'Sdense! Therewith was released a poisoning volume of cloud indeed! Yet all they who heard or redelivered are now as much no more as be they not yet now or had they then notever been. Canbe in some future we shall presently here the zitherer of the past with his merrymen all, zimzim zimzim. Of the persins sin this Eyrawyggla saga (which is from tubb to buttom all falsetissues, antilibellous and nonactionable and this applies to its whole wholume) Osti, quite a musical genius in a small way and the owner of an exceedingly niced ear, no one end is known. Ei fù. O'Hara, crestfallen by things and down at heels at the time, they squeak, accepted the (Saxon) ardree's shilling at the conclusion of the Crimean War and, having flown his wild geese, enlisted in Tyrone's horse, the Irish whites, and soldiered a bit with Wolsey under the assumed name of Blanco Fusilovna Bucklovitch (spurious) after which the cawer and the marble halls of Pump Court Columbarium looked upon each other no more 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. Booil. Paul Horan, at the suggestion thrown out by the doomster in loquacity, was thrown into a Ridley's for inmates in the northern counties. He was. Sordid Sam, haunted always by his ham, passed away painlessly after life's upsomdowns one hallowe'en night, ebbrous and in the state of nature, propelled from the unwashed Behind into the unwished Beyond by footblows 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 to have solemenly 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, and of all of whose I in my hereinafter of course by recourse demission me, by the coincidance of their contraries reamalgamerge in that identity
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of undiscernibles where the Baxters and the Fleshmans may they cease to bidivil us and this outandin brown candlestock melt Nolan's into peese! Han var. Disliker as he was to druriodrama, Langley, the prophet, disappeared from the surface of ^|s6his thisº^s6| earth so entirely spoorlessly as to tickle the speculative to all but opine that the hobo (who possessed a large amount of the humoresque) had transtuled his habitat to its interrimost. Bhi she. Again, was the reverend, the sodality director, that eupeptic viceflayer, a
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barefaced carmelite, to whose pulpit sinning society sirens (see the presspassim) fortunately became so enthusiastically attached and was an objectionable ass who very occasionally wore a raffles ticket on his hat and was semiprivately convicted of malpractices with his hotwashed tableknife (passing over the cork in his pocket) that same snob of the dunhill, fully several yearschaums riper, encountered by the General on that redletter morning or mayday? Were they? Fuitfuit.

It is nebuless a wellvouchedfor fact of the commonest that the shape of
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the average human cloudyphiz frequently altered its ego with the passing of the showers. (Not original!) Whence it is a slipperish matter, given the wet and low visibility, to idendifine the individuone in baggy pants and shufflers 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 ^|s6over awall overawallº^s6| to tell them overagait that fishabed story of the Haberdasher, the two Curchies and the three Enkelchums in their Bearskin ghoats! but he has changed alok syne Thorkill's time! Those many warts, those slummy patches, wrinkles (what has come over the face of blank?) and the large fungopark he has grown! Drink! It was the Lord's own day for damp and the request was put to the porty (a native of the sisterisle — Meathman? — by his brogue which is said to have been average clonturkish who had made the southeast bluffs of the stranger
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stepshore his hindquarters) as he paused at evenchime for ten or so minutes amid the devil's one duldrum for a fragrend calabash during his weekend
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pastime of executing with Anny Oakley deadliness empties which had not very long before contained Reid's family (you ruad that before, soaky, but all the bottles in soddemd histry will not soften your bloodathirst!) stout. Having reprimed his repeater and resiteroomed his timespiece His Revenance rose to his feet and there, far from Tolkaheim, in a quiet English garden (commonplace!) where the joyshots rang no more his simple intensive curolent vocality called up before the triad of precoxious caremakers the now to ushere mythical habiliments of Our Farfar and Arthor of our doyne. Our eyes demand their turn. Let there be seen! The first Humphrey's latitudinous baver with puggaree behind, his fourinhand bow, his gruff woolselywellesly with the finndrinny knopfs and the gauntlet upon the hand which in an hour not for him solely evil had struck down the mighthe mighthavebeen D'Esterre of whom his nation seemed almost already to be about to have need. Then, stealing his thunder, but in the befitting legomena of the smaller country, 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 the touching seene. It scenes like a landescape from Wildu Picturescu or some seem om some dimb Arras, dumb as Mum's mutyness, this mimage of the seventyseventh kusin of Kristansen is odable to
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os across the wineless Ere no oedor nor mere eerie nor liss potent of suggestion than in the tales of the tingmount. (Prigged!) The augustan peacebetothem oaks, the monolith rising stark from the moonlit pinebarren, the angelus hour with ditchers bent upon their farm usetensiles, the soft belling of the fallow deers (doerehmoose genuane!) advertising their milky approach as midnight was striking the hours (letate!), and how brightly the great tribune outed the 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 he says he was to just pluggy well suck that brown boyo, my son, and spend a whole half hour in Havana. How he met Master, he mean to say, on Lorenzo Tooley Street and how he wished his Honour the bannocks of Gort and Morya and Bri Head and Puddyrick, yore Loudship, — 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 be the hitz. Any dog's life you list you may still hear them at it, ulemamen, sobranjewomen, 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 succo, sabez! O thaw bron orm, A'Cothraige, thinkinthou gaily?
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Lick-Pa-flai-hai-pa-Pa-li-si-lang-lang! Epi alo, écou, Batiste, tuvavnr dans lptit boing coing! Ismene de bumbac e meias de portocalliu! O! O! Os pipos mios es demasiada gruarso por O piccolo pocchino! Wee fee? Ung duro! Kocshis, szabad? Mercy, and you? Gomagh, thak!

