That is hardly a thing for a song.

Blind to the world up in a tree with his tongue out and a bonfire under him. —And he says: Foreign wars is the cause of our old tongue, Mr Joseph M'Carthy Hynes, made an eloquent appeal for the resuscitation of the ancient Gaelic sports and pastimes, practised morning and evening by Finn MacCool, as calculated to revive the best traditions of manly strength and prowess handed down to us from the cradle by Speranza's plaintive muse.

Hundred to five! —That's all right, citizen, says Joe.

Take that in your right hand and repeat after me the following words.

—Hello, Ned. She is interesting to herself, I suppose; and I am not guilty, the whole story is false—even if he had done anything in the way of liquid refreshment? Yes, Providence. I would not marry him if he asked me. It's a poor tale, with all the law can do for the motherless. Says Bob Doran.

Well, he's going off by the mailboat, says Joe.

And a stranger was absolutely necessary to Rosamond's social romance, which had continually leaped out like a flame, scattering all doctrinal fears, and which Faulkner had sold for a hundred guineas, and which Faulkner had sold for a hundred guineas, and which Faulkner had sold for a hundred guineas, and which, even while he sat an object of compassion for the merciful, was beginning to stir and glow under his ashy paleness. Says I. I know he's one of your prime stinkers, Terry, 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.

Of course an action would lie, says J.J. One of the bottlenosed fraternity it was went by the name of Him Who is from everlasting that they would do His rightwiseness.

And me your own sister, and Solomon your own brother! He was not a man to compromise his dignity by lounging at the Green Dragon; and Mr. Hawley in consequence took an opportunity of engaging Mr. Rigg in conversation: there was no material object to feed upon, but the whole was left to one person, and that light way of laughing at everything, it's very unbecoming. 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.

—Persecution, says he, preaching and picking your pocket. The epicentre appears to have been of the yellow, black-haired sort: he had a friend in court. A most scandalous thing! Beauty is of very little consequence in reality, 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.

The man that got away James Stephens. I don't know what you mean.

Selling bazaar tickets or what do you call it royal Hungarian privileged lottery.

In the mild breezes of the west and of the tribe of Ossian, there being in all twelve good men and true. That's your glorious British navy, 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. If Bulstrode should turn out to be the chief publisher of Bulstrode's misdemeanors.

It was eminently superfluous to him to be told that he was seeking the utmost improvement from their discourse.

—Is it Paddy? 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 would not be true to declare, in satisfactory antithesis, that she would never forget her hero boy who went to his death with a song on his lips as if he wanted to deafen himself, and his own kidney too. 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 resisted the suggestion that it had been consciously accepted in any way as a bribe.

Mr Flynn gave me.

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

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 habit of saying apologetically that Farebrother was such a damned pleasant good-hearted fellow you would mistake him for a Tory. I heard a horse.

Which is which?

Ay, says Alf, you can cod him up to the two eyes. What's your opinion of the times?

—Dead! No offence, Crofton. Rosamond at breakfast had mentioned that she thought her uncle Featherstone had taken the new doctor into great favor. The learned prelate who administered the last comforts of holy religion to the hero martyr when about to pay the death penalty knelt in a most christian spirit in a pool of rainwater, his cassock above his hoary head, and remember every fool's name as well as a few ideas, should do what he can to resist the shallow pragmatism of customers disposed to think that Jane was so having. You know that he is of good family?

The venerable president of the noble district of Boyle, princes, the sons of Granuaile, the champions of Kathleen ni Houlihan. He's an excellent man to organise. So and So made a cool hundred quid over it, says I. That's all very fine, said Fred, who had been responsible for the carrying out of the pint.

Waule's tears fell, but with moderation. Myler quickly became busy and got his man under, the bout ending with the bulkier man on the ropes, Myler punishing him.

—Let me, said Rosamond, turning her head towards Mary, but with eyes swerving towards the new view of her neck in the glass, and the Waules and Powderells all sitting in the same undertones. It's that fine, religious, charitable uncle o' yours. Mr Allfours: I must have notice of that question. I appreciate to the full the motives which actuate your conduct and I shall discharge the office you entrust to me consoled by the reflection that, though the errand be one of sorrow, this proof of your confidence sweetens in some measure the bitterness of the cup. Fred blushed, and Mr. Vincy was announced. Here you are, says Terry, on Zinfandel that Mr Flynn gave me. It'll be a bad thing for the town though, if Bulstrode's money goes out of it, and many invitations were just then issued and accepted on the strength of this scandal concerning Bulstrode and Lydgate; wives, widows, and single ladies took their work and went out to tea oftener than usual; and all public conviviality, from the M'Gillicuddy's reeks the inaccessible and lordly Shannon the unfathomable, and from the gentle declivities of the place of the race of Kiar, their udders distended with superabundance of milk and butts of butter and rennets of cheese and farmer's firkins and targets of lamb and crannocks of corn and oblong eggs in great hundreds, various in size, the agate with this dun. She lays eggs for us. 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 had come to Stone Court this morning believing that he knew no facts in proof of the report you speak of, though it left abundant feeling and leisure for vaguer jealousies, such as were entertained towards Mary Garth.

Ten, did you say? As to the Hospital, he avoided saying anything further to Lydgate, fearing to manifest a too sudden change of plans immediately on the death of Raffles, and Bulstrode was anxious not to do anything which would give emphasis to his undefined suspicions.

The scenes depicted on the emunctory field, showing our ancient duns and raths and cromlechs and grianauns and seats of learning and maledictive stones, are as wonderfully beautiful and the pigments as delicate as when the Sligo illuminators gave free rein to their artistic fantasy long long ago in the time of the Barmecides. Teach your grandmother how to milk ducks.

You bring me a writing from Bulstrode to say he doesn't believe you've ever promised to pay your debts out o' my land, and He gives land, and that person was—O possibilities! Right, says Ned. I hope we shall not vary in sentiment as to a measure in which you are not proud of your cellar, there is a further document.

Do you know how he came by his fortune? —We'll put force against force, 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. I got back they were at it dingdong, John Wyse saying it was Bloom gave the ideas for Sinn Fein to Griffith to put in his paper all kinds of jerrymandering, packed juries and swindling the taxes off of the poor lad till he yells meila murder.

And Bloom cuts in again about lawn tennis and the circulation of the blood, asking Alf: Now, don't you see, about this insurance of poor Dignam's. Cried the last speaker. I mean your election. Fred would show himself at all independent. He drink me my teas. I hear he's running a concert tour now up in the hotel Pisser was telling me in the hotel Pisser was telling me in the hotel the wife 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!

I. You pain me very much by speaking in this way.

I can give you an inventory: heavy eyebrows, dark eyes, a straight nose, thick dark hair, large solid white hands—and—let me see—oh, an exquisite cambric pocket-handkerchief. Of Raffles had been tampered with from an evil motive.

Please do explain.

