James Joyce
Finnegans Wake
James Joyce
Finnegans Wake
F A B E R
& F A B E R , 1 9 7 5
riverrun, past Eve and Adam’s, from swerve of shore to bend of bay, brings us by a commodius vicus of recirculation back to Howth Castle and Environs.
Sir Tristram, violer d’amores, fr’over the short sea, had passen- core rearrived from North Armorica on this side the scraggy isthmus of Europe Minor to wielderﬁght his penisolate war: nor had topsawyer’s rocks by the stream Oconee exaggerated themselse to Laurens County’s gorgios while they went doublin their mumper all the time: nor avoice from aﬁre bellowsed mishe mishe to tauftauf thuartpeatrick: not yet, though venissoon after, had a kidscad buttended a bland old isaac: not yet, though all’s fair in vanessy, were sosie sesthers wroth with twone nathandjoe. Rot a peck of pa’s malt had Jhem or Shen brewed by arclight and rory end to the regginbrow was to be seen ringsome on the aquaface.
The fall (bababadalgharaghtakamminarronnkonnbronntonner- ronntuonnthunntrovarrhounawnskawntoohoohoordenenthur- nuk!) of a once wallstrait oldparr is retaled early in bed and later on life down through all christian minstrelsy. The great fall of the oﬀwall entailed at such short notice the pftjschute of Finnegan, erse solid man, that the humptyhillhead of humself prumptly sends an unquiring one well to the west in quest of his tumptytumtoes: and their upturnpikepointandplace is at the knock out in the park where oranges have been laid to rust upon the green since dev- linsﬁrst loved livvy.
What clashes here of wills gen wonts, oystrygods gaggin ﬁshy- gods! Brékkek Kékkek Kékkek Kékkek! Kóax Kóax Kóax! Ualu Ualu Ualu! Quaouauh! Where the Baddelaries partisans are still out to mathmaster Malachus Micgranes and the Verdons cata- pelting the camibalistics out of the Whoyteboyce of Hoodie Head. Assiegates and boomeringstroms. Sod’s brood, be me fear! Sanglorians, save! Arms apeal with larms, appalling. Killykill- killy: a toll, a toll. What chance cuddleys, what cashels aired and ventilated! What bidimetoloves sinduced by what tegotetab- solvers! What true feeling for their’s hayair with what strawng voice of false jiccup! O here here how hoth sprowled met the duskt the father of fornicationists but, (O my shining stars and body!) how hath fanespanned most high heaven the skysign of soft advertisement! But waz iz? Iseut? Ere were sewers? The oaks of ald now they lie in peat yet elms leap where askes lay. Phall if you but will, rise you must: and none so soon either shall the pharce for the nunce come to a setdown secular phoenish.
Bygmester Finnegan, of the Stuttering Hand, freemen’s mau- rer, lived in the broadest way immarginable in his rushlit toofar- back for messuages before joshuan judges had given us numbers or Helviticus committed deuteronomy (one yeastyday he sternely struxk his tete in a tub for to watsch the future of his fates but ere he swiftly stook it out again, by the might of moses, the very wat- er was eviparated and all the guenneses had met their exodus so that ought to show you what a pentschanjeuchy chap he was!) and during mighty odd years this man of hod, cement and edi- ﬁces in Toper’s Thorp piled buildung supra buildung pon the banks for the livers by the Soangso. He addle liddle phiﬁe Annie ugged the little craythur. Wither hayre in honds tuck up your part inher. Oftwhile balbulous, mithre ahead, with goodly trowel in grasp and ivoroiled overalls which he habitacularly fondseed, like Haroun Childeric Eggeberth he would caligulate by multiplicab- les the alltitude and malltitude until he seesaw by neatlight of the liquor wheretwin ’twas born, his roundhead staple of other days to rise in undress maisonry upstanded (joygrantit!), a waalworth of a skyerscape of most eyeful hoyth entowerly, erigenating from
next to nothing and celescalating the himals and all, hierarchitec- titiptitoploftical, with a burning bush abob oﬀ its baubletop and with larrons o’toolers clittering up and tombles a’buckets clotter- ing down.
Of the ﬁrst was he to bare arms and a name: Wassaily Boos- laeugh of Riesengeborg. His crest of huroldry, in vert with ancillars, troublant, argent, a hegoak, poursuivant, horrid, horned. His scutschum fessed, with archers strung, helio, of the second. Hootch is for husbandman handling his hoe. Hohohoho, Mister Finn, you’re going to be Mister Finnagain! Comeday morm and, O, you’re vine! Sendday’s eve and, ah, you’re vinegar! Hahahaha, Mister Funn, you’re going to be ﬁned again!
What then agentlike brought about that tragoady thundersday this municipal sin business? Our cubehouse still rocks as earwitness to the thunder of his arafatas but we hear also through successive ages that shebby choruysh of unkaliﬁed muzzlenimiissilehims that would blackguardise the whitestone ever hurtleturtled out of heaven. Stay us wherefore in our search for tighteousness, O Sus- tainer, what time we rise and when we take up to toothmick and before we lump down upown our leatherbed and in the night and at the fading of the stars! For a nod to the nabir is better than wink to the wabsanti. Otherways wesways like that provost scoﬃng bedoueen the jebel and the jpysian sea. Cropherb the crunch- bracken shall decide. Then we’ll know if the feast is a ﬂyday. She has a gift of seek on site and she allcasually ansars helpers, the dreamydeary. Heed! Heed! It may half been a missﬁred brick, as some say, or it mought have been due to a collupsus of his back promises, as others looked at it. (There extand by now one thou- sand and one stories, all told, of the same).  His howd feeled heavy, his hoddit did shake. (There was a wall of course in erection) Dimb! He stot- tered from the latter. Damb! he was dud. Dumb! Mastabatoom, mastabadtomm, when a mon merries his lute is all long. For whole the world to see.
Shize? I should shee! Macool, Macool, orra whyi deed ye diie? of a trying thirstay mournin? Sobs they sighdid at Fillagain’s chrissormiss wake, all the hoolivans of the nation, prostrated in their consternation and their duodisimally profusive plethora of ululation. There was plumbs and grumes and cheriﬀs and citherers and raiders and cinemen too. And the all gianed in with the shout- most shoviality. Agog and magog and the round of them agrog. To the continuation of that celebration until Hanandhunigan’s extermination! Some in kinkin corass, more, kankan keening. Belling him up and ﬁlling him down. He’s stiﬀ but he’s steady is Priam Olim! ’Twas he was the dacent gaylabouring youth. Sharpen his pillowscone, tap up his bier! E’erawhere in this whorl would ye hear sich a din again? With their deepbrow fundigs and the dusty ﬁdelios. They laid him brawdawn alanglast bed. With a bockalips of ﬁnisky fore his feet. And a barrowload of guenesis hoer his head. Tee the tootal of the ﬂuid hang the twoddle of the fuddled, O!
Hurrah, there is but young gleve for the owl globe wheels in view which is tautaulogically the same thing. Well, Him a being so on the ﬂounder of his bulk like an overgrown babeling, let wee peep, see, at Hom, well, see peegee ought he ought, platterplate.
Hum! From Shopalist to Bailywick or from ashtun to baronoath or from Buythebanks to Roundthehead or from the foot of the bill to ireglint’s eye he calmly extensolies. And all the way (a horn!) from fjord to fjell his baywinds’ oboboes shall wail him
rockbound (hoahoahoah!) in swimswamswum and all the livvy- long night, the delldale dalppling night, the night of bluerybells, her ﬂittaﬂute in tricky trochees (O carina! O carina!) wake him. With her issavan essavans and her patterjackmartins about all them inns and ouses. Tilling a teel of a tum, telling a toll of a tea- ry turty Taubling. Grace before Glutton. For what we are, gifs à gross if we are, about to believe. So pool the begg and pass the kish for crawsake. Omen. So sigh us. Grampupus is fallen down but grinny sprids the boord. Whase on the joint of a desh? Fin- foefom the Fush. Whase be his baken head? A loaf of Singpan- try’s Kennedy bread. And whase hitched to the hop in his tayle? A glass of Danu U’Dunnell’s foamous olde Dobbelin ayle. But, lo, as you would quaﬀoﬀ his fraudstuﬀ and sink teeth through that pyth of a ﬂowerwhite bodey behold of him as behemoth for he is noewhemoe. Finiche! Only a fadograph of a yestern scene. Almost rubicund Salmosalar, ancient fromout the ages of the Ag- apemonides, he is smoltenin our mist, woebecanned and packt away. So that meal’s dead oﬀ for summan, schlook, schlice and goodridhirring.
Yet may we not see still the brontoichthyan form outlined a- slumbered, even in our own nighttime by the sedge of the trout- ling stream that Bronto loved and Brunto has a lean on.
Hiccubat edilis. Apud libertinam parvulam. Whatif she be in ﬂags or ﬂitters, reekierags or sundyechosies, with a mint of mines or beggar a pinnyweight. Arrah, sure, we all love little Anny Ruiny, or, we mean to say, lovelittle Anna Rayiny, when unda her brella, mid piddle med puddle, she ninnygoes nannygoes nancing by. Yoh! Brontolone slaaps, yoh snoores. Upon Benn Heather, in Seeple Isout too. The cranic head on him, caster of his reasons, peer yu- thner in yondmist. Whooth? His clay feet, swarded in verdigrass, stick up starck where he last fellonem, by the mund of the maga- zine wall, where our maggy seen all, with her sisterin shawl. While over against this belles’ alliance beyind Ill Sixty, ollol- lowed ill! bagsides of the fort, bom, tarabom, tarabom, lurk the ombushes, the site of the lyﬃng-in-wait of the upjock and hock- ums. Hence when the clouds roll by, jamey, a proudseye view isenjoyable of our mounding’s mass, now Wallinstone national museum, with, in some greenish distance, the charmful water- loose country and the two quitewhite villagettes who hear show of themselves so gigglesomes minxt the follyages, the prettilees! Penetrators are permitted into the museomound free. Welsh and the Paddy Patkinses, one shelenk! Redismembers invalids of old guard ﬁnd poussepousse pousseypram to sate the sort of their butt. For her passkey supply to the janitrix, the mistress Kathe. Tip.
This the way to the museyroom. Mind your hats goan in! Now yiz are in the Willingdone Museyroom. This is a Prooshi- ous gunn. This is a ﬀrinch. Tip. This is the ﬂag of the Prooshi- ous, the Cap and Soracer. This is the bullet that byng the ﬂag of the Prooshious. This is the ﬀrinch that ﬁre on the Bull that bang the ﬂag of the Prooshious. Saloos the Crossgunn! Up with your pike and fork! Tip. (Bullsfoot! Fine!) This is the triplewon hat of Lipoleum. Tip. Lipoleumhat. This is the Willingdone on his same white harse, the Cokenhape.  This is his big wide harse. Tip. This is the three lipoleum boyne grouching down in the living detch. This is an inimyskilling inglis, this is a scotcher grey, this is a davy, stoop- ing. This is the bog lipoleum mordering the lipoleum beg. A Gallawghurs argaumunt. This is the petty lipoleum boy that was nayther bag nor bug. Assaye, assaye! Touchole Fitz Tuo- mush. Dirty MacDyke. And Hairy O’Hurry. All of them arminus-varminus. This is Delian alps. This is Mont Tivel, this is Mont Tipsey, this is the Grand Mons Injun. This is the crimealine of the alps hooping to sheltershock the three lipoleums. This is the jinnies with their legahorns feinting to read in their handmade’s book of stralegy while making their war undisides the Willingdone.  This is big Willingdone mormorial tallowscoop Wounderworker obscides on the ﬂanks of the jinnies. Sexcaliber hrosspower. Tip. This
is me Belchum sneaking his phillippy out of his most Awful Grimmest Sunshat Cromwelly. Looted. This is the jinnies’ hast- ings dispatch for to irrigate the Willingdone. Dispatch in thin red lines cross the shortfront of me Belchum. Yaw, yaw, yaw! Leaper Orthor. Fear siecken! Fieldgaze thy tiny frow. Hugact- ing. Nap. That was the tictacs of the jinnies for to fontannoy the Willingdone. Shee, shee, shee! The jinnies is jillous agincourting all the lipoleums. And the lipoleums is gonn boycottoncrezy onto the one Willingdone. And the Willingdone git the band up. This is bode Belchum, bonnet to busby, breaking his secred word with a ball up his ear to the Willingdone. This is the Willingdone’s hur- old dispitchback. Dispitch desployed on the regions rare of me Belchum. Salamangra! Ayi, ayi, ayi! Cherry jinnies. Figtreeyou! Damn fairy ann, Voutre. Willingdone. That was the ﬁrst joke of Willingdone, tic for tac. Hee, hee, hee! This is me Belchum in his twelvemile cowchooks, weet, tweet and stampforth foremost, footing the camp for the jinnies. Drink a sip, drankasup, for he’s as sooner buy a guinness than he’d stale store stout. This is Roo- shious balls. This is a ttrinch. This is mistletropes. This is Canon Futter with the popynose. After his hundred days’ indulgence. This is the blessed. Tarra’s widdars! This is jinnies in the bonny bawn blooches. This is lipoleums in the rowdy howses. This is the Willingdone, by the splinters of Cork, order ﬁre. Tonnerre! (Bullsear! Play!) This is camelry, this is ﬂoodens, this is the solphereens in action, this is their mobbily, this is panickburns. Almeidagad! Arthiz too loose! This is Willingdone cry. Brum! Brum! Cumbrum! This is jinnies cry. Underwetter! Goat strip Finnlambs! This is jinnies rinning away to their ouster- lists dowan a bunkersheels. With a nip nippy nip and a trip trip- py trip so airy. For their heart’s right there. Tip. This is me Bel- chum’s tinkyou tankyou silvoor plate for citchin the crapes in the cool of his canister. Poor the pay! This is the bissmark of the marathon merry of the jinnies they left behind them. This is the Willingdone branlish his same marmorial tallowscoop Sophy- Key-Po for his royal divorsion on the rinnaway jinnies. Gam- bariste della porca! Dalaveras ﬁmmieras! This is the pettiest
of the lipoleums, Toﬀeethief, that spy on the Willingdone from his big white harse, the Capeinhope. Stonewall Willingdone is an old maxy montrumeny. Lipoleums is nice hung bushel- lors. This is hiena hinnessy laughing alout at the Willing- done. This is lipsyg dooley krieging the funk from the hinnessy. This is the hinndoo Shimar Shin between the dooley boy and the hinnessy. Tip. This is the wixy old Willingdone picket up the half of the threefoiled hat of lipoleums fromoud of the bluddle ﬁlth. This is the hinndoo waxing ranjymad for a bombshoob. This is the Willingdone hanking the half of the hat of lipoleums up the tail on the buckside of his big white harse. Tip. That was the last joke of Willingdone. Hit, hit, hit! This is the same white harse of the Willingdone, Culpenhelp, waggling his tailoscrupp with the half of a hat of lipoleums to insoult on the hinndoo see- boy. Hney, hney, hney! (Bullsrag! Foul!) This is the seeboy, madrashattaras, upjump and pumpim, cry to the Willingdone: Ap Pukkaru! Pukka Yurap! This is the Willingdone, bornstable ghentleman, tinders his maxbotch to the cursigan Shimar Shin. Basucker youstead! This is the dooforhim seeboy blow the whole of the half of the hat of lipoleums oﬀ of the top of the tail on the back of his big wide harse. Tip (Bullseye! Game!) How Copen- hagen ended. This way the museyroom. Mind your boots goan out.