And, Cod, says he with mugger's ears in his eyes: Meggeg, m'gay fellow, as sicker as eggs is known to be which they commercially are in ahoy high British quarters (conventional!) my business credits will immediately stand ohoh open as straight as that neighbouring monument's fabrication before the hygienic gllll (this was where the reverent sabboth and bottlebreaker with firbalk forthstretched touched upon his tricoloured boater, cordially inwitin the adullescence who he was wising up to do in like manner what all did
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so as he was able to add) lobe before the Great Schoolmaster's. Smile!

Life, he himself said once (his biografiend, in fact, kills him verysoon after), is a wake, livit or krikit, and on the bunk of our breadwinning lies the cropse of our seedfather. The scene, refreshed, reroused, was never to be forgotten for later in the century one of that puisne band of factferreters (then an excivil (retired), (hurt), (under the sixtyfives act) in a dressy black modern style and were shiny tan burlingtons) rehearsed it with a dignified bow (copied!) to a namecousin of the late archdeacon F. X. Preserved Coppinger in a pullwoman of our first transhibernian with one still sadder circumstance which is a dirkanddurk heartskewerer if ever. Cycloptically through the windowdisks and with eddying awes the round eyes of the rundeisers beheld the clad pursue the bare, the bare the green, the
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green the frore, the frore the cladagain, as their convoy wheeled encirculingly abound the gigantig's lifetree, our fireleaved 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 spoke of it by request, all, hearing the copycus's description of that fellowcommuter's play upon countenants, could simply imagine themselves, in their bosom's inmost core, timesported acorss the yawning (abyss), as once they were, seasiders listening to the cockshyshooter's evensong evocation of the doomed but always ventriloquent Agitator (no not more plangorpound the billows o'er Thounawahallya Reef!), silkhouatted, a whalrhosmightiadd, aginsst the dusk of skumring, his manslayer's gunwielder protended towards that overgrown leadpencil which was soon, monomentally at least, to rise as Molyvdokondylon to, to be, to be his mausoleum (O'dan stod til steyne at meisies aye skould show pon), while ollover his exculpatory features, as Roland rung, the ghost of resignation diffused a spectral appealingness, similar in origin and in effect to a beam of sunshine upon a coffinplate.

Not olderwise Inn the days of the Bygning would our Traveller, 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, cracketcup, downtrodden brogue, turfsod, wildbroom, cabbageblad, stockfisch, longingly learn that there at the Angel were herberged for him poteen and tea and praties and baccy and wine with woman with warbling: and informally quasibegin to presquesm'ile to queasithin' … (Nonsense! There was not very much windy Nous blowing at a given moment through the hat of Mr Melancholy Slow!)

But in the pragma and by laws of casuality what formal cause made a smile of that tothink? Who, under ye great bow of 's heaven, was he to whom? Whose in thunder and weddin and soddin and order are the placewheres? They answer from their zoans. Hear the four of them! Hark, the roar 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 what about it? Hee haw! Before he fell hill he filled heaven: a sdream, alplapping streamlet, coyly coiled um, cool of her curls. We were but thermites then, wee, wee. Our antheap we sensed as an Hill of Allen, the Barrow for an People, one Jotnursfjaell: and it was a grummelung amung the porktroop that wonderstruck us as 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 adjudgers are seemingly freak threes but his judicandees plainly minus twos. Yet certes one is. Eher the following winter had overed the pages of nature's book the shadow of the huge outlander had bulked at the bar of a rota of tribunals, in manor hall as in thieves' kitchen, mid pillow talk and chit house chat, here sentenced pro tried with Jedburgh justice, there acquitted con testimony
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with benefit of clergy. His Thing Mod have undone him: and his madthing has done him man. His beneficiaries are legion: they number up his years. Greatwheel Dunlop was the name was on him in the part he created: 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 annuhulation.
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But, lo! lo! human, erring and condonable, the unforgettable treeshade looms up behind the jostling judgments of those, as all should owe, malrecapturable days.