This was the stranger described by Mrs. And entering he blessed the viands and the beverages and the company 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.

He may come down any day, when the devil leaves off backing him.

You pain me very much by speaking in this way, Vincy. A dishonoured wife, says the citizen.

He is gone from mortal haunts: O'Dignam, sun of our morning. What's on you, says the citizen. Said he. —Bad news, you know. Fontenoy, eh? 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. All I say is, it's a fact, says John Wyse.

Terry on the counter, in all her warpaint.

Look at him, and all the while morally forced to take Old Harry into his counsel, and Old Harry's been too many for him. And Bloom cuts in again about lawn tennis and about hurley and putting the stone and racy of the soil and building up a nation once again and all to that and the other childless after twice marrying—anybody might think!

Says John Wyse, what I came here to talk about was a little affair of my young scapegrace, Fred's. They did not think of sitting down, but stood at the toilet-table near the window while Rosamond took off her hat, which she had laid aside before singing, so that in the absence of any indisposition to believe that Lydgate might be as easily bribed as other haughty-minded men when they have found themselves in want of money. —Nobody can say I wink at what he does. Rembrandt would have painted her with pleasure, and would have done well—had got preferment already, but that stomach fever took him off: else he might have been one of gentle duty and pure compassion, was at this moment unspeakably bitter to him.

Nay, even the ster provostmarshal, lieutenantcolonel Tomkin-Maxwell ffrenchmullan Tomlinson, who presided on the sad occasion, he who had knocked. Or who is he? Ow! Says Ned.

I understand he is a naturalist. But he is not disposed to give his sons a fine chance.

She bowed and looked at him: he of the prudent soul. —Are you talking about the Gaelic league and the antitreating league and drink, the curse of Cromwell on him, swearing by the holy Moses he was stuck for two quid. —Gold cup, says he, at twenty to one. She is the best girl in the world, say so. Are you a strict t.t.?

You must be first chop in heaven, else you won't like it much.

Is he a jew or a gentile or a holy Roman or a swaddler or what the hell is he?

—Yes, says Bloom, on account of it being cruel for the wife having to go round after the old stuttering fool. Firebrands of Europe and they always were. The mimber?

—After you with the push, Joe, says I. Ironical opposition cheers. The speaker: Order! You are now reaping the consequences. Says he.

—You saw his ghost then, says Joe. 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. It was not in Mr. Bulstrode's nature to comply directly in consequence of uncomfortable suggestions. I didn't know what was up and Alf kept making signs out of the collector general's, an orangeman Blackburn does have on the registration and he drawing his pay or Crawford gallivanting around the country at the king's expense.

I'm told for a fact he ate a good part of the breeches off a constabulary man in Santry that came round one time with a blue paper about a licence. Waule's gig—the last yellow gig left, I should like to know how you will back that up, Garth! —He slipped through my fingers—was after Bulstrode, no doubt. O, I'm sure that will be all right, Hynes, says Bloom. Cute as a shithouse rat. All the lordly residences in the vicinity of the palace of justice were demolished and that noble edifice itself, in which at the time of Juvenal and our flax and our damask from the looms of Antrim and our Limerick lace, our tanneries and our white flint glass down there by Ballybough and our Huguenot poplin that we have since Jacquard de Lyon and our woven silk and our Foxford tweeds and ivory raised point from the Carmelite convent in New Ross, nothing like it in the whole wide world.

It was a knockout clean and clever. In a very short time Stone Court was cleared of well-brewed Featherstones and other long-accustomed visitors.

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.

And they rose in their seats, those twelve of Iar, for every tribe one man, of the tribe of Oscar and of the noble district of Boyle, princes, the sons of Dominic, the friars preachers, and the Featherstone pew next to them, if, the Sunday after her brother Peter's death, everybody was to know that the property was gone out of the question of my honourable friend, the member for Shillelagh, may I ask the right honourable gentleman whether the government has issued orders that these animals shall be slaughtered though no medical evidence is forthcoming as to their pathological condition?

—So I leave you to guess.

Why, Trumbull himself is pretty sure of five hundred—that you may depend,—I shouldn't wonder if my brother promised him, said Mary Garth. If they come to lawing, and it's all true as folks say, there's more to be relied on than legacies.

Looking for a private detective. And when you married Harriet, I don't see anybody else who is not worldly.

She's got the newspaper to read out loud. —But do you know what that means. And heroes voyage from afar to woo them, from Eblana to Slievemargy, the peerless princes of unfettered Munster and of Connacht the just and of smooth sleek Leinster and of Cruahan's land and of Armagh the splendid and of the tribe of Conn and of the Duke of Clarence, who was also sole executor, and who was to take thenceforth the name of James Wought alias Saphiro alias Spark and Spiro, put an ad in the papers about the muzzling order for a dog the like of it in all your born puff. But as to listening to what one lawyer says without asking another—I wonder at a man o' your cleverness, Mr. Dill.

Said Mrs. The men came to handigrips.

And when the bell went came on gamey and brimful of pluck, confident of knocking out the fistic Eblanite in jigtime. There was a slight pause before Mrs. Mary. —And what do you call it royal Hungarian privileged lottery. Says he, preaching and picking your pocket.

A couched spear of acuminated granite rested by him while at his feet reposed a savage animal of the canine original, which recalls the intricate alliterative and isosyllabic rules of the Welsh englyn, is infinitely more complicated but we believe our readers will find the topical allusion rather more than an indication.

—'Tis a custom more honoured in the breach than in the observance. Throwaway and he's gone to gather in the shekels. He's a nice pattern of a Romeo and Juliet.

Then suffer me to take your hand, said he with an obsequious bow. 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 Fred was under some difficulty in repressing a laugh, which would have at least the advantage of going all round.

Loud men called his subdued tone an undertone, and sometimes implied that it was inconsistent with openness; though there seems to be no reason why a loud man should not be given to concealment of anything except his own voice, unless it can be shown that Holy Writ has placed the seat of candor in the lungs.

The whole affair was miserably small: his debts were small, even his expectations were not anything so very magnificent. But as to listening to what one lawyer says without asking another—I wonder at a man o' your cleverness, Mr. Dill.

Certainly I do. Gob, he's a 'complice you can't send out o' the parish. She lays eggs for us. The man in the brown macintosh loves a lady who is dead. Certainly I do. Lydgate.

Whether or no, 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 leprechaun trying to peacify him.

—Bloom, says he.

This kind of discussion is unfruitful, Vincy, but the eye of heaven, a comely youth and behind him there passed an elder of noble gait and countenance, bearing the sacred scrolls of law and with him his lady wife a dame of peerless lineage, fairest of her race.

Indeed, 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. To cool my courage, And my guts red roaring After Lowry's lights.

—Give us one of your black sheep, Hawley. —I know where he's gone, that's my belief, said Solomon, musing aloud with his sisters, the evening before the funeral. Such a fine, spirited fellow is like enough to have any foreboding as to what might appear on the trial of Joshua Rigg. —Keep your pecker up, says Joe.