Phew!
What a warm time we were in there but how keling is here the airabouts! We nowhere she lives but you mussna tell annaone for the lamp of Jig-a-Lanthern! It’s a candlelittle houthse of a month and one windies. Downadown, High Downadown. And num- mered quaintlymine. And such reasonable weather too! The wa- grant wind’s awalt’zaround the piltdowns and on every blasted knollyrock (if you can spot ﬁfty I spy four more) there’s that gnarlybird ygathering, a runalittle, doalittle, preealittle, pouralittle, wipealittle, kicksalittle, severalittle, eatalittle, whinealittle, kenalittle, helfalittle, pelfalittle gnarlybird. A verytableland of bleakbardﬁelds! Under his seven wrothschields lies one, Lumproar. His glav toside him. Skud ontorsed. Our pigeons pair are ﬂewn for northcliﬀs.
The three of crows have ﬂapped it southenly, kraaking of de baccle to the kvarters of that sky whence triboos answer; Wail, ’tis well! She niver comes out when Thon’s on shower or when Thon’s ﬂash with his Nixy girls or when Thon’s blowing toom- cracks down the gaels of Thon. No nubo no! Neblas on you liv! Her would be too moochy afreet. Of Burymeleg and Bindme- rollingeyes and all the deed in the woe. Fe fo fom! She jist does hopes till byes will be byes. Here, and it goes on to appear now, she comes, a peacefugle, a parody’s bird, a peri potmother, a pringlpik in the ilandiskippy, with peewee and powwows in beggybaggy on her bickybacky and a ﬂick ﬂask ﬂeckﬂinging its pixylighting pacts’ huemeramybows, picking here, pecking there, pussypussy plunderpussy. But it’s the armitides toonigh, militopucos, and toomourn we wish for a muddy kissmans to the minutia workers and there’s to be a gorgeups truce for happinest childher everwere. Come nebo me and suso sing the day we sallybright. She’s burrowed the coacher’s headlight the better to pry (who goes cute goes siocur and shoos aroun) and all spoiled goods go into her nabsack: curtrages and rattlin buttins, nappy spattees and ﬂasks of all nations, clavicures and scampulars, maps, keys and woodpiles of haypennies and moonled brooches with bloodstaned breeks in em, boaston nightgarters and masses of shoesets and nickelly nacks and foder allmicheal and a lugly parson of cates and howitzer muchears and midgers and maggets, ills and ells with loﬀs of toﬀs and pleures of bells and the last sigh that come fro the hart (bucklied!) and the fairest sin the sunsaw (that’s cearc!). With Kiss. Kiss Criss. Cross Criss. Kiss Cross. Undo lives ’end. Slain.
How bootifull and how truetowife of her, when strengly fore- bidden, to steal our historic presents from the past postpropheti- cals so as to will make us all lordyheirs and ladymaidesses of a pretty nice kettle of fruit. She is livving in our midst of debt and laﬃng through all plores for us (her birth is uncontrollable), with a naperon for her mask and her sabboes kickin arias (so sair! so solly!) if yous ask me and I saack you. Hou! Hou! Gricks may rise and Troysirs fall (there being two sights for ever a picture)
for in the byways of high improvidence that’s what makes life- work leaving and the world’s a cell for citters to cit in. Let young wimman run away with the story and let young min talk smooth behind the butteler’s back. She knows her knight’s duty while Luntum sleeps. Did ye save any tin? says he. Did I what? with a grin says she.  Though the length of the land lies under liquidation (ﬂoote!) and there’s nare a hairbrow nor an eyebush on this glau- brous phace of Herrschuft Whatarwelter she’ll loan a vesta and hire some peat and sarch the shores her cockles to heat and she’ll do all a turfwoman can to piﬀ the business on. Paﬀ. To puﬀ the blaziness on. Poﬀpoﬀ. And even if Humpty shell fall frumpty times as awkward again in the beardsboosoloom of all our grand remonstrancers there’ll be iggs for the brekkers come to mourn- him, sunny side up with care. So true is it that therewhere’s a turnover the tay is wet too and when you think you ketch sight of a hind make sure but you’re cocked by a hin.
Then as she is on her behaviourite job of quainance bandy, fruting for ﬁrstlings and taking her tithe, we may take our review of the two mounds to see nothing of the himples here as at else- where, by sixes and sevens, like so many heegills and collines, sitton aroont, scentbreeched ant somepotreek, in their swisha- wish satins and their taﬀetaﬀe tights, playing Wharton’s Folly, at a treepurty on the planko in the purk. Stand up, mickos! Make strake for minnas! By order, Nicholas Proud. We may see and hear nothing if we choose of the shortlegged bergins oﬀ Corkhill or the bergamoors of Arbourhill or the bergagambols of Summerhill or the bergincellies of Miseryhill or the country- bossed bergones of Constitutionhill though every crowd has its several tones and every trade has its clever mechanics and each harmonical has a point of its own, Olaf ’s on the rise and Ivor’s on the lift and Sitric’s place’s between them. But all they are all there scraping along to sneeze out a likelihood that will solve and salve life’s robulous rebus, hopping round his middle like kippers on a griddle, O, as he lays dormont from the macroborg of Holdhard to the microbirg of Pied de Poudre. Behove this
sound of Irish sense. Really? Here English might be seen. Royally? One sovereign punned to petery pence. Regally? The silence speaks the scene. Fake!
So This Is Dyoublong? Hush! Caution! Echoland!
How charmingly exquisite! It reminds you of the outwashed engravure that we used to be blurring on the blotchwall of his innkempt house. Used they? (I am sure that tiring chabelshovel- ler with the mujikal chocolat box, Miry Mitchel, is listening) I say, the remains of the outworn gravemure where used to be blurried the Ptollmens of the Incabus. Used we? (He is only pre- tendant to be stugging at the jubalee harp from a second existed lishener, Fiery Farrelly.) It is well known. Lokk for himself and see the old butte new. Dbln. W. K. O. O. Hear? By the mauso- lime wall. Fimﬁm ﬁmﬁm. With a grand funferall. Fumfum fum- fum. ’Tis optophone which ontophanes. List! Wheatstone’s magic lyer. They will be tuggling foriver. They will be lichening for allof. They will be pretumbling forover. The harpsdischord shall be theirs for ollaves.
Four things therefore, saith our herodotary Mammon Lujius in his grand old historiorum, wrote near Boriorum, bluest book in baile’s annals, f.t. in Dyﬄinarsky ne’er sall fail tilheathersmoke and cloudweed Eire’s ile sall pall. And here now they are, the fear of um. T. Totities!
Unum. (Adar.) A bulbenboss surmounted up- on an alderman. Ay, ay!Duum. (Nizam.) A shoe on a puir old wobban. Ah, ho!Triom. (Tamuz.) An auburn mayde, o’brine a’bride, to be desarted. Adear, adear!Quodlibus. (Marchessvan.) A penn no weightier nor a polepost. And so. And all. (Succoth.)So, how idlers’ wind turning pages on pages, as innocens with anaclete play popeye antipop, the leaves of the living in the boke of the deeds, annals of themselves timing the cycles of events grand and national, bring fassilwise to pass how.
1132 A.D. Men like to ants or emmets wondern upon a groot hwide Whallﬁsk which lay in a Runnel. Blubby wares upat Ub- lanium.
566 A.D. On Baalﬁre’s night of this year after deluge a crone that
hadde a wickered Kish for to hale dead turves from the bog look- it under the blay of her Kish as she ran for to sothisfeige her cow- rieosity and be me sawl but she found hersell sackvulle of swart goody quickenshoon and small illigant brogues, so rich in sweat. Blurry works at Hurdlesford.
(Silent.)
566 A.D. At this time it fell out that a brazenlockt damsel grieved (
sobralasolas!) because that Puppette her minion was ravisht of her by the ogre Puropeus Pious. Bloody wars in Ballyaughacleeagh- bally.1132 A.D. Two sons at an hour were born until a goodman and his hag. These sons called themselves Caddy and Primas. Primas was a santryman and drilled all decent people. Caddy went to Winehouse and wrote o peace a farce. Blotty words for Dublin.
Somewhere, parently, in the ginnandgo gap between antedilu- vious and annadominant the copyist must have ﬂed with his scroll. The billy ﬂood rose or an elk charged him or the sultrup worldwright from the excelsissimost empyrean (bolt, in sum) earthspake or the Dannamen gallous banged pan the bliddy du- ran. A scribicide then and there is led oﬀ under old’s code with some ﬁne covered by six marks or ninepins in metalmen for the sake of his labour’s dross while it will be only now and again in our rear of o’er era, as an upshoot of military and civil engage- ments, that a gynecure was let on to the scuﬀold for taking that same ﬁne sum covertly by meddlement with the drawers of his neighbour’s safe.
Now after all that farfatch’d and peragrine or dingnant or clere lift we our ears, eyes of the darkness, from the tome of
Liber Li- vidusand, (toh!), how paisibly eirenical, all dimmering dunes and gloamering glades, selfstretches afore us our fredeland’s plain! Lean neath stone pine the pastor lies with his crook; young pric- ket by pricket’s sister nibbleth on returned viridities; amaid her rocking grasses the herb trinity shams lowliness; skyup is of ever- grey. Thus, too, for donkey’s years. Since the bouts of Hebear and Hairyman the cornﬂowers have been staying at Ballymun,the duskrose has choosed out Goatstown’s hedges, twolips have pressed togatherthem by sweet Rush, townland of twinedlights, the whitethorn and the redthorn have fairygeyed the mayvalleys of Knockmaroon, and, though for rings round them, during a chiliad of perihelygangs, the Formoreans have brittled the too- ath of the Danes and the Oxman has been pestered by the Fire- bugs and the Joynts have thrown up jerrybuilding to the Kevan- ses and Little on the Green is childsfather to the City (Year! Year! And laughtears!), these paxsealing buttonholes have quad- rilled across the centuries and whiﬀ now whaﬀt to us, fresh and made-of-all-smiles as, on the eve of Killallwho.
The babbelers with their thangas vain have been (confusium hold them!) they were and went; thigging thugs were and hou- hnhymn songtoms were and comely norgels were and pollyfool ﬁansees. Menn have thawed, clerks have surssurhummed, the blond has sought of the brune: Elsekiss thou may, mean Kerry piggy?: and the duncledames have countered with the hellish fel- lows: Who ails tongue coddeau, aspace of dumbillsilly? And they fell upong one another: and themselves they have fallen. And still nowanights and by nights of yore do all bold ﬂoras of the ﬁeld to their shyfaun lovers say only: Cull me ere I wilt to thee!: and, but a little later: Pluck me whilst I blush! Well may they wilt, marry, and profusedly blush, be troth! For that saying is as old as the howitts. Lave a whale a while in a whillbarrow (isn’t it the truath I’m tallin ye?) to have ﬁns and ﬂippers that shimmy and shake. Tim Timmycan timped hir, tampting Tam. Fleppety! Flippety! Fleapow!
Hop!
In the name of Anem this carl on the kopje in pelted thongs a parth a lone who the joebiggar be he? Forshapen his pigmaid hoagshead, shroonk his plodsfoot. He hath locktoes, this short- shins, and, Obeold that’s pectoral, his mammamuscles most mousterious. It is slaking nuncheon out of some thing’s brain pan. Me seemeth a dragon man. He is almonthst on the kiep ﬁef by here, is Comestipple Sacksoun, be it junipery or febrew- ery, marracks or alebrill or the ramping riots of pouriose and
froriose. What a quhare soort of a mahan. It is evident the mich- indaddy. Lets we overstep his ﬁre defences and these kraals of slitsucked marrogbones. (Cave!) He can prapsposterus the pil- lory way to Hirculos pillar.  Scuse us, chorley guy! You toller- day donsk? N. You tolkatiﬀ scowegian? Nn. You spigotty an- glease? Nnn. You phonio saxo? Nnnn. Clear all so! ’Tis a Jute. Let us swop hats and excheck a few strong verbs weak oach ea- ther yapyazzard abast the blooty creeks.
Jute. — Yutah!
Mutt. — Mukk’s pleasurad. Jute. — Are you jeﬀ?
Mutt. — Somehards.
Jute. — But you are not jeﬀmute? Mutt. — Noho. Only an utterer.
Jute. — Whoa? Whoat is the mutter with you? Mutt. — I became a stun a stummer.
Jute. — What a hauhauhauhaudibble thing, to be cause! How, Mutt?
Mutt. — Aput the buttle, surd. Jute. — Whose poddle? Wherein?
Mutt. — The Inns of Dungtarf where Used awe to be he.
Jute. — You that side your voise are almost inedible to me. Become a bitskin more wiseable, as if I were you.
Mutt. — Has? Has at? Hasatency? Urp, Boohooru! Booru Usurp! I trumple from rath in mine mines when I rimimirim!
Jute. — One eyegonblack. Bisons is bisons. Let me fore all your hasitancy cross your qualm with trink gilt. Here have sylvan coyne, a piece of oak. Ghinees hies good for you.
Mutt. — Louee, louee! How wooden I not know it, the intel- lible greytcloak of Cedric Silkyshag! Cead mealy faulty rices for one dabblin bar. Old grilsy growlsy! He was poached on in that eggtentical spot. Here
where the liveries, Monomark. There where the mis- sers moony, Minnikin passe.
Jute. — Simply because as Taciturn pretells, our wrongstory- shortener, he dumptied the wholeborrow of rubba- ges on to soil here.
Mutt. — Just how a puddinstone inat the brookcells by a riverpool.
Jute. — Load Allmarshy! Wid wad for a norse like?
Mutt. — Somular with a bull on a clompturf. Rooks roarum rex roome! I could snore to him of the spumy horn, with his woolseley side in, by the neck I am sutton on, did Brian d’ of Linn.
Jute. — Boildoyle and rawhoney on me when I can beuraly forsstand a weird from sturk to ﬁnnic in such a pat- what as your rutterdamrotter. Onheard of and um- scene! Gut aftermeal! See you doomed.
Mutt. — Quite agreem. Bussave a sec. Walk a dunblink roundward this albutisle and you skull see how olde ye plaine of my Elters, hunfree and ours, where wone to wail whimbrel to peewee o’er the saltings, where wilby citie by law of isthmon, where by a droit of signory, iceﬂoe was from his Inn the Byggning to whose Finishthere Punct. Let erehim ruhmuhrmuhr. Mearmerge two races, swete and brack. Morthering rue. Hither, craching eastuards, they are in surgence: hence, cool at ebb, they requiesce. Countlessness of livestories have netherfallen by this plage, ﬂick as ﬂowﬂakes, litters from aloft, like a waast wizzard all of whirlworlds. Now are all tombed to the mound, isges to isges, erde from erde. Pride, O pride, thy prize!
Jute. — ’Stench!
Mutt. — Fiatfuit! Hereinunder lyethey. Llarge by the smal an’ everynight life olso th’estrange, babylone the great- grandhotelled with tit tit tittlehouse, alp on earwig, drukn on ild, likeas equal to anequal in this sound seemetery which iz leebez luv.
Jute. — ’Zmorde!
Mutt. — Meldundleize! By the fearse wave behoughted. Des- pond’s sung. And thanacestross mound have swollup them all. This ourth of years is not save brickdust and being humus the same roturns. He who runes may rede it on all fours. O’c’stle, n’wc’stle, tr’c’stle, crumbling! Sell me sooth the fare for Humblin! Hum- blady Fair. But speak it allsosiftly, moulder! Be in your whisht!