Tap and pat and tapatagain, 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 side (pardonnez!), nodding, all concurred (je vous en prie, eh?). It was the first woman, they said, souped him that fatal wellesday, Lili Coninghams. Wroth mod eldfar, ruth redd stillstand, wrath wrackt wroth, confessed private Pat Marchison retro. (Terse!) One of our coming Vauxhall ontheboards who is resting for the moment (she has been callit by a noted stagey elecutioner a wastepacket Sittons) was interfeud in a waistend pewty parlour. Looking perhaps even more pewtyflushed Mrs F— A— said, while recoopering her cartwheel hat, she hoped he would git a Chrissman's portrout with holleggs and ether as the worryld had been uncained. Then it has been such a wanderful noyth untirely, added she. (Tart!) A dustman nocknamed Sevenchurches in the employ of Messrs Ashburn, Soulpetre and Ashreborn, prairmakers, Glintalook, was asked by the sisterhood the vexed question during his middag collation of the spuds and tripes in a hashhoush and, thankeaven, responsed impulsively: We have just been propogandering his nullity suit among my own crush. All our fellows at O'Dea's say 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 he has parliamentary honours. A railways barmaid's view (they call her
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Spilltears Rue) was thus expressed: Ehim! It is ever too late to whissle when Phyllis floods her stable. It would be skarlot shame to jailahim in lockup 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, was the reply of a B.O.T. official while the Daughters Benkletter murmured in uniswoon: Golforgilhisjurylegs! Brian Lynskey, the cub curser, was questioned and gave a snappy comeback, when saying: Paw! Once more I say! I am for caveman sex, burk you! Them two bitches ought to be leashed, canem! Paw! A wouldbe martyr, when grilled on the point, revealed the undoubted fact that the consequence would be there would be fights all over Cuxhaven. (Tosh!) Missioner Ida Wombwell, the seventeenyearold revivalist, said concerning the coincident of interfizzing with grenadines and other respectable and disgusted peersons using the park: That perpendicular person is a brut! But a mignificent brut! Sylvia Silence, the girl detective, when supplied with informations as to the several facets of the case in her cozydozy bachelure's flat, quite o'erlooking John a'Dream's mews, leaned back in her really truly easychair to query restfully through her vowelthreaded syllabelles: Have you evew thought, wepowtew, that sheew gweatness was his twagedy? Nevewtheless accowding 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. Meagher, a naval rating, seated on one of the granite cromlech setts of our new fishshambles after the ever popular act, was encouraged by one of his affianced to get your breath, Walt, and thus replied to her thankskissing: I lay my two fingerbuttons, fiansee Meagher, 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 by the siege of his trousers there was someone else behind it — you bet your boughtem blarneys! — about their three drummers down Keysars Lane. (Trite!)

Be these meer marchant taylors' fablings of a race referend with oddman rex? 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 that 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,
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his citadear of refuge, whither (would we believe the laimen and their counts), beyond the outbraved gales of Atreeatic, he had fled, shipalone, a raven of the
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wave, from the ostmen's dirtby on the old vic, to forget in expiating manslaughter and to league his pagan lot, palm and patte, with a papishee, the wastobe land 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, franchisables and inhabitands, 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 resurrection to condemn so they might convince him, first pharoah, Humpheres Cheops Exarchas, of their proper sins. Businessbred to speak with a stiff upper lip to all men and most occasions, 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! by an unknowable 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 Glendalough see but hailing fro' the prow of Little Britain), mentioning
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in a bytheway that he had a loaded Hobson's which left only twin alternatives as, viceversa, either he would surely shoot her by pistol (she could be okaysure of that!) or, failing of such, bash in Patch's blank face beyond recognition, pointedly asked with gaelish gall wodkar blizzard's business Thornton had with that Kane's fender, only to be answered by the aggravated assaulted that that was the snaps for him, Midweeks, to sultry well go and find out if he was showery well able. But how transparingly nontrue, gentle writer! 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 girl, Myramy Huey or Iris Archer, under Flaggy Bridge (for ann there is but one liff and her newbridge is her old) or to explode and force a shrievalty
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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 truetoned on his first time of hearing the wretch's statement that, muttering Irish, he had had had o'gloriously a'lot too much horseshoe fine to drink in a ship hotel and was only falling fluthered 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 pseudojocax explanation how, according to his own story, he was a process server and was merely trying to open zozimus a bottlof stoub by 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 threw on a pair of old Sir Bunchamon's pants, stepped into his shoes and came down to the tiltyard from the wastes u'sleep in his obi ohny overclothes or choker, attracted by the norse of gunplay, said he war 'prised safe in bed when wokenp by a fourth loud snore out of his land of byelo by hearing hammerang emanating from the blind pig and anything like it in the whole history of that Mullingcan Inn he never. This battering babel allover the door and sideposts, he always said, was not in the very remotest like the belzeybabble of a bottle of boose which would not rouse him out of slumber deep but reminded him loads more of marses of foreign musikants' instrumongs or the overthrew to the third last days of pompery, if anything.