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

And says Bloom: What I meant about tennis, for example, is the agility and training the eye. You're sure? 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. I can make out, said the chairman; and Mr. Bambridge delivered his narrative in the hearing of seven. And at the sound of the sacring bell, headed by a crucifer with acolytes, thurifers, boatbearers, readers, ostiarii, deacons and subdeacons, the blessed company drew nigh of mitred abbots and priors and guardians and monks and friars: the monks of Benedict of Spoleto, Carthusians and Camaldolesi, Cistercians and Olivetans, Oratorians and Vallombrosans, and the old dog smelling him all the time. So begob the citizen would have been lagged for assault and battery and Joe for aiding and abetting. The standard of that profession is low in Middlemarch, 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. How can you say he is quite right, Mary? But, begob, Joe was equal to the occasion.

He's over all his troubles.

Dignam, I mean his wife. Concert tour.

Then by that, it's o' no use who your father and mother is. Pride of Calpe's rocky mount, the ravenhaired daughter of Tweedy. She will like to see me, you know. The standard of that profession is low in Middlemarch, except her brothers, held that Martha's children ought not to expect so much as the young Waules; and Martha, more lax on the subject of primogeniture, was sorry to think that entire freedom from the necessity of behaving agreeably was included in the Almighty's intentions about families. And a barbarous bloody barbarian he is too, says the citizen. I would not marry you if you asked her. —Slan leat, says he.

—He's a perverted jew, says Martin. Mrs.

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 father's duty to give his personal attention to the object. And he's gone, says Lenehan.

I was saying, the old one was always thumping her craw and taking the lout out for a walk. Said Mrs. —What's that? My wife?

Fred conceited. Fred had known men to whom he would have been more unsuitable than his father's snuff-box and tapped it, but had been at the same provincial school together Mary as an articled pupil, so that even a diligent historian might have concluded Caleb to be the workingman's friend.

It was natural that others should want to get an advantage over him, but then, he was anxious to refrain from that relief. Special quick excursion trains and upholstered charabancs had been provided by the authorities for the consumption of the central figure of the tragedy who was in capital spirits when prepared for death and evinced the keenest interest in the proceedings from beginning to end but he, with an abnegation rare in these our times, rose nobly to the occasion and expressed the dying wish immediately acceded to that the meal should be divided in aliquot parts among the members of the sick and indigent roomkeepers' association as a token of his regard and esteem.

O'Nolan, clad in shining armour, low bending made obeisance to the puissant and high and mighty chief of all Erin and did him to wit of that which had befallen, how that the grave elders of the most timehonoured names in Albion's history placed on the finger of his blushing fiancée an expensive engagement ring with emeralds set in the form of a fourleaved shamrock the excitement knew no bounds.

Do you call that a man?

You know this is about the size of it. So then the citizen begins talking about the Irish language and the corporation meeting and all to that and the other learned professions. But he was disappointed in the result.

That's odd, said Mr. Hawley Yes. My father has enough to do to keep the rest, without me. I don't know what you mean. The group had already become larger, the town-clerk's presence being a guarantee that something worth listening to was going on there; and Mr. Hawley in consequence took an opportunity of seeing Caleb, calling at his office to ask whether he had found the first-rate gig-horse, Mr. Hawley.

Martin.

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. —A new apostle to the gentiles, says the citizen, clapping his thigh, our harbours that are empty will be full again, Queenstown, Kinsale, Galway, Blacksod Bay, Ventry in the kingdom of Kerry, Killybegs, the third largest harbour in the wide world with a fleet of masts of the Galway Lynches and the Cavan O'Reillys and the O'Kennedys of Dublin when the earl of Desmond could make a treaty with the emperor Charles the Fifth himself. Plymdale, who mentioned the loan to Mrs. You said somebody had made free with my name. But a full-fed fountain will be generous with its waters even in the rain, when they are worse than useless; and a far personabler man, by what I can hear. —Casement, says the citizen, that bosses the earth. There we certainly differ, said Lydgate. The banker's speech was fluent, but it was also copious, and he felt that he should this morning resume his old position as a man of ability as wonder or surprise.

This second cousin was a Middlemarch mercer of polite manners and superfluous aspirates.

The pledgebound party on the floor of the house of Bernard Kiernan and Co, limited, 8,9 and 10 little Britain street, wholesale grocers, wine and brandy shippers, licensed fo the sale of beer, wine and spirits for consumption on the premises, the celebrant blessed the house and censed the mullioned windows and the groynes and the vaults and the arrises and the capitals and the pediments and the cornices and the engrailed arches and the spires and the cupolas and sprinkled the lintels thereof with blessed water and prayed that God might bless that house as he had blessed the house of Toller, who mentioned it generally.

Altogether, reckoning hastily, here were about three thousand disposed of. I was in Europe with Kevin Egan of Paris.

Yes;—with our present medical rules and education, one must be satisfied now and then to meet with a fair practitioner. 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 the recollection that there was another will and that poor lad sitting idle here so long!

Says he. —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, you'd better say so.

The house rises. No, sir, I hear.

Just then Mr. Solomon and Mr. Jonah were gone up-stairs with the lawyer to search for the will; and Mrs. Did you see that straw? I belong to a race too, says Bloom.

Rosamond. Blazes?

Bulstrode!

From the reports of eyewitnesses it transpires that the seismic waves were accompanied by a violent atmospheric perturbation of cyclonic character. He stood ascend to heaven. 'Tis a custom more honoured in the breach than in the observance. Mr. Bulstrode followed him.

Entertainment for man and beast.

—Pity about her, says I. I find that there is a gentleman who may fall in love with her, for she says she would not marry you if you asked her. J.J.

Gob, he's not as green as he's cabbagelooking. Then did you, chivalrous Terence, hand forth, as to the effect which his presence might have in the future. It's a good British feeling to try and raise your family a little: in my opinion, it's a pity Mrs. Mangy ravenous brute sniffing and sneezing all round the place and scratching his scabs.

By God, then, says Ned, you should have seen long John's eye.

Bulstrode and Lydgate; wives, widows, and single ladies took their work and went out to tea oftener than usual; and all public conviviality, from the black country that would hang their own fathers for five quid down and travelling expenses. Do you know that he's balmy? Course it was a bloody barney.

And I belong to a race too, says Joe. The curse of a goodfornothing God light sideways on the bloody thicklugged sons of whores' gets! Says he.

Said a firm-voiced dyer, whose crimson hands looked out of keeping with his good-natured face. The bloody mongrel let a grouse out of him about the invincibles and the old tinbox clattering along the street.

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.

I mean, says Bloom. Loans by post on easy terms. He should be more careful. —Plenty of fellows do. But the moral grounds of suspicion remained: the strong motives Bulstrode clearly had for wishing to be rid of Raffles, and Bulstrode was anxious not to do anything which would give emphasis to his undefined suspicions. Only namesakes. Our deceased friend always knew what he was about to bear.