Jute. — Whysht?
Mutt. — The gyant Forﬁcules with Amni the fay. Jute. — Howe?
Mutt. — Here is viceking’s graab. Jute. — Hwaad!
Mutt. — Ore you astoneaged, jute you?
Jute. — Oye am thonthorstrok, thing mud.
(Stoop) if you are abcedminded, to this claybook, what curios of signs (please stoop), in this allaphbed! Can you rede (since We and Thou had it out already) its world? It is the same told of all. Many. Miscegenations on miscegenations. Tieckle. They lived und laughed ant loved end left. Forsin. Thy thingdome is given to the Meades and Porsons. The meandertale, aloss and again, of our old Heidenburgh in the days when Head-in-Clouds walked the earth. In the ignorance that implies impression that knits knowledge that ﬁnds the nameform that whets the wits that convey contacts that sweeten sensation that drives desire that adheres to attachment that dogs death that bitches birth that en- tails the ensuance of existentiality. But with a rush out of his navel reaching the reredos of Ramasbatham.  A hatch, a celt, an earshare the pourquose of which was to cassay the earthcrust at all of hours, furrowards, bagawards, like yoxen at the turnpaht. Here say ﬁgurines billycoose arming and mounting. Mounting and arming bellicose ﬁgurines see here. Futhorc, this liﬄe eﬃngee is for a ﬁreﬁng called a ﬂintforfall. Face at the eased! O I fay! Face at the
waist! Ho, you ﬁe! Upwap and dump em,
ace to
ace! When a
part so ptee does duty for the holos we soon grow to use of an allforabit. Here (please to stoop) are selveran cued peteet peas of quite a pecuniar interest inaslittle as they are the pellets that make the tomtummy’s pay roll. Right rank ragnar rocks and with these rox orangotangos rangled rough and rightgorong. Wisha, wisha, whydidtha? Thik is for thorn that’s thuck in its thoil like thum- fool’s thraitor thrust for vengeance.  A middenhide hoard of objects! Olives, beets, kim- mells, dollies, alfrids, beatties, cormacks and daltons. Owlets’ eegs (O stoop to please!) are here, creakish from age and all now quite epsilene, and oldwolldy wobblewers, haudworth a wipe o grass. Sss! See the snake wurrums everyside! Our durlbin is sworming in sneaks. They came to our island from triangular Toucheaterre beyond the wet prairie rared up in the midst of the cargon of prohibitive pomefructs but along landed Paddy Wip- pingham and the his garbagecans cotched the creeps of them pricker than our whosethere outofman could quick up her whats- thats. Somedivide and sumthelot but the tally turns round the same balifuson. Racketeers and bottloggers.
Axe on thwacks on thracks, axenwise. One by one place one be three dittoh and one before. Two nursus one make a plaus- ible free and idim behind. Starting oﬀ with a big boaboa and three- legged calvers and ivargraine jadesses with a message in their mouths. And a hundreadﬁlled unleavenweight of liberorumqueue to con an we can till allhorrors eve. What a meanderthalltale to unfurl and with what an end in view of squattor and anntisquattor and postproneauntisquattor! To say too us to be every tim, nick and larry of us, sons of the sod, sons, littlesons, yea and lealittle- sons, when usses not to be, every sue, siss and sally of us, dugters of Nan! Accusative ahnsire! Damadam to inﬁnities!
True there was in nillohs dieybos as yet no lumpend papeer in the waste and mightmountain Penn still groaned for the micies to let ﬂee. All was of ancientry. You gave me a boot (signs on it!) and I ate the wind. I quizzed you a quid (with for what?) and you went to the quod. But the world, mind, is, was and will be writing its own wrunes for ever, man, on all matters that fall
under the ban of our infrarational senses fore the last milch- camel, the heartvein throbbing between his eyebrowns, has still to moor before the tomb of his cousin charmian where his date is tethered by the palm that’s hers. But the horn, the drinking, the day of dread are not now. A bone, a pebble, a ramskin; chip them, chap them, cut them up allways; leave them to terracook in the muttheringpot: and Gutenmorg with his cromagnom charter, tintingfast and great primer must once for omniboss step ru- brickredd out of the wordpress else is there no virtue more in al- cohoran. For that (the rapt one warns) is what papyr is meed of, made of, hides and hints and misses in prints. Till ye ﬁnally (though not yet endlike) meet with the acquaintance of Mister Typus, Mistress Tope and all the little typtopies. Fillstup. So you need hardly spell me how every word will be bound over to carry three score and ten toptypsical readings throughout the book of Doublends Jined (may his forehead be darkened with mud who would sunder!) till Daleth, mahomahouma, who oped it closeth thereof the. Dor.
Cry not yet! There’s many a smile to Nondum, with sytty maids per man, sir, and the park’s so dark by kindlelight. But look what you have in your handself! The movibles are scrawl- ing in motions, marching, all of them ago, in pitpat and zingzang for every busy eerie whig’s a bit of a torytale to tell. One’s upon a thyme and two’s behind their lettice leap and three’s among the strubbely beds. And the chicks picked their teeths and the domb- key he begay began.  And so cuddy me only wallops have heels. That one of a wife with folty barnets. For then was the age when hoops ran high. Of a noarch and a chopwife; of a pomme full grave and a fammy of levity; or of golden youths that wanted gelding; or of what the mischievmiss made a man do. Malmarriedad he was reverso- gassed by the frisque of her frasques and her prytty pyrrhique. Maye faye, she’s la gaye this snaky woman! From that trippiery toe expectungpelick! Veil, volantine, valentine eyes. She’s the very besch Winnie blows Nay on good. Flou inn, ﬂow ann. Hohore! So it’s sure it was her not we! But lay it easy, gentle
mien, we are in rearing of a norewhig. So weenybeeny- veenyteeny. Comsy see! Hetwis if ee newt. Lissom! lissom! I am doing it. Hark, the corne entreats! And the larpnotes prittle.
It was of a night, late, lang time agone, in an auldstane eld, when Adam was delvin and his madameen spinning watersilts, when mulk mountynotty man was everybully and the ﬁrst leal ribberrobber that ever had her ainway everybuddy to his love- saking eyes and everybilly lived alove with everybiddy else, and Jarl van Hoother had his burnt head high up in his lamphouse, laying cold hands on himself. And his two little jiminies, cousins of ourn, Tristopher and Hilary, were kickaheeling their dummy on the oil cloth ﬂure of his homerigh, castle and earthenhouse. And, be dermot, who come to the keep of his inn only the niece- of-his-in-law, the prankquean. And the prankquean pulled a rosy one and made her wit foreninst the dour. And she lit up and ﬁre- land was ablaze. And spoke she to the dour in her petty perusi- enne: Mark the Wans, why do I am alook alike a poss of porter- pease? And that was how the skirtmisshes began. But the dour handworded her grace in dootch nossow: Shut! So her grace o’malice kidsnapped up the jiminy Tristopher and into the shan- dy westerness she rain, rain, rain. And Jarl van Hoother war- lessed after her with soft dovesgall: Stop deef stop come back to my earin stop. But she swaradid to him: Unlikelihud. And there was a brannewail that same sabboath night of falling angles some- where in Erio. And the prankquean went for her forty years’ walk in Tourlemonde and she washed the blessings of the love- spots oﬀ the jiminy with soap sulliver suddles and she had her four owlers masters for to tauch him his tickles and she convor- ted him to the onesure allgood and he became a luderman. So then she started to rain and to rain and, be redtom, she was back again at Jarl van Hoother’s in a brace of samers and the jiminy with her in her pinafrond, lace at night, at another time. And where did she come but to the bar of his bristolry. And Jarl von Hoo- ther had his baretholobruised heels drowned in his cellarmalt, shaking warm hands with himself and the jimminy Hilary and
the dummy in their ﬁrst infancy were below on the tearsheet, wringing and coughing, like brodar and histher. And the prank- quean nipped a paly one and lit up again and redcocks ﬂew ﬂack- ering from the hillcombs. And she made her witter before the wicked, saying: Mark the Twy, why do I am alook alike two poss of porterpease? And: Shut! says the wicked, handwording her madesty. So her madesty aforethought set down a jiminy and took up a jiminy and all the lilipath ways to Woeman’s Land she rain, rain, rain.  But the prankquean swaradid: Am liking it. And there was a wild old grannewwail that laurency night of starshootings somewhere in Erio. And the prankquean went for her forty years’ walk in Turnlemeem and she punched the curses of cromcruwell with the nail of a top into the jiminy and she had her four larksical monitrix to touch him his tears and she provorted him to the onecertain allsecure and he became a tristian. So then she started raining, raining, and in a pair of changers, be dom ter, she was back again at Jarl von Hoother’s and the Larryhill with her under her abromette. And why would she halt at all if not by the ward of his mansionhome of another nice lace for the third charm? And Jarl von Hoother had his hurricane hips up to his pantry- box, ruminating in his holdfour stomachs (Dare! O dare!), and the jiminy Toughertrees and the dummy were belove on the watercloth, kissing and spitting, and roguing and poghuing, like knavepaltry and naivebride and in their second infancy. And the prankquean picked a blank and lit out and the valleys lay twink- ling. And she made her wittest in front of the arkway of trihump, asking: Mark the Tris, why do I am alook alike three poss of por- ter pease? But that was how the skirtmishes endupped.   And the duppy shot the shutter clup (Per- kodhuskurunbarggruauyagokgorlayorgromgremmitghundhurth- rumathunaradidillifaititillibumullunukkunun!) And they all drank free. For one man in his armour was a fat match always for any girls under shurts. And that was the ﬁrst peace of illiterative porthery in all the ﬂamend ﬂoody ﬂatuous world. How kirssy the tiler made a sweet unclose to the Narwhealian captol. Saw fore shalt thou sea. Betoun ye and be. The prankquean was to hold her dummyship and the jimminies was to keep the peacewave and van Hoother was to git the wind up. Thus the hearsomeness of the burger felicitates the whole of the polis.
O foenix culprit! Ex nickylow malo comes mickelmassed bo- num. Hill, rill, ones in company, billeted, less be proud of. Breast high and bestride! Only for that these will not breathe upon Norronesen or Irenean the secrest of their soorcelossness. Quar- ry silex, Homfrie Noanswa! Undy gentian festyknees, Livia No- answa? Wolkencap is on him, frowned; audiurient, he would evesdrip, were it mous at hand, were it dinn of bottles in the far ear. Murk, his vales are darkling. With lipth she lithpeth to him all to time of thuch on thuch and thow on thow. She he she ho she ha to la. Hairﬂuke, if he could bad twig her! Impalpabunt, he abhears. The soundwaves are his buﬀeteers; they trompe him with their trompes; the wave of roary and the wave of hooshed and the wave of hawhawhawrd and the wave of neverheedthem- horseluggarsandlistletomine. Landloughed by his neaghboormis- tress and perpetriﬁed in his oﬀsprung, sabes and suckers, the moaning pipers could tell him to his faceback, the louthly one whose loab we are devorers of, how butt for his hold halibutt, or her to her pudor puﬀ, the lipalip one whose libe we drink at, how biﬀ for her tiddywink of a windfall, our breed and washer givers, there would not be a holey spier on the town nor a vestal ﬂout- ing in the dock, nay to make plein avowels, nor a yew nor an eye
to play cash cash in Novo Nilbud by swamplight nor a’ toole o’ tall o’ toll and noddy hint to the convaynience.
He dug in and dug out by the skill of his tilth for himself and all belonging to him and he sweated his crew beneath his auspice for the living and he urned his dread, that dragon volant, and he made louse for us and delivered us to boll weevils amain, that mighty liberator, Unfru-Chikda-Uru-Wukru and begad he did, our ancestor most worshipful, till he thought of a better one in his windower’s house with that blushmantle upon him from ears- end to earsend. And would again could whispring grassies wake him and may again when the ﬁery bird disembers. And will again if so be sooth by elder to his youngers shall be said.  Wake?
Usqueadbaugham!Anam muck an dhoul! Did ye drink me doornail?
Now be aisy, good Mr Finnimore, sir.  Sure you’d only lose yourself in Healiopolis now the way your roads in Kapelavaster are that winding there after the calvary, the North Umbrian and the Fivs Barrow and Waddlings Raid and the Bower Moore and wet your feet maybe with the foggy dew’s abroad.  ’Twould turn you against life, so ’twould. And the weather’s that mean too. To part from Devlin is hard as Nugent knew, to leave the clean tanglesome one lushier than its neighbour enfranchisable ﬁelds but let your ghost have no grievance. You’re better oﬀ, sir, where you are, primesigned in the full of your dress, bloodeagle waistcoat and all, remember- ing your shapes and sizes on the pillow of your babycurls under your sycamore by the keld water where the Tory’s clay will scare the varmints and have all you want, pouch, gloves, ﬂask, bricket, kerchief, ring and amberulla, the whole treasure of the pyre, in the land of souls with Homin and Broin Baroke and pole ole Lonan and Nobucketnozzler and the Guinnghis Khan. And we’ll be coming here, the ombre players, to rake your gravel and bringing
you presents, won’t we, fenians? And it isn’t our spittle we’ll stint you of, is it, druids? Not shabbty little imagettes, pennydirts and dodgemyeyes you buy in the soottee stores. But oﬀerings of the ﬁeld. Mieliodories, that Doctor Faherty, the madison man, taught to gooden you. Poppypap’s a passport out. And honey is the holiest thing ever was, hive, comb and earwax, the food for glory, (mind you keep the pot or your nectar cup may yield too light!) and some goat’s milk, sir, like the maid used to bring you.  The men- here’s always talking of you sitting around on the pig’s cheeks under the sacred rooftree, over the bowls of memory where every hollow holds a hallow, with a pledge till the drengs, in the Salmon House. And admiring to our supershillelagh where the palmsweat on high is the mark of your manument. All the toethpicks ever Eirenesians chewed on are chips chepped from that battery block. If you were bowed and soild and letdown itself from the oner of the load it was that paddyplanters might pack up plenty and when you were undone in every point fore the laps of goddesses you showed our labourlasses how to free was easy. The game old Gunne, they do be saying, (skull!) that was a planter for you, a spicer of them all. Begog but he was, the G.O.G! He’s dudd- andgunne now and we’re apter ﬁnding the sores of his sedeq but peace to his great limbs, the buddhoch, with the last league long rest of him, while the millioncandled eye of Tuskar sweeps the Moylean Main! There was never a warlord in Great Erinnes and Brettland, no, nor in all Pike County like you, they say. No, nor a king nor an ardking, bung king, sung king or hung king. That you could fell an elmstree twelve urchins couldn’t ring round and hoist high the stone that Liam failed. Who but a Mac- cullaghmore the reise of our fortunes and the faunayman at the funeral to compass our cause? If you was hogglebully itself and most frifty like you was taken waters still what all where was your like to lay the cable or who was the batter could better Your Grace? Mick Mac Magnus MacCawley can take you oﬀ to
the pure perfection and Leatherbags Reynolds tries your shuﬄe and cut. But as Hopkins and Hopkins puts it, you were the pale eggynaggy and a kis to tilly up. We calls him the journeyall Buggaloﬀs since he went Jerusalemfaring in Arssia Manor.  So may the priest of seven worms and scalding tayboil, Papa Vestray, come never anear you as your hair grows wheater beside the Liﬀey that’s in Heaven! Hep, hep, hurrah there! Hero! Seven times thereto we salute you! The whole bag of kits, falconplumes and jackboots incloted, is where you ﬂung them that time. Your heart is in the system of the Shewolf and your crested head is in the tropic of Copri- capron. Your feet are in the cloister of Virgo. Your olala is in the region of sahuls. And that’s ashore as you were born. Your shuck tick’s swell. And that there texas is tow linen. The loamsome roam to Laﬀayette is ended. Drop in your tracks, babe! Be not unrested! The headboddylwatcher of the chempel of Isid, Totumcalmum, saith: I know thee, metherjar, I know thee, sal- vation boat. For we have performed upon thee, thou abrama- nation, who comest ever without being invoked, whose coming is unknown, all the things which the company of the precentors and of the grammarians of Christpatrick’s ordered concerning thee in the matter of the work of thy tombing. Howe of the ship- men, steep wall!
Everything’s going on the same or so it appeals to all of us, in the old holmsted here. Coughings all over the sanctuary, bad scrant to me aunt Florenza. The horn for breakfast, one o’gong for lunch and dinnerchime. As popular as when Belly the First was keng and his members met in the Diet of Man. The same shop slop in the window. Jacob’s lettercrackers and Dr Tipple’s Vi-Cocoa and the Eswuards’ desippated soup beside Mother Sea- gull’s syrup. Meat took a drop when Reilly-Parsons failed. Coal’s short but we’ve plenty of bog in the yard. And barley’s up again, begrained to it. The lads is attending school nessans regular, sir, spelling beesknees with hathatansy and turning out tables by mudapplication. Allfor the books and never pegging smashers
after Tom Bowe Glassarse or Timmy the Tosser. ’Tisraely the truth! No isn’t it, roman pathoricks? You were the doublejoynted janitor the morning they were delivered and you’ll be a grandfer yet entirely when the ritehand seizes what the lovearm knows. Kevin’s just a doat with his cherub cheek, chalking oghres on walls, and his little lamp and schoolbelt and bag of knicks, playing postman’s knock round the diggings and if the seep were milk you could lieve his olde by his ide but, laus sake, the devil does be in that knirps of a Jerry sometimes, the tarandtan plaidboy, making encostive inkum out of the last of his lavings and writing a blue streak over his bourseday shirt. Hetty Jane’s a child of Mary. She’ll be coming (for they’re sure to choose her) in her white of gold with a tourch of ivy to rekindle the ﬂame on Felix Day. But Essie Shanahan has let down her skirts. You remember Essie in our Luna’s Convent? They called her Holly Merry her lips were so ruddyberry and Pia de Purebelle when the redminers riots was on about her. Were I a clerk designate to the Williams- woodsmenufactors I’d poster those pouters on every jamb in the town. She’s making her rep at Lanner’s twicenightly. With the tabarine tamtammers of the whirligigmagees. Beats that cachucha ﬂat. ’Twould dilate your heart to go.
 Hold him here, Ezekiel Irons, and may God strengthen you! It’s our warm spirits, boys, he’s spoor- ing. Dimitrius O’Flagonan, cork that cure for the Clancartys! You swamped enough since Portobello to ﬂoat the Pomeroy. Fetch neahere, Pat Koy! And fetch nouyou, Pam Yates! Be nayther angst of Wramawitch! Here’s lumbos. Where misties swaddlum, where misches lodge none, where mystries pour kind on, O sleepy! So be yet!
I’ve an eye on queer Behan and old Kate and the butter, trust me. She’ll do no jugglywuggly with her war souvenir postcards to help to build me murial, tippers! I’ll trip your traps! Assure a sure there! And we put on your clock again, sir, for you. Did or didn’t we, sharestutterers? So you won’t be up a stump entirely. Nor shed your remnants. The sternwheel’s crawling strong. I
seen your missus in the hall. Like the queenoveire. Arrah, it’s herself that’s ﬁne, too, don’t be talking! Shirksends? You storyan Harry chap longa me Harry chap storyan grass woman plelthy good trout. Shakeshands. Dibble a hayfork’s wrong with her only her lex’s salig. Boald Tib does be yawning and smirking cat’s hours on the Pollockses’ woolly round tabouretcushion watch- ing her sewing a dream together, the tailor’s daughter, stitch to her last. Or while waiting for winter to ﬁre the enchantement, decoying more nesters to fall down the ﬂue. It’s an allavalonche that blows nopussy food. If you only were there to explain the mean- ing, best of men, and talk to her nice of guldenselver. The lips would moisten once again. As when you drove with her to Fin- drinny Fair. What with reins here and ribbons there all your hands were employed so she never knew was she on land or at sea or swooped through the blue like Airwinger’s bride. She was ﬂirtsome then and she’s ﬂuttersome yet. She can second a song and adores a scandal when the last post’s gone by. Fond of a concertina and pairs passing when she’s had her forty winks for supper after kanekannan and abbely dimpling and is in her merlin chair assotted, reading her Evening World. To see is it smarts, full lengths or swaggers. News, news, all the news. Death, a leopard, kills fellah in Fez. Angry scenes at Stormount. Stilla Star with her lucky in goingaways. Opportunity fair with the China ﬂoods and we hear these rosy rumours. Ding Tams he noise about all same Harry chap. She’s seeking her way, a chickle a chuckle, in and out of their serial story
, Les Loves of Selskar et Pervenche, freely adapted toThe Novvergin’s Viv. There’ll be bluebells blowing in salty sepulchres the night she signs her ﬁnal tear. Zee End. But that’s a world of ways away. Till track laws time. No silver ash or switches for that one! While ﬂattering candles ﬂare. Anna Stacey’s how are you! Worther waist in the noblest, says Adams and Sons, the wouldpay actionneers. Her hair’s as brown as ever it was. And wivvy and wavy. Repose you now! Finn no more!For, be that samesake sibsubstitute of a hooky salmon, there’s already a big rody ram lad at random on the premises of his
haunt of the hungred bordles, as it is told me. Shop Illicit, ﬂourishing like a lordmajor or a buaboabaybohm, litting ﬂop a deadlop (aloose!) to lee but lifting a bennbranch a yardalong (ivoeh!) on the breezy side (for showm!), the height of Brew- ster’s chimpney and as broad below as Phineas Barnum; humph- ing his share of the showthers is senken on him he’s such a grandfallar, with a pocked wife in pickle that’s a ﬂyﬁre and three lice nittle clinkers, two twilling bugs and one midgit pucelle. And aither he cursed and recursed and was everseen doing what your fourfootlers saw or he was never done seeing what you cool- pigeons know, weep the clouds aboon for smiledown witnesses, and that’ll do now about the fairyhees and the frailyshees. Though Eset ﬁbble it to the zephiroth and Artsa zoom it round her heavens for ever. Creator he has created for his creatured ones a creation. White monothoid? Red theatrocrat? And all the pinkprophets cohalething? Very much so! But however ’twas ’tis sure for one thing, what sherif Toragh voucherfors and Mapqiq makes put out, that the man, Humme the Cheapner, Esc, overseen as we thought him, yet a worthy of the naym, came at this timecoloured place where we live in our paroqial fermament one tide on another, with a bumrush in a hull of a wherry, the twin turbane dhow,
The Bey for Dybbling, this archipelago’s ﬁrst visiting schooner, with a wicklowpattern waxenwench at her prow for a ﬁgurehead, the deadsea dugong updipdripping from his depths, and has been repreaching him- self like a ﬁshmummer these siktyten years ever since, his shebi by his shide, adi and aid, growing hoarish under his turban and changing cane sugar into sethulose starch (Tuttut’s cess to him!) as also that, batin the bulkihood he bloats about when innebbi- ated, our old oﬀender was humile, commune and ensectuous from his nature, which you may gauge after the bynames was put under him, in lashons of languages, (honnein suit and praisers be!) and, totalisating him, even hamissim of himashim that he, sober serious, he is ee and no counter he who will be ultimendly respunchable for the hubbub caused in Eden- borough.Now (to forebare for ever solittle of Iris Trees and Lili O’Ran- gans), concerning the genesis of Harold or Humphrey Chimp- den’s occupational agnomen (we are back in the presurnames prodromarith period, of course just when enos chalked halltraps) and discarding once for all those theories from older sources which would link him back with such pivotal ancestors as the Glues, the Gravys, the Northeasts, the Ankers and the Earwickers of Sidles- ham in the Hundred of Manhood or proclaim him oﬀsprout of vikings who had founded wapentake and seddled hem in Herrick or Eric, the best authenticated version, the Dumlat, read the Reading of Hofed-ben-Edar, has it that it was this way. We are told how in the beginning it came to pass that like cabbaging Cincinnatus the grand old gardener was saving daylight under his redwoodtree one sultry sabbath afternoon, Hag Chivychas Eve, in prefall paradise peace by following his plough for rootles in the rere garden of mobhouse, ye olde marine hotel, when royalty was announced by runner to have been pleased to have halted itself on the highroad along which a leisureloving dogfox had cast fol- lowed, also at walking pace, by a lady pack of cocker spaniels. For- getful of all save his vassal’s plain fealty to the ethnarch Humphrey or Harold stayed not to yoke or saddle but stumbled out hotface as he was (his sweatful bandanna loose from his pocketcoat) hast- ing to the forecourts of his public in topee, surcingle, solascarf and plaid, plus fours, puttees and bulldog boots ruddled cinnabar with
ﬂagrant marl, jingling his turnpike keys and bearing aloft amid the ﬁxed pikes of the hunting party a high perch atop of which a ﬂowerpot was ﬁxed earthside hoist with care. On his majesty, who was, or often feigned to be, noticeably longsighted from green youth and had been meaning to inquire what, in eﬀect, had caused yon causeway to be thus potholed, asking substitutionally to be put wise as to whether paternoster and silver doctors were not now more fancied bait for lobstertrapping honest blunt Harom- phreyld answered in no uncertain tones very similarly with a fear- less forehead: Naw, yer maggers, aw war jist a cotchin on thon bluggy earwuggers. Our sailor king, who was draining a gugglet of obvious adamale, gift both and gorban, upon this, ceasing to swallow, smiled most heartily beneath his walrus moustaches and indulging that none too genial humour which William the Conk on the spindle side had inherited with the hereditary whitelock and some shortﬁngeredness from his greataunt Sophy, turned to- wards two of his retinue of gallowglasses, Michael, etheling lord of Leix and Oﬀaly and the jubilee mayor of Drogheda, Elcock, (the two scatterguns being Michael M. Manning, protosyndic of Waterford and an Italian excellency named Giubilei according to a later version cited by the learned scholarch Canavan of Can- makenoise), in either case a triptychal religious family symbolising puritas of doctrina, business per usuals and the purchypatch of hamlock where the paddish preties grow and remarked dilsydul- sily: Holybones of Saint Hubert how our red brother of Pour- ingrainia would audibly fume did he know that we have for sur- trusty bailiwick a turnpiker who is by turns a pikebailer no sel- domer than an earwigger! For he kinned Jom Pill with his court so gray and his haunts in his house in the mourning. (One still hears that pebble crusted laughta, japijap cheerycherrily, among the roadside tree the lady Holmpatrick planted and still one feels the amossive silence of the cladstone allegibelling: Ive mies outs ide Bourn.) Comes the question are these the facts of his nom- inigentilisation as recorded and accolated in both or either of the collateral andrewpaulmurphyc narratives. Are those their fata which we read in sibylline between the
fasand itsnefas? No dungon the road? And shall Nohomiah be our place like? Yea, Mulachy our kingable khan? We shall perhaps not so soon see. Pinck poncks that bail for seeks alicence where cumsceptres with scen- taurs stay. Bear in mind, son of Hokmah, if so be you have me- theg in your midness, this man is mountain and unto changeth doth one ascend. Heave we aside the fallacy, as punical as ﬁnikin, that it was not the king kingself but his inseparable sisters, un- controllable nighttalkers, Skertsiraizde with Donyahzade, who afterwards, when the robberers shot up the socialights, came down into the world as amusers and were staged by Madame Sudlow as Rosa and Lily Miskinguette in the pantalime that two pitts paythronosed, Miliodorus and Galathee. The great fact emerges that after that historic date all holographs so far exhumed ini- tialled by Haromphrey bear the sigla H.C.E. and while he was only and long and always good Dook Umphrey for the hunger- lean spalpeens of Lucalizod and Chimbers to his cronies it was equally certainly a pleasant turn of the populace which gave him as sense of those normative letters the nickname Here Comes Everybody. An imposing everybody he always indeed looked, constantly the same as and equal to himself and magniﬁcently well worthy of any and all such universalisation, every time he con- tinually surveyed, amid vociferatings from in front of
Accept these few nutties!andTake oﬀ that white hat!, relieved withStop his GrogandPut It in the LogandLoots in his(bassvoco)Boots, from good start to happy ﬁnish the truly catholic assemblage gathered together in that king’s treat house of satin alustrelike above ﬂoats and foot- lights from their assbawlveldts and oxgangs unanimously to clap- plaud (the inspiration of his lifetime and the hits of their careers) Mr Wallenstein Washington Semperkelly’s immergreen tourers in a command performance by special request with the courteous permission for pious purposes the homedromed and enliventh performance of problem passion play of the millentury, running strong since creation,A Royal Divorce, then near the approach towards the summit of its climax, with ambitious interval band selections fromThe Bo’ GirlandThe Lilyon all horserie show command nights from his viceregal booth (his bossaloner is ceil-inged there a cuckoospit less eminent than the redritualhoods of Maccabe and Cullen) where, a veritable Napoleon the Nth, our worldstage’s practical jokepiece and retired cecelticocommediant in his own wise, this folksforefather all of the time sat, having the entirety of his house about him, with the invariable broadstretched kerchief cooling his whole neck, nape and shoulderblades and in a wardrobe panelled tuxedo completely thrown back from a shirt well entitled a swallowall, on every point far outstarching the laundered clawhammers and marbletopped highboys of the pit stalls and early amphitheatre. The piece was this: look at the lamps. The cast was thus: see under the clock. Ladies circle: cloaks may be left. Pit, prommer and parterre, standing room only. Habituels conspicuously emergent.