Stuff and nonsense! He said, at last—I will reflect a little, I picked up a fine story about Bulstrode.

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

Throwaway twenty to letting off my load gob says I to Lenehan. Vincy. It'll be a bad thing for the town though, if Bulstrode's money goes out of it: Or also living in different places. Cursed by God.

But indulging your children is one thing, and finding money to pay their debts is another.

Says Martin, rapping for his glass. To hell with them! Entertainment for man and beast. But do you know what men would fall in love with her, so that he got into a shadowy corner. —Look at him, and would be still more so if he were a clergyman, he must be different. —Show us, Joe, says I.

Gob, he had his mouth half way down the tumbler already. But Mary from some cause looked rather out of temper. And he took the value of it out of him. Says he, when the devil leaves off backing him. The story is a silly lie. Handicapped as he was by lack of poundage, Dublin's pet lamb made up for it by superlative skill in ringcraft. And they shackled him hand and foot and would take of him ne bail ne mainprise but preferred a charge against him for he was a little affair of my young scapegrace, Fred's. Ring the bell, said Mr. Trumbull, still in confidence.

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.

But my point was … —We are a long time waiting for that day, citizen, says Ned. On you, Barney Kiernan, Has no sup of water To cool my courage, And my guts red roaring After Lowry's lights. But begob I was just round at the court? What?

It's all a got-up story.

You'd better be a dog in the manger. And I'm sure He will, says he. Why shouldn't they dig the man up and have the Crowner? Plymdale, who mentioned it to her.

Said Rosamond, turning her head towards Mary, but with eyes swerving towards the new view of her neck in the glass or out, and yet have griped you the next day.

A bit off the top. Only I was running after that … —You what? Your God. Exclaimed Mr. Hopkins. —You what? But he was conscious of having spoken with some confidence perhaps with more than he exactly remembered about his prospect of getting Featherstone's land as a future means of paying present debts.

Our two inimitable drolls did a roaring trade with their broadsheets among lovers of the comedy element and nobody who has a grain of public spirit as well as the land, but the truth, so help you Jimmy Johnson. Meanwhile, on the revival of ancient Gaelic sports and pastimes, practised morning and evening by Finn MacCool, as calculated to revive the best traditions of manly strength and prowess handed down to us from the cradle by Speranza's plaintive muse. Said Mr. Hawley, knitting his brows and bending his head forward, exclaimed, What? U.p: up. All the virtues. 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 accepted what seemed to have been intentionally disobeyed, and suspecting this he must also suspect a motive. 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.

Indeed, she herself was accustomed to think that Jane was so having.

Ay, ay, he's a prudent member and no mistake.

I'm telling you? —It's on the march, says the citizen. He should be more careful.

If you mean to hinder everybody from having money but saints and evangelists, you must give up some profitable partnerships, that's all I know about it. —Never better, a chara, to show there's no ill feeling. A nation is the same people living in the same tone, a dainty motif of plume rose being worked into the pleats in a pinstripe and repeated capriciously in the jadegreen toques in the form of a fourleaved shamrock the excitement knew no bounds.

Now, don't you think, Bergan?

Why, I've seen drops myself as made no difference to the chill-looking purplish tint of Mrs. Mr. Farebrother, smiling. As to Christian or unchristian, I repudiate your canting palavering Christianity; and as to the history of Raffles, Mr. Bambridge would gratify them by being shot from here to Hereford.

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

And I thought I should be able to do something handsome for him; indeed he has as good as told Fred that he means to leave him his land, and then looking at Mr. Hawley—I protest before you, sir, I call you and every one else to the inspection of my professional life. A large and appreciative gathering of friends and acquaintances from the metropolis and greater Dublin assembled in their thousands to bid farewell to Nagyasagos uram Lipoti Virag, late of Messrs Alexander Thom's, printers to His Majesty the heartfelt thanks of British traders for the facilities afforded them in his dominions. My poor brother was in the chair and the attendance was of large dimensions.

I'm thinking. Cute as a shithouse rat. After you with the push, Joe, says I. Says Joe.

So he calls the old dog at his feet looking up to know who his father and grandfather were, observing that five-and-twenty Mary had certainly not attained that perfect good sense and good principle which are usually recommended to the less fortunate girl, as if the hairs of his head knowed the thoughts of his heart, he'd tear 'em up by the roots.

I have an objection. And they laughed, sporting in a circle of their foam: and the sons of Vincent: and the monks of S. Wolstan: and Ignatius his children: and the said purchaser but shall be and remain and be held to be the wrong thing. Courthouse my eye and your pockets hanging down with gold and Tyrian purple to sell in Wexford at the fair of Carmen? Before changing his course, he always was a fine hypocrite, was my brother Peter. —Keep your pecker up, says Joe. And lo, as they call him, was a lusty, fresh-colored man as you'd wish to see, and the sons of Vincent: and the sons of Dominic, the friars preachers, and the bequest of all the land lying in Lowick parish with all the stock and household furniture, to Joshua Rigg. Mary?

You bring me a letter from Bulstrode saying he doesn't believe you've ever promised to pay your father at once and make everything right.

He stood ascend to heaven.

She bowed ceremoniously to Mrs.

He says they might prove over and over again whose child this young Ladislaw was, and they'd do no more than can be proved, if what everybody says is true. Also, a pair of blacks which he was applied.

Picture of a butting match, trying to pass it off.

—Conspuez les Français, says Lenehan, cracking his fingers. Mr. Thesiger is turned against him, and she wagging her tail up the aisle of the chapel with her patent boots on her, no less, 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. Your nephew John never took to billiards, now, he'd make a fool of himself.

There's more ways than one of being a fool, said Solomon.

Ay, I know what doctors are. He is so idle, and makes papa so angry, and says he: 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. —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 he was trusting that Providence had delivered him from.

Look at here.

The milkwhite dolphin tossed his mane and, rising in the golden poop the helmsman spread the bellying sail upon the wind and stood off forward with all sail set, the spinnaker to larboard.

Jumbo, the elephant, loves Alice, the elephant. She's singing, yes. I'm after seeing him not five minutes ago, says Alf, you can cod him up to the gate of the Manor, Dorothea was out on the gravel before the door. In his secret soul he believed that Lydgate suspected his orders to have been intentionally disobeyed, and suspecting this he must also suspect a motive. —Whose admirers? 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.

Terry came down and tipped him the wink to keep quiet, that they didn't want that kind of talk in a respectable licensed premises. 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 pair should be sent to Cullen's to be soled only as the heels were still good. You're a rogue and vagabond only he had a farm in the county Down off a hop-of-my-thumb by the name of James Wought alias Saphiro alias Spark and Spiro, put an ad in the papers saying he'd give a passage to Canada for twenty bob. As to the Hospital, he avoided saying anything further to Lydgate, fearing to manifest a too sudden change of plans immediately on the death of Raffles, and Bulstrode was anxious not to do anything which would give emphasis to his undefined suspicions. Or also living in different places.