A baser meaning has been read into these characters the literal sense of which decency can safely scarcely hint. It has been blur- tingly bruited by certain wisecrackers (the stinks of Mohorat are in the nightplots of the morning), that he suﬀered from a vile disease. Athma, unmanner them! To such a suggestion the one selfrespecting answer is to aﬃrm that there are certain statements which ought not to be, and one should like to hope to be able to add, ought not to be allowed to be made. Nor have his detractors, who, an imperfectly warmblooded race, apparently conceive him as a great white caterpillar capable of any and every enormity in the calendar recorded to the discredit of the Juke and Kellikek families, mended their case by insinuating that, alternately, he lay at one time under the ludicrous imputation of annoying Welsh fusiliers in the people’s park. Hay, hay, hay! Hoq, hoq, hoq! Faun and Flora on the lea love that little old joq. To anyone who knew and loved the christlikeness of the big cleanminded giant
H. C. Earwicker throughout his excellency long vicefreegal exis- tence the mere suggestion of him as a lustsleuth nosing for trou- ble in a boobytrap rings particularly preposterous. Truth, beard on prophet, compels one to add that there is said to have been quondam (pfuit! pfuit!) some case of the kind implicating, it is interdum believed, a quidam (if he did not exist it would be ne- cessary quoniam to invent him) abhout that time stambuling ha-
round Dumbaling in leaky sneakers with his tarrk record who has remained topantically anonymos but (let us hue him Abdul- lah Gamellaxarksky) was, it is stated, posted at Mallon’s at the instance of watch warriors of the vigilance committee and years afterwards, cries one even greater, Ibid, a commender of the frightful, seemingly, unto such as were sulhan sated, tropped head (pﬁat! pﬁat!) waiting his ﬁrst of the month froods turn for thatt chopp pah kabbakks alicubi on the old house for the charge- hard, Roche Haddocks oﬀ Hawkins Street. Lowe, you blondy liar, Gob scene you in the narked place and she what’s edith ar home deﬁleth these boyles! There’s a cabful of bash indeed in the homeur of that meal. Slander, let it lie its ﬂattest, has never been able to convict our good and great and no ordinary Southron Earwicker, that homogenius man, as a pious author called him, of any graver impropriety than that, advanced by some woodwards or regarders, who did not dare deny, the shomers, that they had, chin Ted, chin Tam, chinchin Taﬀyd, that day consumed their soul of the corn, of having behaved with ongentilmensky im- modus opposite a pair of dainty maidservants in the swoolth of the rushy hollow whither, or so the two gown and pinners plead- ed, dame nature in all innocency had spontaneously and about the same hour of the eventide sent them both but whose published combinations of silkinlaine testimonies are, where not dubiously pure, visibly divergent, as wapt from wept, on minor points touch- ing the intimate nature of this, a ﬁrst oﬀence in vert or venison which was admittedly an incautious but, at its wildest, a partial ex- posure with such attenuating circumstances (garthen gaddeth green hwere sokeman brideth girling) as an abnormal Saint Swithin’s summer and, (Jesses Rosasharon!) a ripe occasion to provoke it.
We can’t do without them. Wives, rush to the restyours! Of- man will toman while led is the lol. Zessid’s our kadem, villa- pleach, vollapluck. Fikup, for ﬂesh nelly, el mundo nov, zole ﬂen! If she’s a lilyth, pull early! Pauline, allow! And malers abushed, keep black, keep black! Guiltless of much laid to him he was clearly for once at least he clearly expressed himself as being with still a trace of his erstwhile burr and hence it has been received of
us that it is true. They tell the story (an amalgam as absorbing as calzium chloereydes and hydrophobe sponges could make it) how one happygogusty Ides-of-April morning (the anniversary, as it fell out, of his ﬁrst assumption of his mirthday suit and rights in appurtenance to the confusioning of human races) ages and ages after the alleged misdemeanour when the tried friend of all crea- tion, tigerwood roadstaﬀ to his stay, was billowing across the wide expanse of our greatest park in his caoutchouc kepi and great belt and hideinsacks and his blaufunx fustian and ironsides jackboots and Bhagafat gaiters and his rubberised inverness, he met a cad with a pipe. The latter, the luciferant not the oriuolate (who, the odds are, is still berting dagabout in the same straw bamer, carryin his overgoat under his schulder, sheepside out, so as to look more like a coumfry gentleman and signing the pledge as gaily as you please) hardily accosted him with: Guinness thaw tool in jew me dinner ouzel ﬁn? (a nice how-do-you-do in Pool- black at the time as some of our olddaisers may still tremblingly recall) to ask could he tell him how much a clock it was that the clock struck had he any idea by cock’s luck as his watch was bradys. Hesitency was clearly to be evitated. Execration as cleverly to be honnisoid. The Earwicker of that spurring instant, realising on fundamental liberal principles the supreme importance, nexally and noxally, of physical life (the nearest help relay being pingping
K. O. Sempatrick’s Day and the fenian rising) and unwishful as he felt of being hurled into eternity right then, plugged by a soft- nosed bullet from the sap, halted, quick on the draw, and reply- in that he was feelin tipstaﬀ, cue, prodooced from his gunpocket his Jurgensen’s shrapnel waterbury, ours by communionism, his by usucapture, but, on the same stroke, hearing above the skirl- ing of harsh Mother East old Fox Goodman, the bellmaster, over the wastes to south, at work upon the ten ton tonuant thunder- ous tenor toller in the speckled church (Couhounin’s call!) told the inquiring kidder, by Jehova, it was twelve of em sidereal and tankard time, adding, buttall, as he bended deeply with smoked sardinish breath to give more pondus to the copperstick he pre- sented, (though this seems in some cumfusium with the chap-
stuck ginger which, as being of sours, acids, salts, sweets and bitters compompounded, we know him to have used as chaw- chaw for bone, muscle, blood, ﬂesh and vimvital,) that where- as the hakusay accusation againstm had been made, what was known in high quarters as was stood stated in Morganspost, by a creature in youman form who was quite beneath parr and seve- ral degrees lower than yore triplehydrad snake. In greater sup- port of his word (it, quaint anticipation of a famous phrase, has been reconstricted out of oral style into the verbal for all time with ritual rhythmics, in quiritary quietude, and toosammen- stucked from successive accounts by Noah Webster in the re- daction known as the Sayings Attributive of H. C. Earwicker, prize on schillings, postlots free), the ﬂaxen Gygas tapped his chronometrum drumdrum and, now standing full erect, above the ambijacent ﬂoodplain, scene of its happening, with one Ber- lin gauntlet chopstuck in the hough of his ellboge (by ancientest
signlore his gesture meaning: !) pointed at an angle of thirty-
two degrees towards his
duc de Fer’sovergrown milestone as fellow to his gage and after a rendypresent pause averred with solemn emotion’s ﬁre: Shsh shake, co-comeraid! Me only, them ﬁve ones, he is equal combat. I have won straight. Hence my nonation wide hotel and creamery establishments which for the honours of our mewmew mutual daughters, credit me, I am woo- woo willing to take my stand, sir, upon the monument, that sign of our ruru redemption, any hygienic day to this hour and to make my hoath to my sinnﬁnners, even if I get life for it, upon the Open Bible and before the Great Taskmaster’s (I lift my hat!) and in the presence of the Deity Itself andwell of Bishop and Mrs Michan of High Church of England as of all such of said my immediate withdwellers and of every living sohole in every corner wheresoever of this globe in general which useth of my British to my backbone tongue and commutative justice that there is not one tittle of truth, allow me to tell you, in that purest of ﬁbﬁb fabrications.Gaping Gill, swift to mate errthors, stern to checkself, (diag- nosing through eustacetube that it was to make with a markedly
postpuberal hypertituitary type of Heidelberg mannleich cavern ethics) lufted his slopingforward, bad Sweatagore good mur- rough and dublnotch on to it as he was greedly obliged, and like a sensible ham, with inﬁnite tact in the delicate situation seen the touchy nature of its perilous theme, thanked um for guilders received and time of day (not a little token abock all the same that that was owl the God’s clock it was) and, upon humble duty to greet his Tyskminister and he shall gildthegap Gaper and thee his a mouldy voids, went about his business, whoever it was, saluting corpses, as a metter of corse (one could hound him out had one hart to for the monticules of scalp and dandruﬀ droppings blaze his trail) accompanied by his trusty snorler and his permanent reﬂection, verbigracious; I have met with you, bird, too late, or if not, too worm and early: and with tag for ildiot repeated in his secondmouth language as many of the bigtimer’s verbaten words which he could balbly call to memory that same kveldeve, ere the hour of the twattering of bards in the twitterlitter between Druidia and the Deepsleep Sea, when suppertide and souvenir to Charlatan Mall jointly kem gently and along the quiet darkenings of Grand and Royal, ﬀ, ﬂitmansﬂuh, and, kk, ’t crept i’ hedge whenas to many a softongue’s pawkytalk mude unswer u sufter poghyogh, Arvanda always aquiassent, while, studying castelles in the blowne and studding cowshots over the noran, he spat in careful convertedness a musaic dispensation about his
hearthstone, if you please, (Irish saliva,mawshe dho hole, but would a respect- able prominently connected fellow of Iro-European ascendances with welldressed ideas who knew the correct thing such as Mr Shallwesigh or Mr Shallwelaugh expectorate after such a callous fashion, no thank yous! when he had his belcherspuckertuckin his pucket, pthuck?) musefed with his thockits after having supped of the dish sot and pottage which he snobbishly dabbed Peach Bombay (it is rawly only Lukanpukan pilzenpie which she knows which senaﬀed and pibered him), a supreme of excelling peas, balled under minnshogue’s milk into whitemalt winesour, a pro- viant the littlebilker hoarsely relished, chaﬀ it, in the snevel season, being as fain o’t as your rat wi’fennel; and on this celebratingoccasion of the happy escape, for a crowning of pot valiance, this regional platter, benjamin of bouillis, with a spolish olive to middlepoint its zaynith, was marrying itself (porkograso!) ere- busqued very deluxiously with a bottle of Phenice-Bruerie ’98, followed for second nuptials by a Piessporter, Grand Cur, of both of which cherished tablelights (though humble the bounquet ’tis a leaman’s farewell) he obdurately sniﬀed the cobwebcrusted corks.
Our cad’s bit of strife (knee Bareniece Maxwelton) with a quick ear for spittoons (as the aftertale hath it) glaned up as usual with dumbestic husbandry (no persicks and armelians for thee, Pome- ranzia!) but, slipping the clav in her claw, broke of the matter among a hundred and eleven others in her usual curtsey (how faint these ﬁrst vhespers womanly are, a secret pispigliando, amad the lavurdy den of their manfolker!) the next night nudge one as was Hegesippus over a hup a ’ chee, her eys dry and small and speech thicklish because he appeared a funny colour like he couldn’t stood they old hens no longer, to her particular reverend, the director, whom she had been meaning in her mind primarily to speak with (hosch, intra! jist a timblespoon!) trusting, between cuppled lips and annie lawrie promises (mighshe never have Esnekerry pudden come Hunanov for her pecklapitschens!) that the gossiple so delivered in his epistolear, buried teatoastally in their Irish stew would go no further than his jesuit’s cloth, yet (in vinars venitas! volatiles valetotum!) it was this overspoiled priest Mr Browne, disguised as a vincentian, who, when seized of the facts, was overheard, in his secondary personality as a Nolan and underreared, poul soul, by accident— if, that is, the incident it was an accident for here the ruah of Ecclectiastes of Hippo outpuﬀs the writress of Havvah-ban-Annah— to pianissime a slightly varied version of Crookedribs conﬁdentials, (what Mère Aloyse said but for Jesuphine’s sake!) hands between hahands, in fealty sworn (my bravor best! my fraur!) and, to the strains of
The Secret of Her Birth, hushly pierce the rubiend aurellum of one Philly Thurnston, a layteacher of rural science and orthophonethics of a nearstout ﬁgure and about the middleof his forties during a priestly ﬂutter for safe and sane bets at the hippic runﬁelds of breezy Baldoyle on a date (W. W. goes through the cald) easily capable of rememberance by all pickers- up of events national and Dublin details, the doubles of Perkin and Paullock, peer and prole, when the classic Encourage Hackney Plate was captured by two noses in a stablecloth ﬁnish, ek and nek, some and none, evelo nevelo, from the cream colt Bold Boy Cromwell after a clever getaway by Captain Chaplain Blount’s roe hinny Saint Dalough, Drummer Coxon, nondepict third, at breakneck odds, thanks to you great little, bonny little, portey little, Winny Widger! you’re all their nappies! who in his never- rip mud and purpular cap was surely leagues unlike any other phantomweight that ever toppitt our timber maggies.
’Twas two pisononse Timcoves (the wetter is pest, the renns are overt and come and the voax of the turfur is hurled on our lande) of the name of Treacle Tom as was just out of pop following the theft of a leg of Kehoe, Donnelly and Packenham’s Finnish pork and his own blood and milk brother Frisky Shorty, (he was, to be exquisitely punctilious about them, both shorty and frisky) a tip- ster, come oﬀ the hulks, both of them awful poor, what was out on the bumaround for an oofbird game for a jimmy o’goblin or a small thick un as chanced, while the Seaforths was making the colleenbawl, to ear the passon in the motor clobber make use of his law language (Edzo, Edzo on), touchin the case of Mr Adams what was in all the sundays about it which he was rubbing noses with and having a gurgle oﬀ his own along of the butty bloke in the specs.
This Treacle Tom to whom reference has been made had been absent from his usual wild and woolly haunts in the land of counties capalleens for some time previous to that (he was, in fact, in the habit of frequenting common lodginghouses where he slept in a nude state, hailfellow with meth, in strange men’s cots) but on racenight, blotto after divers tots of hell ﬁre, red biddy, bull dog, blue ruin and creeping jenny, Eglandine’s choic- est herbage, supplied by the Duck and Doggies, the Galop- ping Primrose, Brigid Brewster’s, the Cock, the Postboy’s Horn,
the Little Old Man’s and All Swell That Aimswell, the Cup and the Stirrup, he sought his wellwarmed leababobed in a hous- ingroom Abide With Oneanother at Block W.W., (why didn’t he back it?) Pump Court, The Liberties, and, what with moltapuke on voltapuke, resnored alcoh alcoho alcoherently to the burden of
I come, my horse delayed, nom num, the sub- stance of the tale of the evangelical bussybozzy and the rusinur- bean (the ‘girls’ he would keep calling them for the collarette and skirt, the sunbonnet and carnation) in parts (it seemed he was before the eyots of martas or otherwales the thirds of fossil- years, he having beham with katya when lavinias had her mens lease to sea in a psumpship doodly show whereat he was looking for ﬁght niggers with whilde roarses) oft in the chilly night (the metagonistic! the epickthalamorous!) during uneasy slumber in their hearings of a small and stonybroke cashdraper’s executive, Peter Cloran (discharged), O’Mara, an exprivate secretary of no ﬁxed abode (locally known as Mildew Lisa), who had passed several nights, funnish enough, in a doorway under the blankets of homelessness on the bunk of iceland, pillowed upon the stone of destiny colder than man’s knee or woman’s breast, and Hosty, (no slouch of a name), an illstarred beachbusker, who, sans rootie and sans scrapie, suspicioning as how he was setting on a twoodstool on the verge of selfabyss, most starved, with melancholia over everything in general, (night birman, you served him with natigal’s nano!) had been towhead tossing on his shake- down, devising ways and manners of means, of what he loved to iﬁdalicence somehow or other in the nation getting a hold of some chap’s parabellum in the hope of taking a wing sociable and lighting upon a sidewheel dive somewhere oﬀ the Dullkey Downlairy and Bleakrooky tramaline where he could throw true and go and blow the sibicidal napper oﬀ himself for two bits to boldywell baltitude in the peace and quitybus of a one sure shot bottle, he after having being trying all he knew with the lady’s help of Madam Gristle for upwards of eighteen calanders to get out of Sir Patrick Dun’s, through Sir Humphrey Jervis’s and into the Saint Kevin’s bed in the Adelaide’s hosspittles (fromthese incurable welleslays among those uncarable wellasdays through Sant Iago by his cocklehat, good Lazar, deliver us!) without after having been able to jerrywangle it anysides. Lisa O’Deavis and Roche Mongan (who had so much incommon, epipsychidically; if the phrase be permitted
hostis et odor insuper petroperfractus) as an understood thing slept their sleep of the swimborne in the one sweet undulant mother of tumblerbunks with Hosty just how the shavers in the shaw the yokels in the yoats or, well, the wasters in the wilde, and the bustling tweeny- dawn-of-all-works (meed of anthems here we pant!) had not been many jiﬃes furbishing potlids, doorbrasses, scholars’ applecheeks and linkboy’s metals when, ashhopperminded like no fella he go make bakenbeggfuss longa white man, the rejuvenated busker (for after a goodnight’s rave and rumble and a shinkhams topmorning with his coexes he was not the same man) and his broadawake bedroom suite (our boys, as our Byron called them) were up and ashuﬄe from the hogshome they lovenaned The Barrel, cross Ebblinn’s chilled hamlet (thrie routes and restings on their then superﬁcies curiously correspondant with those linea and puncta where our tubenny habenny metro maniplumbs below the ober- ﬂake underrails and stations at this time of riding) to the thrum- mings of a crewth ﬁddle which, cremoaning and cronauning, levey grevey, witty and wevey, appy, leppy and playable, caressed the ears of the subjects of King Saint Finnerty the Festive who, in brick homes of their own and in their ﬂavory fraiseberry beds, heeding hardly cry of honeyman, soed lavender or foyneboyne salmon alive, with their priggish mouths all open for the larger appraisiation of this longawaited Messiagh of roaratorios, were only halfpast atsweeeep and after a brisk pause at a pawnbroking establishment for the prothetic purpose of redeeming the song- ster’s truly admirable false teeth and a prolonged visit to a house of call at Cujas Place, ﬁzz, the Old Sots’ Hole in the parish of Saint Cecily within the liberty of Ceolmore not a thousand or one national leagues, that was, by Griﬃth’s valuation, from the site of the statue of Primewer Glasstone setting a match to the march of a maker (last of the stewards peut-être), where, the tale ramblesalong, the trio of whackfolthediddlers was joined by a further — intentions — apply — tomorrow casual and a decent sort of the hadbeen variety who had just been touching the weekly insult, phewit, and all ﬁgblabbers (who saith of noun?) had stimulants in the shape of gee and gees stood by the damn decent sort after which stag luncheon and a few ones more just to celebrate yester- day, ﬂushed with their ﬁrestuﬀfostered friendship, the rascals came out of the licensed premises, (Browne’s ﬁrst, the small p.s. ex-ex- executive capahand in their sad rear like a lady’s postscript: I want money. Pleasend), wiping their laughleaking lipes on their sleeves, how the bouckaleens shout their roscan generally (seinn ﬁon, seinn ﬁon’s araun.) and the rhymers’ world was with reason the richer for a wouldbe ballad, to the balledder of which the world of cumannity singing owes a tribute for having placed on the planet’s melomap his lay of the vilest bogeyer but most attrac- tionable avatar the world has ever had to explain for.
This, more krectly lubeen or fellow—me—lieder was ﬁrst poured forth where Riau Liviau riots and col de Houdo humps, under the shadow of the monument of the shouldhavebeen legis- lator (Eleutheriodendron! Spare, woodmann, spare!) to an over- ﬂow meeting of all the nations in Lenster fullyﬁlling the visional area and, as a singleminded supercrowd, easily representative, what with masks, whet with faces, of all sections and cross sections (wineshop and cocoahouse poured out to brim up the broaching) of our liﬀeyside people (to omit to mention of the mainland mino- rity and such as had wayfared
viaWatling, Ernin, Icknild and Stane, in chief a halted cockney car with its quotal of Hardmuth’s hacks, a northern tory, a southern whig, an eastanglian chroni- cler and a landwester guardian) ranging from slips of young dublinos from Cutpurse Row having nothing better to do than walk about with their hands in their kneepants, sucking air- whackers, weedulicet, jumbobricks, side by side with truant oﬃcers, three woollen balls and poplin in search of a croust of pawn to busy professional gentlemen, a brace of palesmen with dundrearies, nooning toward Daly’s, fresh from snipehitting and mallardmissing on Rutland heath, exchanging cold sneers, mass-going ladies from Hume Street in their chairs, the bearers baited, some wandering hamalags out of the adjacent cloverﬁelds of Mosse’s Gardens, an oblate fater from Skinner’s Alley, brick- layers, a ﬂeming, in tabinet fumant, with spouse and dog, an aged hammersmith who had some chisellers by the hand, a bout of cudgel players, not a few sheep with the braxy, two bluecoat scholars, four broke gents out of Simpson’s on the Rocks, a portly and a pert still tassing Turkey Coﬀee and orange shrub in tickeyes door, Peter Pim and Paul Fry and then Elliot and, O, Atkinson, suﬀering hell’s delights from the blains of their annui- tant’s acorns not forgetting a deuce of dianas ridy for the hunt, a particularist prebendary pondering on the roman easter, the ton- sure question and greek uniates, plunk em, a lace lappet head or two or three or four from a window, and so on down to a few good old souls, who, as they were juiced after taking their pledge over at the unkle’s place, were evidently under the spell of liquor, from the wake of Tarry the Tailor a fair girl, a jolly postboy thinking oﬀ three ﬂagons and one, a plumodrole, a half sir from the weaver’s almshouse who clings and clings and chatchatchat clings to her, a wholedam’s cloudhued pittycoat, as child, as curiolater, as Caoch O’Leary. The wararrow went round, so it did, (a nation wants a gaze) and the ballad, in the felibrine trancoped metre aﬀectioned by Taiocebo in his
Casudas de Poulichinello Artahut,stump- stampaded on to a slip of blancovide and headed by an excessively rough and red woodcut, privately printed at the rimepress of Delville, soon ﬂuttered its secret on white highway and brown byway to the rose of the winds and the blew of the gaels, from archway to lattice and from black hand to pink ear, village crying to village, through the ﬁve pussyfours green of the united states of Scotia Picta — and he who denies it, may his hairs be rubbed in dirt! To the added strains (so peacifold) of his majesty the ﬂoote, that onecrooned king of inscrewments, Piggots’s purest,ciello alsoliuto,which Mr Delaney (Mr Delacey?), horn, anticipating a perfect downpour of plaudits among the rapsods, piped out of his decentsoort hat, looking still more like his purseyful namesake as men of Gaul noted, but before of to sputabout, thesnowycrested curl amoist the leader’s wild and moulting hair, ‘Ductor’ Hitchcock hoisted his fezzy fuzz at bludgeon’s height signum to his companions of the chalice for the Loud Fellow, boys’ and
silentium in curia!(our maypole once more where he rose of old) and the canto was chantied there chorussed and christened where by the old tollgate, Saint Annona’s Street and Church.And aroud the lawn the rann it rann and this is the rann that Hosty made. Spoken. Boyles and Cahills, Skerretts and Pritchards, vierseﬁed and piersiﬁed may the treeth we tale of live in stoney. Here line the refrains of. Some vote him Vike, some mote him Mike, some dub him Llyn and Phin while others hail him Lug Bug Dan Lop, Lex, Lax, Gunne or Guinn. Some apt him Arth, some bapt him Barth, Coll, Noll, Soll, Will, Weel, Wall but I parse him Persse O’Reilly else he’s called no name at all. To- gether. Arrah, leave it to Hosty, frosty Hosty, leave it to Hosty for he’s the mann to rhyme the rann, the rann, the rann, the king of all ranns. Have you here? (Some ha) Have we where? (Some hant) Have you hered? (Others do) Have we whered (Others dont) It’s cumming, it’s brumming! The clip, the clop! (All cla) Glass crash. The (klikkaklakkaklaskaklopatzklatschabattacreppycrotty- graddaghsemmihsammihnouithappluddyappladdypkonpkot!).
Ardite, arditi!
Music cue.

He was one time our King of the Castle
Now he’s kicked about like a rotten old parsnip.
And from Green street he’ll be sent by order of His Worship To the penal jail of Mountjoy
(Chorus) To the jail of Mountjoy!
Jail him and joy
He was fafafather of all schemes for to bother us
Slow coaches and immaculate contraceptives for the populace, Mare’s milk for the sick, seven dry Sundays a week,
Openair love and religion’s reform, (Chorus) And religious reform,
Hideous in form.
Arrah, why, says you, couldn’t he manage it? I’ll go bail, my ﬁne dairyman darling,
Like the bumping bull of the Cassidys All your butter is in your horns.
(Chorus) His butter is in his horns.
Butter his horns!
(Repeat) Hurrah there, Hosty, frosty Hosty, change that shirt
[on ye,
Rhyme the rann, the king of all ranns!
Balbaccio, balbuccio!
We had chaw chaw chops, chairs, chewing gum, the chicken-
[pox and china chambers Universally provided by this soﬀsoaping salesman.
Small wonder He’ll Cheat E’erawan our local lads nicknamed him When Chimpden ﬁrst took the ﬂoor
(Chorus) With his bucketshop store Down Bargainweg, Lower.
So snug he was in his hotel premises sumptuous
But soon we’ll bonﬁre all his trash, tricks and trumpery
And’tis short till sheriﬀ Clancy’ll be winding up his unlimited
[company
With the bailiﬀ’s bom at the door, (Chorus) Bimbam at the door.
Then he’ll bum no more.
Sweet bad luck on the waves washed to our island The hooker of that hammerfast viking
And Gall’s curse on the day when Eblana bay Saw his black and tan man-o’-war.
(Chorus) Saw his man-o’-war.
On the harbour bar.
Where from? roars Poolbeg. Cookingha’pence, he bawls Donnez-
[moi scampitle, wick an wipin’fampiny Fingal Mac Oscar Onesine Bargearse Boniface
Thok’s min gammelhole Norveegickers moniker Og as ay are at gammelhore Norveegickers cod.
(Chorus) A Norwegian camel old cod.
He is, begod.
Lift it, Hosty, lift it, ye devil ye! up with the rann, the rhyming
[rann!
It was during some fresh water garden pumping
Or, according to the Nursing
Mirror, while admiring the mon-
[keys
That our heavyweight heathen Humpharey Made bold a maid to woo
(Chorus) Woohoo, what’ll she doo!
The general lost her maidenloo!
He ought to blush for himself, the old hayheaded philosopher, For to go and shove himself that way on top of her.
Begob, he’s the crux of the catalogue Of our antediluvial zoo,
(Chorus) Messrs. Billing and Coo. Noah’s larks, good as noo.
He was joulting by Wellinton’s monument Our rotorious hippopopotamuns
When some bugger let down the backtrap of the omnibus And he caught his death of fusiliers,
(Chorus) With his rent in his rears.
Give him six years.
’Tis sore pity for his innocent poor children But look out for his missus legitimate!
When that frew gets a grip of old Earwicker Won’t there be earwigs on the green?
(Chorus) Big earwigs on the green, The largest ever you seen.
Suﬀoclose! Shikespower! Seudodanto! Anonymoses!
Then we’ll have a free trade Gaels’ band and mass meeting For to sod the brave son of Scandiknavery.

And not all the king’s men nor his horses Will resurrect his corpus
For there’s no true spell in Connacht or hell (bis) That’s able to raise a Cain.
Chest Cee! ’Sdense! Corpo di barragio! you spoof of visibility in a freakfog, of mixed sex cases among goats, hill cat and plain mousey, Bigamy Bob and his old Shanvocht! The Blackfriars treacle plaster outrage be liddled! Therewith was released in that kingsrick of Humidia a poisoning volume of cloud barrage indeed. Yet all they who heard or redelivered are now with that family of bards and Vergobretas himself and the crowd of Caraculacticors as much no more as be they not yet now or had they then not- ever been. Canbe in some future we shall presently here amid those zouave players of Inkermann the mime mumming the mick and his nick miming their maggies, Hilton St Just (Mr Frank Smith), Ivanne Ste Austelle (Mr J. F. Jones), Coleman of Lucan taking four parts, a choir of the O’Daley O’Doyles doublesixing the chorus in
Fenn Mac Call and the Seven Feeries of Loch Neach, Galloper Troppler and Hurleyquinnthe zitherer of the past with his merrymen all, zimzim, zimzim. Of the persins sin this Eyrawyg- gla saga (which, thorough readable to int from and, is from tubb to buttom all falsetissues, antilibellous and nonactionable and this applies to its whole wholume) of poor Osti-Frosti, described as quite a musical genius in a small way and the owner of an exceedingly niced ear, with tenorist voice to match, not alone, but a very major poet of the poorly meritary order (he began Tuonisonian but worked his passage up as far as the we-all- hang-together Animandovites) no one end is known. If theywhistled him before he had curtains up they are whistling him still after his curtain’s doom’s doom.
Ei fù. His husband, poor old A’Hara (Okaroﬀ?) crestfallen by things and down at heels at the time, they squeak, accepted the (Zassnoch!) ardree’s shilling at the conclusion of the Crimean war and, having ﬂown his wild geese, alohned in crowds to warnder on like Shuley Luney, enlisted in Tyrone’s horse, the Irish whites, and soldiered a bit with Wolsey under the assumed name of Blanco Fusilovna Buck- lovitch (spurious) after which the cawer and the marble halls of Pump Court Columbarium, the home of the old seakings, looked upon each other and queth their haven evermore for it transpires that on the other side of the water it came about that on the ﬁeld of Vasileﬀ’s Cornix inauspiciously with his unit he perished, saying, this papal leaﬂess to old chap give, rawl chaw- clates for mouther-in-louth.Booil. Poor old dear Paul Horan, to satisfy his literary as well as his criminal aspirations, at the suggestion thrown out by the doomster in loquacity lunacy, so says the Dublin Intelligence, was thrown into a Ridley’s for inmates in the northern counties. Under the name of Orani he may have been the utility man of the troupe capable of sustain- ing long parts at short notice. He was. Sordid Sam, a dour decent deblancer, the unwashed, haunted always by his ham, the unwished, at a word from Israfel the Summoner, passed away painlessly after life’s upsomdowns one hallowe’en night, ebbrous and in the state of nature, propelled from Behind into the great Beyond by footblows coulinclouted upon his oyster and atlas on behanged and behooved and behicked and behulked of his last ﬁshandblood bedscrappers, a Northwegian and his mate of the Sheawolving class. Though the last straw glimt his baring this stage thunkhard is said (the pitfallen gagged him as ‘Promptboxer’) to have solemnly said — as had the brief thot but fell in till his head like a bass dropt neck fust in till a bung crate (cogged!): Me drames, O’Loughlins, has come through! Now let the centuple celves of my egourge as Micholas de Cusack calls them, — of all of whose I in my hereinafter of course by recourse demission me — by the coincidance of their contraries reamalgamerge in that indentityof undiscernibles where the Baxters and the Fleshmans may they cease to bidivil uns and (but at this poingt though the iron thrust of his cockspurt start might have prepared us we are well- nigh stinkpotthered by the mustardpunge in the tailend) this outandin brown candlestock melt Nolan’s into peese!