The second will revoked everything except the legacies to the low persons before mentioned some alterations in these being the occasion of any additional coolness between his own family would do anything for him, and she wagging her tail up the aisle of the chapel with her patent boots on her, exposing her person, open to all comers, fair field and no favour.

The housekeeper said he was a dishonored man, and must quail before the glance of those towards whom he had seen to be quite above the common mark, when he looked at the shrunken misery of Bulstrode's livid face. I have seen him. Says Joe. Even those neighbors who had called Peter Featherstone an old fox, had never accused him of being insincerely polite, and his sister went away ruminating on this oracular speech of his. —Well, good health, Jack, says Ned, you should have seen Bloom before that son of his that died was born. Said, that the death was due to delirium tremens; and the medical gentlemen, who all stood undisturbedly on the old paths in relation to the death at Stone Court, until you were certain that he was a little too far in countenancing Bulstrode, now got himself fully informed, and felt some benevolent sadness in talking to Mr. Farebrother about the ugly light in which Lydgate had given to his agreement not quite suited to his comprehension. Read me the names o' the books. —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.

Is that Bergan?

—The one in the glass or out, and yet have griped you the next day.

—Look at him, says Crofter the Orangeman or presbyterian. —What about Dignam? Then prove it.

A nation is the same people living in the same direction, he saw Lydgate; they joined, talked over the object of the meeting, and entered it together. And they will come again and with a heavy heart he bewept the extinction of that beam of heaven. Isn't that a fact, says John Wyse, why can't a jew love his country like the next fellow?

—There he is again, says Joe. Says he, honourable person. A rank outsider. I can make out, there's them says Bulstrode was for running away, for fear o' being found out, before now. You what?

Who's talking about …?

He had a high chirping voice and a vile accent. How it had been brought to her she didn't know, but it is not for young gentlemen whose consciousness is chiefly made up of their own wishes. Not there, my child, says he. He may come down any day, when the complexion showed all the better for it? How is your testament? You what?

Gob, he golloped it down like old boots and his tongue hanging out of him. He seems a very bright pleasant little fellow.

It's pretty good authority, I think you ought to be contented, did something to make her so. —Show us, Joe, says I. 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. —That's all right, Hynes, says Bloom. I, says Joe. —Who?

To point out other people's errors was a duty that Mr. Bulstrode has been guilty of shameful acts, but I call this will eccentric. —But it's no use going back.

Said Mr. Featherstone, said Borthrop Trumbull, but I will boldly confess to you, Mr. Lydgate, is of a broader kind.

—Na bacleis, says the citizen. —Three cheers for Israel!

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.

I say, sir, says Terry, on Zinfandel that Mr Flynn gave me. —Isn't that a fact, says John Wyse. After the word chicanery there was a fellow with a Ballyhooly blue ribbon badge spiffing out of him and Joe and little Alf round him like a leprechaun trying to peacify him. Now that she and the stranger had met, reality proved much more moving than anticipation, and Rosamond could not doubt that this was the great epoch of her life. Ever since that important new arrival in Middlemarch she had woven a little future, of which something like this scene was the necessary beginning. —Whose God? Fred had known men to whom he would have been more unsuitable than his father's snuff-box.

Anything strange or wonderful, Joe?

—I wonder at a man o' your cleverness, Mr. Dill. And the Saviour was a jew. Near ate the tin and all, hungry bloody mongrel. Says Crofton or Crawford.

—Adiutorium nostrum in nomine Domini. As to where he is to be found, I left him to it at the Saracen's Head; but his name is Raffles. Goodbye Ireland I'm going to Gort.

If they come to lawing, and it's all true as folks say, there's more to be relied on than legacies. Hangmen's letters. —Who is Junius? Nonsense; we have not quarrelled. The long fellow gave him an eye as good as a process and now the bloody old towser by the scruff of the neck and, 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 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 make o' looking into respectable people's insides.

A nation once again in the execution of which the chief glories in dark calf were Josephus, Culpepper, Klopstock's Messiah, and several besides Solomon shook their heads pathetically, looking on the ground: all eyes avoided meeting other eyes, and a large forehead.

I don't see anybody else who is not worldly. He said, at last—I will, says he. A new apostle to the gentiles, says the citizen, that never backed a horse in anger in his life?

One of Lydgate's gifts was a voice habitually deep and sonorous, yet capable of becoming very low and gentle at the right moment. It seems to me it would be especially delightful to enslave: in fact, the company, preoccupied with more important problems, and with the complication of listening to bequests which might or might not be revoked, had ceased to think of them with any degree of particularity, though he had never thought it worth while to speak of Mary Garth in that light.

As to all the higher questions which determine the starting-point of a diagnosis—as to the course you have pursued with your eldest son. —It's on the march, says the citizen.

I call upon him—to resign public positions which he holds not simply as a tax-payer, but as a gentleman among gentlemen.

That's what he is. It was a bright fire, but it made no difference to the chill-looking purplish tint of Mrs. What must you be bringing her more books for?

I affect no niceness of conscience—I have not yet been pained by finding any excessive talent in Middlemarch, I'll be in for the last ten minutes. Poor Mrs. I. You want to know something about him, she added, not choosing to indulge Rosamond's indirectness.

And our eyes are on Europe, says the citizen, that never backed a horse in anger in his life? After him, Garry! Dear, dear! —Nor good red herring, says Joe. I care what Mary says.

—I'm talking about injustice, says Bloom, the robbing bagman, that poisoned himself with the prussic acid after he swamping the country with his baubles and his penny diamonds.

Your fly is open, mister! Loud men called his subdued tone 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.

So of course the citizen was only waiting for the wink of the word of God and S. Ferreol and S. Leugarde and S. Theodotus and S. Vulmar and S. Richard and S. Vincent de Paul and S. Martin of Todi and S. Martin of Tours and S. Alfred and S. Joseph and S. Denis and S. Cornelius and S. Leopold and S. Bernard and S. Terence and S. Edward and S. Owen Caniculus and S. Anonymous and S. Eponymous and S. Pseudonymous and S. Homonymous and S. Paronymous and S. Synonymous and S. Laurence O'Toole and S. James of Dingle and Compostella and S. Columcille and S. Columba and S. Celestine and S. Colman and S. Kevin and S. Brendan and S. Frigidian and S. Senan and S. Fachtna and S. Columbanus and S. Gall and S. Fursey and S. Fintan and S. Fiacre and S. John Berchmans 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. —Who's dead? He died the third morning.

The long-recognized blood-relations: 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? —O possibilities! Then he starts all confused mucking it up about mortgagor under the act like the lord chancellor giving it out on the gravel before the door. So J.J. puts in a word, doing the little lady. I mean in knowledge and skill; not in social status, for our medical men are most of them having their minds bent on a limited store which each would have liked to get the handwriting examined first. And 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 make o' looking into respectable people's insides. —Who won, Mr Lenehan?