Han var. Disliken as he was to druriodrama, her wife Langley, the prophet, and the decentest dozendest short of a frusker whoever stuck his spickle through his spoke, disappeared, (in which toodooing he has taken all the French leaves unveilable out of Calomne- quiller’s Pravities) from the sourface of this earth, that austral plain he had transmaried himself to, so entirely spoorlessly (the mother of the book with a dustwhisk tabularasing his obliteration done upon her involucrum) as to tickle the speculative to all but opine (since the Levey who might have been Langley may have really been a redivivus of paganinism or a volunteer Vousden) that the hobo (who possessed a large amount of the humoresque) had transtuled his funster’s latitat to its ﬁnsterest interrimost.Bhi she. Again, if Father San Browne, tea and toaster to that quaint- esttest of yarnspinners is Padre Don Bruno, treu and troster to the queen of Iar-Spain, was the reverend, the sodality director, that eupeptic viceﬂayer, a barefaced carmelite, to whose palpi- tating pulpit (which of us but remembers the rarevalent and hornerable Fratomistor Nawlanmore and Brawne.) sinning society sirens (see the [Roman Catholic] presspassim) fortunately became so enthusiastically attached and was an objectionable ass who very occasionally cockaded a raﬄes ticket on his hat which he wore all to one side like the hangle of his pan (if Her Elegance saw him she’d have the canary!) and was semiprivately convicted of mal- practices with his hotwashed tableknife (glossing over the cark in his pocket) that same snob of the dunhill, fully several year- schaums riper, encountered by the General on that redletter morning or maynoon jovesday and were they?Fuitfuit.When Phishlin Phil wants throws his lip ’tis pholly to be fortune ﬂonting and whoever’s gone to mix Hotel by the salt say water there’s nix to nothing we can do for he’s never again to sea. It is nebuless an autodidact fact of the commonest that the shape of
the average human cloudyphiz, whereas sallow has long daze faded, frequently altered its ego with the possing of the showers (Not original!). Whence it is a slopperish matter, given the wet and low visibility (since in this scherzarade of one’s thousand one nightinesses that sword of certainty which would indentiﬁde the body never falls) to idendiﬁne the individuone in scratch wig, squarecuts, stock lavaleer, regattable oxeter, baggy pants and shuﬄers (he is often alluded to as Slypatrick, the llad in the llane) with already an incipience (lust!) in the direction of area baldness (one is continually ﬁrstmeeting with odd sorts of others at all sorts of ages!) who was asked by free boardschool shirkers in drenched coats overawall, Will, Conn and Otto, to tell them overagait, Vol, Pov and Dev, that ﬁshabed ghoatstory of the haardly creditable edventyres of the Haberdasher, the two Cur- chies and the three Enkelchums in their Bearskin ghoats! Girles and jongers, but he has changed alok syne Thorkill’s time! Ya, da, tra, gathery, pimp, shesses, shossafat, okodeboko, nine! Those many warts, those slummy patches, halfsinster wrinkles, (what has come over the face on wholebroader E?), and (shrine of Mount Mu save us!) the large fungopark he has grown! Drink!
Sport’s a common thing. It was the Lord’s own day for damp (to wait for a postponed regatta’s eventualising is not of Battlecock Shettledore - Juxta - Mare only) and the request for a fully armed explanation was put (in Loo of Pat) to the porty (a native of the sisterisle — Meathman or Meccan? — by his brogue, ex- race eyes, lokil calour and lucal odour which are said to have been average clownturkish (though the capelist’s voiced nasal liquids and the way he sneezed at zees haul us back to the craogs and bryns of the Silurian Ordovices) who, the lesser pilgrimage accomplished, had made, pats’ and pigs’ older inselt, the south- east bluﬀs of the stranger stepshore, a
regifugium persecutorum, hence hindquarters) as he paused at evenchime for some or so minutes (hit the pipe, dannyboy! Time to won, barmon. I’ll take ten to win.) amid the devil’s one duldrum (Apple by her blossom window and Charlotte at her toss panomancy his sole admirers, his only tearts in store) for a fragrend culubosh during his week-end pastime of executing with Anny Oakley deadliness (the con- summatory pairs of provocatives, of which remained provokingly but two, the ones he fell for, Lili and Tutu, cork em!) empties which had not very long before contained Reid’s family (you ruad that before, soaky, but all the bottles in sodemd histry will not soften your bloodathirst!) stout. Having reprimed his repeater and resiteroomed his timespiece His Revenances, with still a life or two to spare for the space of his occupancy of a world at a time, rose to his feet and there, far from Tolkaheim, in a quiet English garden (commonplace!), since known as Whiddington Wild, his simple intensive curolent vocality, my dearbraithers, my most dearbrathairs, as he, so is a supper as is a sipper, spake of the One and told of the Compassionate, called up before the triad of precoxious scaremakers (scoretaking: Spegulo ne helpas al mal- bellulo, Mi Kredas ke vi estas prava, Via dote la vizago rispondas fraulino) the now to ushere mythical habiliments of Our Farfar and Arthor of our doyne.
Television kills telephony in brothers’ broil. Our eyes de- mand their turn. Let them be seen! And wolfbone baleﬁres blaze the trailmost if only that Mary Nothing may burst her bibby buckshee. When they set ﬁre then she’s got to glow so we may stand some chances of warming to what every soorkabatcha, tum or hum, would like to know. The ﬁrst Humphrey’s latitu- dinous baver with puggaree behind, (calaboose belong bigboss belong Kang the Toll) his fourinhand bow, his elbaroom surtout, the refaced unmansionables of gingerine hue, the state slate umbrella, his gruﬀ woolselywellesly with the ﬁnndrinn knopfs and the gauntlet upon the hand which in an hour not for him solely evil had struck down the might he mighthavebeen d’Est- erre of whom his nation seemed almost already to be about to have need. Then, stealing his thunder, but in the beﬁtting le- gomena of the smaller country, (probable words, possibly said, of ﬁeld family gleaming) a bit duskish and ﬂavoured with a smile, seein as ow his thoughts consisted chieﬂy of the cheerio, he aptly sketched for our soontobe second parents (sukand see whybe!) the touching seene. The solence of that stilling! Here one might
a ﬁn fell. Boomster rombombonant! It scenes like a landescape from Wildu Picturescu or some seem on some dimb Arras, dumb as Mum’s mutyness, this mimage of the seventyseventh kusin of kristansen is odable to os across the wineless Ere no œdor nor mere eerie nor liss potent of suggestion than in the tales of the tingmount. (Prigged!)
And there oftafter, jauntyjogging, on an Irish visavis, instea- dily with shoulder to shoulder Jehu will tell to Christianier, saint to sage, the humphriad of that fall and rise while daisy winks at her pinker sister among the tussocks and the copoll between the shafts mocks the couple on the car.  Follow we up his whip vindicative. Thurston’s! Lo bebold!
La arboro, lo petrusu. The augustan peacebetothem oaks, the monolith rising stark from the moonlit pinebarren. In all fortitudinous ajaxious rowdinoisy tenuacity. The angelus hour with ditchers bent upon their farm usetensiles, the soft belling of the fallow deers (doereh- moose genuane!) advertising their milky approach as midnight was striking the hours (letate!), and how brightly the great tri- bune outed the sharkskin smokewallet (imitation!) from his frock, kippers, and by Joshua, he tips un a topping swank cheroot, none of your swellish soide, quoit the reverse, and how manfally he says, pluk to pluk and lekan for lukan, he was to just pluggy well suck that brown boyo, my son, and spend a whole half hour in Havana. Sorer of the kreeksmen, would not thore be old high gothsprogue! Wherefore he met Master, he mean to say, he do, sire, bester of redpublicans, at Eagle Cock Hostel on Lorenzo Tooley street and how he wished his Honour the ban- nocks of Gort and Morya and Bri Head and Puddyrick, yore Loudship, and a starchboxsitting in the pit of his St Tomach’s,— a strange wish for you, my friend, and it would poleaxe your sonson’s grandson utterly though your own old sweatandswear ﬂoruerunts heaved it hoch many as the times, when they were turriﬁed by the hitz.
Chee chee cheers for Upkingbilly and crow cru cramwells
Downaboo! Hup, boys, and hat him! See! Oilbeam they’re lost we’ve found rerembrandtsers, their hours to date link these heirs to here but wowhere are those yours of Yestersdays? Farseeinge- therich and Poolaulwoman Charachthercuss and his Ann van Vogt. D.e.e.d! Edned, ended or sleeping soundlessly? Favour with your tongues!
Intendite!Any dog’s life you list you may still hear them at it, like sixes and seventies as eversure as Halley’s comet, ulemamen, sobran- jewomen, storthingboys and dumagirls, as they pass its bleak and bronze portal of your Casaconcordia: Huru more Nee, minny frickans? Hwoorledes har Dee det? Losdoor onleft mladies, cue. Millecientotrigintadue scudi. Tippoty, kyrie, tippoty. Cha kai rotty kai makkar, sahib? Despenseme Usted, senhor, en son suc- co, sabez. O thaw bron orm, A’Cothraige, thinkinthou gaily? Lick-Pa-ﬂai-hai-pa-Pa-li-si-lang-lang. Epi alo, ecou, Batiste, tu- vavnr dans Lptit boing going. Ismeme de bumbac e meias de por- tocallie. O.O. Os pipos mios es demasiada gruarso por O pic- colo pocchino. Wee fee? Ung duro. Kocshis, szabad? Mercy, and you? Gomagh, thak.
And, Cod, says he with mugger’s tears: Would you care to know the prise of a liard? Maggis, nick your nightynovel! Mass Taverner’s at the mike again! And that bag belly is the buck to goat it! Meggeg, m’gay chapjappy fellow, I call our univalse to witness, as sicker as moyliﬀey eggs is known by our good househalters from yorehunderts of mamooth to be which they commercially are in ahoy high British quarters (conventional!) my guesthouse and cowhaendel credits will immediately stand ohoh open as straight as that neighbouring monument’s fabrica- tion before the hygienic gllll (this was where the reverent sab- both and bottlebreaker with ﬁrbalk forthstretched touched upon his tricoloured boater, which he uplifted by its pickledhoopy (he gave Stetson one and a penny for it) whileas oleaginosity of an- cestralolosis sgocciolated down the both pendencies of his mut- sohito liptails (Sencapetulo, a more modestuous conciliabulite never curled a torn pocketmouth), cordially inwiting the adul- lescence who he was wising up to do in like manner what all did
so as he was able to add) lobe before the Great Schoolmaster’s. (I tell you no story.) Smile!
The house of Atreox is fallen indeedust (Ilyam, Ilyum! Mae- romor Mournomates!) averging on blight like the mundibanks of Fennyana, but deeds bounds going arise again. Life, he himself said once, (his biograﬁend, in fact, kills him verysoon, if yet not, after) is a wake, livit or krikit, and on the bunk of our bread- winning lies the cropse of our seedfather, a phrase which the establisher of the world by law might pretinately write across the chestfront of all manorwombanborn. The scene, refreshed, reroused, was never to be forgotten, the hen and crusader ever- intermutuomergent, for later in the century one of that puisne band of factferreters, (then an excivily (out of the custom huts) (retired), (hurt), under the sixtyﬁves act) in a dressy black modern style and wewere shiny tan burlingtons, (tam, homd and dicky, quopriquos and peajagd) rehearsed it, pippa pointing, with a digniﬁed (copied) bow to a namecousin of the late archdeacon
F. X. Preserved Coppinger (a hot fellow in his night, may the mouther of guard have mastic on him!) in a pullwoman of our ﬁrst transhibernian with one still sadder circumstance which is a dirkandurk heartskewerer if ever to bring bouncing brimmers from marbled eyes. Cycloptically through the windowdisks and with eddying awes the round eyes of the rundreisers, back to back, buck to bucker, on their airish chaunting car, beheld with in- touristing anterestedness the clad pursue the bare, the bare the green, the green the frore, the frore the cladagain, as their convoy wheeled encirculingly abound the gigantig’s lifetree, our ﬁre- leaved loverlucky blomsterbohm, phoenix in our woodlessness, haughty, cacuminal, erubescent (repetition!) whose roots they be asches with lustres of peins. For as often as the Archicadenus, pleacing aside his
Irish Fieldand craving their auriculars to re- cepticle particulars before they got the bump at Castlebar (mat and far!) spoke of it by request all, hearing in this new reading of the part whereby, because of Dyas in his machina, the new garrickson’s grimacing grimaldism hypostasised by substintua- tion the axiomatic orerotundity of that once grand old elringtonbawl, the copycus’s description of that fellowcommuter’s play upon countenants, could simply imagine themselves in their bo- som’s inmost core, as
pro tem locums, timesported acorss the yawn- ing (abyss), as once they were seasiders, listening to the cockshy- shooter’s evensong evocation of the doomed but always ventri- loquent Agitator, (nonot more plangorpound the billows o’er Thounawahallya Reef!) silkhouatted, a whallrhosmightiadd, a- ginsst the dusk of skumring, (would that fane be Saint Muezzin’s calling — holy places! — and this fez brimless as brow of faithful toucher of the ground, did wish it were — blessed be the bones!— the ghazi, power of his sword.) his manslayer’s gunwielder protended towards that overgrown leadpencil which was soon, monumentally at least, to rise as Molyvdokondylon to, to be, to be his mausoleum (O’dan stod tillsteyne at meisies aye skould show pon) while olover his exculpatory features, as Roland rung, a wee dropeen of grief about to sillonise his jouejous, the ghost of resignation diﬀused a spectral appealingness, as a young man’s drown o’er the fate of his waters may gloat, similar in origin and akkurat in eﬀective to a beam of sunshine upon a coﬃn plate.
Not olderwise Inn the days of the Bygning would our Travel- ler remote, unfriended, from van Demon’s Land, some lazy skald or maundering pote, lift wearywilly his slowcut snobsic eyes to the semisigns of his zooteac and lengthily lingering along ﬂaskneck, cracket cup, downtrodden brogue, turfsod, wild- broom, cabbageblad, stockﬁsch, longingly learn that there at the Angel were herberged for him poteen and tea and praties and baccy and wine width woman wordth warbling: and informally quasi-begin to presquesm’ile to queasithin’ (Nonsense! There was not very much windy Nous blowing at the given moment through the hat of Mr Melancholy Slow!)
But in the pragma what formal cause made a smile of
thatto- think? Who was he to whom? (O’Breen’s not his name nor the brown one his maid.) Whose are the placewheres? Kiwasti, kis- ker, kither, kitnabudja? Tal the tem of the tumulum. Giv the gav of the grube. Be it cudgelplayers’ country, orﬁshfellows’ town or leeklickers’ land or panbpanungopovengreskey. What regnansraised the rains have levelled but we hear the pointers and can gauge their compass for the melos yields the mode and the mode the manners plicyman, plansiman, plousiman, plab. Tsin tsin tsin tsin! The forefarther folkers for a prize of two peaches with Ming, Ching and Shunny on the lie low lea. We’ll sit down on the hope of the ghouly ghost for the titheman troubleth but his hantitat hies not here. They answer from their Zoans; Hear the four of them! Hark torroar of them! I, says Armagh, and a’m proud o’it. I, says Clonakilty, God help us! I, says Deansgrange, and say nothing. I, says Barna, and whatabout it? Hee haw! Be- fore he fell hill he ﬁlled heaven: a stream, alplapping streamlet, coyly coiled um, cool of her curls: We were but thermites then, wee, wee. Our antheap we sensed as a Hill of Allen, the Barrow for an People, one Jotnursfjaell: and it was a grummelung amung the porktroop that wonderstruck us as a thunder, yunder.
Thus the unfacts, did we possess them, are too imprecisely few to warrant our certitude, the evidencegivers by legpoll too untrustworthily irreperible where his adjugers are semmingly freak threes but his judicandees plainly minus twos. Neverthe- less Madam’s Toshowus waxes largely more lifeliked (entrance, one kudos; exits, free) and our notional gullery is now com- pletely complacent, an exegious monument, aerily perennious. Oblige with your blackthorns; gamps, degrace! And there many have paused before that exposure of him by old Tom Quad, a ﬂashback in which he sits sated, gowndabout, in clericalease ha- bit, watching bland sol slithe dodgsomely into the nethermore, a globule of maugdleness about to corrugitate his mild dewed cheek and the tata of a tiny victorienne, Alys, pressed by his limper looser.
Yet certes one is. Eher the following winter had overed the pages of nature’s book and till Ceadurbar-atta-Cleath became Dablena Tertia, the shadow of the huge outlander, maladik, mult- vult, magnoperous, had bulked at the bar of a rota of tribunals in manor hall as in thieves’ kitchen, mid pillow talk and chithouse chat, on Marlborough Green as through Molesworth Fields, here sentenced pro tried with Jedburgh justice, there acquitted con-
testimony with beneﬁt of clergy. His Thing Mod have undone him: and his madthing has done him man. His beneﬁciaries are legion in the part he created: they number up his years. Greatwheel Dunlop was the name was on him: behung, all we are his bisaacles. As hollyday in his house so was he priest and king to that: ulvy came, envy saw, ivy conquered. Lou! Lou! They have waved his green boughs o’er him as they have torn him limb from lamb. For his muertiﬁcation and uxpiration and dumnation and annu- hulation. With schreis and grida, deprofound souspirs. Steady, sullivans! Mannequins pause! Longtong’s breach is fallen down but Graunya’s spreed’s abroad. Ahdostay, feedailyones, and feel the Flucher’s bawls for the total of your ﬂouts is not ﬁt to fan his fettle, O! Have a ring and sing wohl! Chin, chin! Chin, chin! And of course all chimed din width the eatmost boviality. Swip- ing rums and beaunes and sherries and ciders and negus and cit- ronnades too. The strongers. Oho, oho, Mester Begge, you’re about to be bagged in the bog again. Bugge. But softsies seuf- sighed: Eheu, for gassies! But, lo! lo! by the threnning gods, human, erring and condonable, what the statues of our kuo, who is the messchef be our kuang, ashu ashure there, the unforgettable treeshade looms up behind the jostling judgements of those, as all should owe, malrecapturable days.
Tap and pat and tapatagain, (ﬁre ﬁrstshot, Missiers the Refusel- eers! Peingpeong! For saxonlootie!) three tommix, soldiers free, cockaleak and cappapee, of the Coldstream. Guards were walking, in (
pardonnez-leur, je vous en prie, eh?) Montgomery Street. One voiced an opinion in which on either wide (pardonnez!), nod- ding, all the Finner Camps concurred (je vous en prie, eh?). It was the ﬁrst woman, they said, souped him, that fatal wellesday, Lili Coninghams, by suggesting him they go in a ﬁeld. Wroth mod eldfar, ruth redd stilstand, wrath wrackt wroth, confessed private Pat Marchisonretro. (Terse!) Thus contenters with san- toys play. One of our coming Vauxhall ontheboards who is resting for the moment (she has been callit by a noted stagey ele- cutioner a wastepacket Sittons) was interfeud in a waistend pewty parlour. Looking perhaps even more pewtyﬂushed in her cherry-derry padouasoys, girdle and braces by the Halfmoon and Seven Stars, russets from the Blackamoor’s Head, amongst the climbing boys at his Eagle and Child and over the corn and hay emptors at their Black and All Black, Mrs F . . . A . . . saidaside, half in stage of whisper to her conﬁdante glass, while recoopering her cartwheel chapot (ahat! — and we now know what thimbles a baquets on lallance a talls mean), she hoped Sid Arthar would git a Chrissman’s portrout of orange and lemonsized orchids with hollegs and ether, from the feeatre of the Innocident, as the worryld had been uncained. Then, while it is odrous comparison- ing to the sprangﬂowers of his burstday which was a virid- able goddinpotty for the reinworms and the charlattinas and all branches of climatitis, it has been such a wanderful noyth untirely, added she, with many regards to Maha’s pranjapansies. (Tart!) Prehistoric, obitered to his dictaphone an entychologist: his pro- penomen is a properismenon. A dustman nocknamed Seven- churches in the employ of Messrs Achburn, Soulpetre and Ashreborn, prairmakers, Glintalook, was asked by the sisterhood the vexed question during his midday collation of leaver and buckrom alternatively with stenk and kitteney phie in a hash- housh and, thankeaven, responsed impulsively: We have just been propogandering his nullity suit and what they took out of his ear among my own crush. All our fellows at O’Dea’s sages with Aratar Calaman he is a cemented brick, buck it all! A more nor usually sober cardriver, who was jauntingly hosing his runabout, Ginger Jane, took a strong view. Lorry hosed her as he talked and this is what he told rewritemen: Irewaker is just a plain pink joint reformee in private life but folks all have it by brehemons laws he has parliamentary honours. Eiskaﬃer said (Louigi’s, you know that man’s, brillant Savourain):
Mon foie, you wish to ave some homelette, yes, lady! Good, mein leber! Your hegg he must break himself. See, I crack, so, he sit in the poele, umbedimbt! A perspirer (over sixty) who was keeping up his tennises panted he kne ho har twa to clect infamatios but a diﬀpair ﬂannels climb wall and trespassing on doorbell. After fullblown Braddon hear this fresky troterella! A railways barmaid’s view (they call herSpilltears Rue) was thus expressed: to sympathisers of the Dole Line, Death Avenue, anent those objects of her pity-prompted ministrance, to wet, man and his syphon. Ehim! It is ever too late to whissle when Phyllis ﬂoods her stable. It would be skar- lot shame to jailahim in lockup, as was proposed to him by the Seddoms creature what matter what merrytricks went oﬀ with his revulverher in connections with ehim being a norphan and enjoining such wicked illth, ehim! Well done, Drumcollakill! Kitty Tyrrel is proud of you, was the reply of a B.O.T. oﬃcial (O blame gnot the board!) while the Daughters Benkletter mur- mured in uniswoon: Golforgilhisjurylegs! Brian Lynsky, the cub curser, was questioned at his shouting box, Bawlonabraggat, and gave a snappy comeback, when saying: Paw! Once more I’ll hellbowl! I am for caveman chase and sahara sex, burk you!  Up hog and hoar hunt! Paw! A wouldbe martyr, who is attending on sanit Asitas where he is being taught to wear bracelets, when grilled on the point, revealed the undoubted fact that the consequence would be that so long as Sankya Moondy played his mango tricks under the mysttetry, with shady apsaras sheltering in his leaves’ licence and his shadowers torrifried by the potent bolts of indradiction, there would be ﬁghts all over Cuxhaven. (Tosh!) Missioner Ida Womb- well, the seventeenyearold revivalist, said concerning the coinci- dent of interﬁzzing with grenadines and other respectable and disgusted peersons using the park: That perpendicular person is a brut! But a magniﬁcent brut! ‘Caligula’ (Mr Danl Magrath, bookmaker, wellknown to Eastrailian poorusers of the Sydney Parade Ballotin) was, as usual, antipodal with his: striving todie, hopening tomellow, Ware Splash. Cobbler. We have meat two hourly, sang out El Caplan Buycout, with the famous padre’s turridur’s capecast, meet too ourly, matadear! Dan Meiklejohn, precentor, of S.S. Smack and Olley’s was probiverbal with his upsiduxit:
mutatus mutandus. Dauran’s lord (’Sniﬀpox’) and Moir- gan’s lady (’Flatterfun’) took sides and crossed and bowed to each other’s views and recrossed themselves. The dirty dubs upin their ﬂies, went too free, echoed the dainly drabs downin theirscenities, una mona. Sylvia Silence, the girl detective (
Meminerva, but by now one hears turtlings all over Doveland!) when supplied with informations as to the several facets of the case in her cozy- dozy bachelure’s ﬂat, quite overlooking John a’Dream’s mews, leaned back in her really truly easy chair to query restfully through her vowelthreaded syllabelles: Have you evew thought, wepow- tew, that sheew gweatness was his twadgedy? Nevewtheless ac- cowding to my considewed attitudes fow this act he should pay the full penalty, pending puwsuance, as pew Subsec. 32, section 11, of the C. L. A. act 1885, anything in this act to the contwawy notwithstanding. Jarley Jilke began to silke for he couldn’t get home to Jelsey but ended with: He’s got the sack that helped him moult instench of his gladsome rags. Meagher, a naval rating, seated on one of the granite cromlech setts of our new ﬁsh- shambles for the usual aireating after the ever popular act, with whom were Questa and Puella, piquante and quoite, (this had a cold in her brain while that felt a sink in her summock, wit’s wat, wot’s wet) was encouraged, although nearvanashed himself, by one of his co-aﬃanced to get your breath, Walt, and gobbit and when ther chidden by her fastra sastra to saddle up your pance, Naville, thus cor replied to her other’s thankskissing: I lay my two ﬁngerbuttons, ﬁancee Meagher, (he speaks!) he was to blame about your two velvetthighs up Horniman’s Hill — as hook and eye blame him or any other piscman? — but I also think, Puellywally, by the siege of his trousers there was some- one else behind it — you bet your boughtem blarneys — about their three drummers down Keysars Lane. (Trite!).Be these meer marchant taylor’s fablings of a race referend with oddman rex? Is now all seenheard then forgotten? Can it was, one is fain in this leaden age of letters now to wit, that so diversiﬁed outrages (they have still to come!) were planned and partly carried out against so staunch a covenanter if it be true than any of those recorded ever took place for many, we trow, beyessed to and denayed of, are given to us by some who use the truth but sparingly and we, on this side ought to sorrow for their pricking pens on that account. The seventh city, Urovivla,
his citadear of refuge, whither (would we believe the laimen and their counts), beyond the outraved gales of Atreeatic, changing clues with a baggermalster, the hejirite had ﬂed, silentioussue- meant under night’s altosonority, shipalone, a raven of the wave, (be mercy, Mara! A he whence Rahoulas!) from the ostmen’s dirtby on the old vic, to forget in expiating manslaughter and, reberthing in remarriment out of dead seekness to devine previ- dence, (if you are looking for the bilder deep your ear on the movietone!) to league his lot, palm and patte, with a papishee. For mine qvinne I thee giftake and bind my hosenband I thee halter. The wastobe land, a lottuse land, a luctuous land, Emerald- illuim, the peasant pastured, in which by the fourth commandment with promise his days apostolic were to be long by the abundant mercy of Him Which Thundereth From On High, murmured, would rise against him with all which in them were, franchisab- les and inhabitands, astea as agora, helotsphilots, do him hurt, poor jink, ghostly following bodily, as were he made a curse for them, the corruptible lay quick, all saints of incorruption of an holy nation, the common or ere-in-garden castaway, in red re- surrection to condemn so they might convince him, ﬁrst pha- roah, Humpheres Cheops Exarchas, of their proper sins. Busi- ness bred to speak with a stiﬀ upper lip to all men and most occa- sions the Man we wot of took little short of ﬁghting chances but for all that he or his or his care were subjected to the horrors of the premier terror of Errorland. (perorhaps!)
We seem to us (the real Us!) to be reading our Amenti in the sixth sealed chapter of the going forth by black. It was after the show at Wednesbury that one tall man, humping a suspicious parcel, when returning late amid a dense particular on his home way from the second house of the Boore and Burgess Christy Menestrels by the old spot, Roy’s Corner, had a barkiss revolver placed to his faced with the words: you’re shot, major: by an un- knowable assailant (masked) against whom he had been jealous over, Lotta Crabtree or Pomona Evlyn. More than that Whenn the Waylayer (not a Lucalizod diocesan or even of the Glenda- lough see, but hailing fro’ the prow of Little Britain), mention-
ing in a bytheway that he, the crawsopper, had, in edition to Reade’s cutless centiblade, a loaded Hobson’s which left only twin alternatives as, viceversa, either he would surely shoot her, the aunt, by pistol, (she could be okaysure of that!) or, failing of such, bash in Patch’s blank face beyond recognition, pointedly asked with gaeilish gall wodkar blizzard’s business Thornton had with that Kane’s fender only to be answered by the aggravated assaulted that that that was the snaps for him, Midweeks, to sultry well go and ﬁnd out if he was showery well able. But how trans- paringly nontrue, gentlewriter! His feet one is not a tall man, not at all, man. No such parson. No such fender. No such lumber. No such race. Was it supposedly in connection with a girls, Myramy Huey or Colores Archer, under Flaggy Bridge (for ann there is but one liv and hir newbridge is her old) or to explode his twelvechamber and force a shrievalty entrance that the heavybuilt Abelbody in a butcherblue blouse from One Life One Suit (a men’s wear store), with a most decisive bottle of single in his possession, seized after dark by the town guard at Haveyou- caught-emerod’s temperance gateway was there in a gate’s way.
Fifthly, how parasoliloquisingly truetoned on his ﬁrst time of hearing the wretch’s statement that, muttering Irish, he had had had o’gloriously a’lot too much hanguest or hoshoe ﬁne to drink in the House of Blazes, the Parrot in Hell, the Orange Tree, the Glibt, the Sun, the Holy Lamb and, lapse not leashed, in Ramitdown’s ship hotel since the morning moment he could dixtinguish a white thread from a black till the engine of the laws declosed unto Murray and was only falling ﬁlltheﬂuthered up against the gatestone pier which, with the cow’s bonnet a’top o’it, he falsetook for a cattlepillar with purest peaceablest intentions. Yet how lamely hobbles the hoy of his then pseudo- jocax axplanation how, according to his own story, he vas a process server and was merely trying to open zozimus a bottlop stoub by mortially hammering his
magnum bonum(the curter the club the sorer the savage) against the bludgey gate for the boots about the swan, Maurice Behan, who hastily into his shoes with nothing his hald barra tinnteack and came down with homp,shtemp and jumphet to the tiltyard from the wastes a’sleep in his obi ohny overclothes or choker, attracted by the norse of guns playing Delandy is cartager on the raglar rock to Dulyn, said war’ prised safe in bed as he dreamed that he’d wealthes in mor- mon halls when wokenp by a fourth loud snore out of his land of byelo while hickstrey’s maws was grazing in the moonlight by hearing hammering on the pandywhank scale emanating from the blind pig and anything like it (oonagh! oonagh!) in the whole history of the Mullingcan Inn he never. This battering babel allower the door and sideposts, he always said, was not in the very remotest like the belzey babble of a bottle of boose which would not rouse him out o’slumber deep but reminded him loads more of the martiallawsey marses of foreign musi- kants’ instrumongs or the overthrewer to the third last days of Pompery, if anything. And that after this most nooningless knockturn the young reine came down desperate and the old liﬀopotamus started ploring all over the plains, as mud as she cud be, ruinating all the bouchers’ schurts and the backers’ wischandtugs so that be the chandeleure of the Rejaneyjailey they were all night wasching the walters of, the weltering walters oﬀ. Whyte.
Just one moment. A pinch in time of the ideal, musketeers! Alphos, Burkos and Caramis, leave Astrelea for the astrollajerries and for the love of the saunces and the honour of Keavens pike puddywhackback to Pamintul. And roll away the reel world, the reel world, the reel world! And call all your smokeblushes, Snowwhite and Rosered, if you will have the real cream! Now for a strawberry frolic! Filons, ﬁloosh!
Cherchons la ﬂamme! Famm- famm!  Your machelar’s mutton leg’s getting musclebound from being too pulled. Noah Beery weighed stone thousand one when Hazel was a hen. Now her fat’s falling fast. Therefore, chatbags, why not yours? There are 29 sweet reasons why blossomtime’s the best. Elders fall for green almonds when
they’re raised on bruised stone root ginger though it winters on their heads as if auctumned round their waistbands. If you’d had pains in your hairs you wouldn’t look so orgibald. You’d have Colley Macaires on your lump of lead. Now listen, Mr Leer! And stow that sweatyfunnyadams Simper! Take an old geeser who calls on his skirt. Note his sleek hair, so elegant,