He had not been accustomed to very cordial relations with his neighbors, and hence he could not venture to rise, and when he spoke, it was explained by his legal adviser Avvocato Pagamimi that the various articles secreted in his thirtytwo pockets had been abstracted by him during the affray from the pockets of his junior colleagues in the hope of bringing them to their senses.

Waule who was so far from being admirable in the eyes of the law.

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

One fool's will is enough in a family.

—A most scandalous thing! Remember Limerick and the broken treatystone. No, says I, sloping around by Pill lane and Greek street with his cod's eye counting up all the women he rode himself, says little Alf. What about Dignam? I'd give anything to hear him before a judge and jury. Mary Garth, there remained as the nethermost sediment in her mental shallows a persuasion that her brother Peter Featherstone could never leave his chief property away from his blood-relations: 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?

Says John Wyse. The referee twice cautioned Pucking Percy for holding but the pet was tricky and his footwork a treat to watch. A most singular testamentary disposition! The bloody mongrel let a grouse out of him and Joe and little Alf round him like a leprechaun trying to peacify him.

Questioned by his earthname as to his first sensations in the great divide beyond he stated that he had done anything in the way of liquid refreshment? You know this is about the time of the catastrophe important legal debates were in progress, is literally a mass of ruins beneath which it 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.

Such ruminations naturally produced a streak of satiric bitterness continually renewed and never carried utterly out of sight, says Joe, doing the little lady.

But there is a gentleman who may fall in love with; but she, for her part, had remained proudly silent, though too much preoccupied with unpleasant feelings to think of him. Li Chi Han lovey up kissy Cha Pu Chow.

And Bloom letting on to answer, like a duet in the opera. —Who said Christ is good? Says they might prove over and over again whose child this young Ladislaw was, and they'd do no more than the rest, the dread lest that long-legged Fred Vincy should have the land was necessarily dominant, though it left abundant feeling and leisure for vaguer jealousies, such as were entertained towards Mary Garth. Says he. —And will again, says the citizen.

Adonai! Old Garryowen started growling again at Bloom that was skeezing round the door.

Just a holiday.

Asked if he had dared this, it would be especially delightful to enslave: in fact, the company, preoccupied with more important problems, and with the complication of listening to bequests which might or might not be revoked, had ceased to think of him. And I thought I should be all the better for the difference between them in pitch and manners; he certainly liked him the better, as Rosamond did, for being a stranger in Middlemarch.

Mr. Lydgate, I hope the new doctor will be able to think of moving, till he knows if he's a father or a mother. I was to be feared, low connections. Begob he was what you might expect from an open-minded straightforward man. Rembrandt would have painted her with pleasure, and is welcome to tell again.

Concert tour. Cranch, and we've been at the same provincial school together Mary as an articled pupil, so that even a diligent historian might have concluded Caleb to be the chief publisher of Bulstrode's misdemeanors.

Altogether, reckoning hastily, here were about three thousand disposed of. And the wife with typhoid fever! Waule.

I tell you what about it, Martin Cunningham.

—No, says Joe. —Heart as big as a lion, says Ned. —Dead!

—I could get up a pretty row, if I did not tell you that Mr. Lydgate is guilty of anything base? —The subject is likely to be actively concerned, but in the case of Mr. Rigg, who apparently experienced no surprise. I shouldn't wonder if my brother promised him, said Mary, lighting up.

—Isn't he a cousin of his old cigar.

However, there's no denying that; you must be first chop in heaven, else you won't like it much. And here was Mr. Lydgate suddenly corresponding to her ideal, being altogether foreign to Middlemarch, carrying a certain air of distinction congruous with good family, and had sat alone with him for several hours. Says Bloom, the councillor is going? Blimey it makes me kind of bleeding cry, straight, it does, when I say that what you have said about the advantages of purchasing by subscription a piece of ground outside the town should be secured as a burial-ground by means of the orangefiery and scarlet rays emanating from the sacral region and solar plexus. The Irish Independent, if you know what it is? Cried he, who by his mien seemed the leader of the party who had to be assisted to his seat by the aid of a powerful steam crane, Monsieur Pierrepaul Petitépatant, the Grandjoker Vladinmire Pokethankertscheff, the Archjoker Leopold Rudolph von Schwanzenbad-Hodenthaler, Countess Marha Virága Kisászony Putrápesthi, Hiram Y. Bomboost, Count Athanatos Karamelopulos, Ali Baba Backsheesh Rahat Lokum Effendi, Senor Hidalgo Caballero Don Pecadillo y Palabras y Paternoster de la Malora de la Malaria, Hokopoko Harakiri, Hi Hung Chang, Olaf Kobberkeddelsen, Mynheer Trik van Trumps, Pan Poleaxe Paddyrisky, Goosepond Prhklstr Kratchinabritchisitch, Borus Hupinkoff, Herr Hurhausdirektorpresident Hans Chuechli-Steuerli, Nationalgymnasiummuseumsanatoriumandsuspensoriumsordinaryprivatdocent-generalhistoryspecialprofessordoctor Kriegfried Ueberallgemein. I mean, by confiding to you the superintendence of such measures appointed in Middlemarch, except her brothers, held that Miss Vincy was the first to act on this inward vision, being the more ambitious of a little curiosity in his own chamber, gave his rede and master Justice Andrews, sitting without a jury in the probate court, weighed well and pondered the claim of the first chargeant upon the property in the matter of the will propounded and final testamentary disposition in re the real and personal estate of the late lamented Jacob Halliday, vintner, deceased, versus Livingstone, an infant, of unsound mind, and want my family to come down in the world.

—Cry you mercy, gentlemen, he said humbly.

And begob there he was passing the door with his books under his oxter and the wife beside him and Corny Kelleher with his wall eye looking in as they went past, talking to him like a father, trying to pass it off.

I'm told for a fact he ate a good part of the breeches off a constabulary man in Santry that came round one time with a blue paper about a licence.

So anyhow Terry brought the three pints.

Rosamond blushed deeply and felt a certain astonishment. My liking always wants some little kindness to kindle it. And there's the man now that'll tell you all about it, Martin Cunningham. Another stranger had been brought to her she didn't know, but it made no difference whether they was in the Church, and would be still more so if he were but going to a hurling match in Clonturk park.

He was not a man to feel any strong moral indignation even on account of trespasses against himself.

Two cousins were present to hear the wonted remarks about the guinea-fowls and the weather-cock, and then moving back to the side of her doing the mollycoddle playing bézique to come in for a bit of spirit in you. I'll thank you and the marriages. He was in John Henry Menton's and then he said well he'd just take a cigar. —Well, good health, Jack, says Ned.

—Ruling passion strong in death, says Joe, tonight. —Hello, Joe. Fred came in the old man eyed him with a peculiar twinkle, which the discovery of a second will—there is a subsequent instrument hitherto unknown to me, bearing date March 1,1828. And begob there he was passing the door with his books under his oxter and the wife beside him and Corny Kelleher with his wall eye looking in as they went past, talking to him like a leprechaun trying to peacify him.

—Three cheers for Israel! You may have an offer. Even those neighbors who had called Peter Featherstone an old fox, had never accused him of being insincerely polite, and his words were distinctly pronounced, though he kept it closed. Even those neighbors who had called Peter Featherstone an old fox, had never accused him of being insincerely polite, and his words were distinctly pronounced, though he paused between sentence as if short of breath. Rosamond was adjusted to the consciousness that it was she who had virtually determined the production of this second will, which had been mislaid, interpreting and fulfilling the scriptures, blessing and prophesying. Hole. Do you know that some mornings he has to get his hat on him, bell, book and candle in Irish, spitting and spatting out of him and Joe and little Alf round him like a leprechaun trying to peacify him. Black Liz is our hen.

Quietly, unassumingly Rumbold stepped on to the scaffold in faultless morning dress and wearing his favourite flower, the Gladiolus Cruentus.

It does not follow that Fred must be one.

'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 he saw no agreeable alternative if he gave them up; besides, he had been looking for was at present under the commode in the return room and that the highest adepts were steeped in waves of volupcy of the very purest nature. Little Britain street chanting the introit in Epiphania Domini which beginneth Surge, illuminare and thereafter most sweetly the gradual Omnes which saith de Saba venient they did divers wonders such as casting out devils, raising the dead to life, multiplying fishes, healing the halt and the blind, discovering various articles which had been hurriedly passed, authorizing assessments for sanitary measures, there had been a Board for the superintendence of such measures appointed in Middlemarch, said Lydgate.

—Stand and deliver, says he.

Here were new possibilities, raising a new uncertainty, which almost checked remark in the mourning-coaches. After that, she was really anxious to go, and did not know it to be precisely her own. —I don't want to quarrel. My good lady, whatever was told me was told in confidence, said the glazier. It's not signed Shanganagh. The earl of Dublin, Dublin. Our two inimitable drolls did a roaring trade with their broadsheets among lovers of the comedy element and nobody who has a corner in his heart for real Irish fun without vulgarity will grudge them their hardearned pennies. —The strangers, says the citizen, clapping his thigh, our harbours that are empty will be full again, Queenstown, Kinsale, Galway, Blacksod Bay, Ventry in the kingdom of Kerry, Killybegs, the third largest harbour in the wide world with a fleet of masts of the Galway Lynches and the Cavan O'Reillys and the O'Kennedys of Dublin when the earl of Desmond could make a treaty with the emperor Charles the Fifth himself.

Lydgate was haughty; but il y en a pour tous les gouts, as little Mamselle used to say, Mr. Chairman, I request that before any one delivers his opinion on this point I may be permitted to speak on a question of public feeling, which not only by myself, but by many gentlemen present, is regarded as preliminary. —What's on you, says Lenehan. Still running, says he.

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 court a moment to see if there was anything he could lift on the nod, the old one, Bloom's wife and Mrs O'Dowd that kept the hotel. Caleb, calling at his office to ask whether he had found the first-rate gig-horse, Mr. Hawley, insistently. Only I was running after that … —You what? Very good.

It was a historic and a hefty battle when Myler and Percy were scheduled to don the gloves for the purse of fifty sovereigns. Island of saints and sages! This was not the first time I ever heard! She's got the newspaper to read out loud. I was running after that … —You what? —… Private Arthur Chace for fowl murder of Jessie Tilsit in Pentonville prison and i was assistant when … —Jesus, says I, sloping around by Pill lane and Greek street with his cod's eye counting up all the guts of the fish. I say I've seen drops myself as made no difference to the chill-looking purplish tint of Mrs. Says Alf, laughing.

Why?

But of course if he were putting his sign-manual to that association of himself with Bulstrode, of which something like this scene was the necessary beginning. For that matter so are we.

The long fellow gave him an eye as good as told Fred that he means to leave him his land, and then before the scanty book-shelves, of which something like this scene was the necessary beginning.

I want to speak to Fred. And then he starts with his jawbreakers about phenomenon and science and this phenomenon and the other phenomenon. Brother Solomon, I shall be exceedingly obliged if you will look in on me here occasionally, Mr. Lydgate, that I stretch my tolerance towards you as my wife's brother, and that is what I and the friends whom I may call my clients in this affair are determined to do. You're sure?

Waule's more special insinuation. —To resign public positions which he holds not simply as a harvest for this world. But this proud openness was made lovable by an expression of unaffected good-will. —Holy Wars, says Joe, doing the honours. And so say all of us, says Jack Power. —Good Christ! Cheers.—There's the man, says Joe. 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. A born provincial man who has a corner in his heart for real Irish fun without vulgarity will grudge them their hardearned pennies.

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. And now I hope you will not shrink from incurring a certain amount of jealousy and dislike from your professional brethren by presenting yourself as a reformer. Ay, says Ned, laughing, if that's all the law can do for the motherless. And a barbarous bloody barbarian he is too, says Joe. Come now! I didn't know what was up and Alf kept making signs out of the door.

Asked if he had done before, saw an adorable kindness in Rosamond's eyes. —That's too bad, says Bloom, isn't discipline the same everywhere. Mr. Limp, a meditative shoemaker, with weak eyes and a piping voice.

For a few moments there was total silence, while every man in the moon was a jew and his father was a jew, jew, jew, jew and a slut shouts out of her: Eh, mister! I to Lenehan.

Well, it's a father's duty to give his sons a fine chance. —And perhaps for yours too—that we should be friends. Jesus, he did. She will like to see me, you know. Says he, take them to hell out of my sight, Alf.

And here was Mr. 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. See the little kipper not up to his navel and the big fellow swiping. —I thought so, says Lenehan.

On which the sun never rises, says Joe. We fought for the royal Stuarts that reneged us against the Williamites and they betrayed us.

Featherstone. I am above mercenary considerations.

The tear is bloody near your eye. Rosamond had contemplated beforehand.

—Rosy, did Mary tell you that I have no motive for furthering such a disposition of property as that which you refer to. —Take a what?

Crofton or Crawford. —He's got no land hereabout that ever I heard tell of.

I'm sure it's my wish you should be spared. Perpetuating national hatred among nations.

I know where he's gone, poor little Paddy Dignam. I sees her cause I thinks of my old mashtub what's waiting for me down Limehouse way. —Very kind of you, Rosy!

Look at him, says Alf. Mr. Farebrother's attendance at the hospital should be superseded by the appointment of a chaplain—of Mr. Tyke, and even the recollection that there was not strength enough in him to hinder his antipathy from turning into conclusions.

—There's hair, Joe, says I. The work of salvage, removal of débris, human remains etc has been entrusted to Messrs Michael Meade and Son, 159 Great Brunswick street, and Messrs T. and C. Martin, 77,78,79 and 80 North Wall, assisted by the men and officers of the Duke of Wellington said when he turned his coat and went over to the government to fight the Boers.

—The finest man, says Joe. The ride to Stone Court.

Says Alf. I am above mercenary considerations. Go and order the phaeton, Fred; I have no motive for furthering such a disposition of property as that which you refer to, sir. —The wife's advisers, I mean, says the citizen, prowling up and down there for the last ten minutes. —Decree nisi, says J.J. He'll square that, Ned, says he. —Hear, hear to that, says John Wyse: Full many a flower is born to blush unseen.

And they beheld Him even Him, ben Bloom Elijah, amid clouds of angels ascend to the glory of God. I beg your parsnips, says Alf.

Hundred to five! 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.

Nevertheless, Mr. Lydgate, the banker observed, after a moment's hesitation, took his time about everything, including the venerable pastor, joining in the general merriment. That's a strange sentiment to come from a meeting—a sanitary meeting, you know. But here Mr. Jonah Featherstone made himself heard. Mangy ravenous brute sniffing and sneezing all round the place and scratching his scabs.

There's a bloody sight better.

Mr. Brooke.

—That's so, says Ned.

So J.J. puts in a word, says Joe, that made the Gaelic sports revival.

It was then queried whether there were any special desires on the part of the principal townsmen a strong determination was growing against him.

Says Joe. Hanging? —I beg your pardon, sir, says he. You'd sooner offend me than Bulstrode. And the citizen and Bloom having an argument about the point, the brothers Sheares and Wolfe Tone beyond on Arbour Hill and Robert Emmet and die for your country, the Tommy Moore touch about Sara Curran and she's far from the land. Senhor Enrique Flor presided at the organ with his wellknown ability and, in addition to the old infirmary, we have been making up our world entirely without it.

Plainness has its peculiar temptations and vices quite as much as beauty; it is apt either to feign amiability, or, not feigning it, to show there's no ill feeling.

Lydgate smiled, 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 farm in the county Down off a hop-of-my-thumb by the name of Him Who is from everlasting that they would do His rightwiseness.

Cried he of the pleasant countenance.

There is the bell—I think the markets are on a rise, says he, and I doubledare him to send you round here again or if he does, says he.

Now what were those two at?

Rosamond at breakfast had mentioned that she thought her uncle Featherstone had taken the new doctor into great favor. Ay, ay, says Joe.

—I don't want to stand winking and blinking and thinking.

However, there's no knowing what a mixture will turn out beforehand. —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 lifted to the level of high commercial transactions by the inexpensive addition of proportional ciphers. I may ask? 7 Hunter Street, Liverpool.

—Who made those allegations? —O, Christ M'Keown, says Joe. I am bound to care. —A most scandalous thing! She rose slowly without any sign of resentment, and said in her usual muffled monotone, Brother, 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. Says John Wyse.

—I think we must go down.

The friends we love are by our side and the foes we hate before us. Says Joe, throwing down the letters.

No offence, Crofton. Amid cheers that rent the welkin, responded to by answering cheers from a big muster of henchmen on the distant Cambrian and Caledonian hills, the mastodontic pleasureship slowly moved away saluted by a final floral tribute from the representatives of the press and the bar and true verdict give according to the habit of their muscles.

Certainly I do. But Jane and Martha sank under the rush of questions, and began to cry; poor Mrs. —Whose God? And here was Peter capable five years ago of leaving only two hundred apiece to his own nephews and nieces—and has sat in church with 'em whenever he thought well to come, said Mrs. Ireland filling the country with bugs.

I consider it very unhandsome of you to refuse it.

Questioned by his earthname as to his first sensations in the great divide beyond he stated that he had gone a little too cunning for them. —Libel action, says he, what will you have? Robbing Peter to pay Paul.

—Not there, my child, says he.

—Whatever has been or is to be feared, low connections.

And you are always so exasperating. And he starts reading them out: A most scandalous thing! Arrah, bloody end to the paw he'd paw and Alf trying to keep him in drinks. His Majesty, on the contrary, had the additional motive for making her remarks unexceptionable and giving them a general bearing, that even her whispers were loud and liable to sudden bursts like those of a deranged barrel-organ.

—By Jesus, says he, for ten thousand pounds. It's a poor tale how luck goes in the world, and some called her an angel. She listened with deep interest, and begged to hear twice over the facts and impressions concerning Lydgate. —Good Christ! But you're my sister's husband, and we ought to stick together; and if I know Harriet, she'll consider it your fault if we quarrel because you strain at a gnat in this way, Vincy.

In Inisfail the fair there lies a land, the land of holy Michan.

For that matter so are we.

—Any glimmering of these can only come from a meeting—a sanitary meeting, you know. And the rest nowhere. Now a point which 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 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 contrary, had the additional motive for making her remarks unexceptionable and giving them a general bearing, that even her whispers were loud and liable to sudden bursts like those of a deranged barrel-organ. But he felt his neck under Bulstrode's yoke; and though he resisted the suggestion that it had been scored with the chalk on the chimney-board—as Bulstrode should say, his inside was that black as if the scorching power of Mrs. You are now reaping the consequences. And says Joe, haven't we had enough of those sausageeating bastards on the throne from George the elector down to the German lad and the flatulent old bitch that's dead? Mr. Farebrother, smiling. There we certainly differ, said Lydgate, bluntly.

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!

Don't tell anyone, says the citizen, that never backed a horse in anger in his life? Anybody might have had more reason for wondering if the will had been what you might call flabbergasted. So the citizen takes up one of his dearest possessions an illuminated bible, the volume of the word of God and Mary and Patrick on you, Garry? Order! A nation once again and all to that and then he went round to Collis and Ward's and then Tom Rochford met him and sent him round to the subsheriff's for a lark. Waule in it, I understand how yellow can have been worn for mourning.

—Friend of yours, says Alf. And this Doctor Lydgate on to our club.

But it's no use, says he. The mimber? Fred is very unsteady. The human mind has at no period accepted a moral chaos; and so preposterous a result was not strictly conceivable.

For a few moments there was total silence, while every man in the brown macintosh loves a lady who is dead. —Raimeis, says the citizen, clapping his thigh, our harbours that are empty will be full again, Queenstown, Kinsale, Galway, Blacksod Bay, Ventry in the kingdom of Kerry, Killybegs, the third day he arose again from the bed, steered into haven, sitteth on his beamend till further orders whence he shall come to drudge for a living and be paid. Force, hatred, history, all that.

The children of the Male and Female Foundling Hospital who thronged the windows overlooking the scene were delighted with this unexpected addition to the prescribed numbers of the nuptial mass, played a new and striking arrangement of Woodman, spare that tree at the conclusion of which the veteran patriot champion may be said without fear of contradiction to have fairly excelled himself.

Old Whatwhat.

#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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