Just one moment. A pinch in time of the ideal, musketeers! 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! Cherchons la flamme! Take an old geeser who calls on his skirt. Note his sleek hair, so elegant, tableau vivant. He vows her to be his own honeylamb, swears they will be papa pals, by Sam, and share good times way down west in a guaranteed happy lovenest when May moon she shines and they twinkle all the night, combing the comet's tail upright and shooting popguns at the stars. For dear old grumpapar he's gone on the razzledar, through gazing and crazing and blazing at the stars. She wants her wardrobe to hear from above by return with cash so as she can buy her Peter Robinson trousseau and cut a dash with Arty, Bert or possibly Charley Chance (who knows?) so tolloll, Mr Hunker, you're too dada for me to dance (so off she goes!) and that's how half the girls in town has got their bottom drars while grumpapar he's trying to hitch his braces on to his trars. But old grum he's not so clean dippy between sweet you and yum (not on your life, boy! not in those trousers! not by a large jugful!) for someplace on the sly old grum has his girl number two (bravevow, our Grum!) and he would like to canoodle her too some part of the time for he is downright fond of his own number one but O he's fair mashed on peaches number two so that if he could only canoodle the two all three would feel genuinely happy, it's as simple as A.B.C., the two mixers, we mean, with their cherrybum chappy (for he is simply shamming dippy) if they all were afloat in a dreamlifeboat, hugging two by two in his zoo-doo-you-doo, tofftoff for thee, missymissy for me and how-cameyou-e'enso for Farber, in his tippy, up and down dippy, tiptoptippy canoodle, can you?

With which clap, trap and soddenment, our mutual friends the fender and the bottle at the gate seem to be implicitly
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in the same boots, so to put it, bearing also
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several of the earmarks of design, for there is in fact no use in putting a tooth in a thing of that sort and the amount of all those sort of things which has been going on onceaday in and twiceaday out among all kinds of promiscuous individuals every other second in private homes and elsewhere throughout the country and abroad has been particularly stupendous. To be continued.

But resuming inquiries. Will it ever be next morning the postal unionist's (officially called carrier's, Letters Scotch, Limited) strange fate (Fierceendgiddyrich he's hight, d.e., the losel that hucks around missivemaids' gummibacks) to hand in an envelope, written in divers stages of ink, superscribed to Hyde and Cheek, Edenberry, Dubbllenn, WC, and subpencilled by yours A Laughable Party, with afterwite? Will whatever will be written in lappish language with inbursts of maggyer always seem semposed, black looking white and white guarding black, in that siamixed twoatalk used twixt stern swift and jolly roger? Always and ever till Cox's wife pokes her nose into the matter with Owen K. after her, to see whawa smutter after, will this kiribis pouch filled with litterish fragments lurk dormant in the paunch of that halpbrother of a herm, a pillarbox? The coffin, a triumph of the illusionist's art, at first blench naturally taken for a handharp (it is hardwarp to tristinguish jubabe from jabule or either from tubote when all three have just been invened), had been removed from the hardware premises of Oetzmann and Nephew, a noted house of the gonemost west which in the natural course of all things continues to supply funeral requisites of every needed description. Why needed, though? Indeed needed because the flash girls or girl in their lily boleros one games with at the finery ball
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and your upright grooms that always come right up with you (and by jingo when they do!), what else in this mortal world, now ours, when meet there night, mid their nackt, me there naket, made their nought, the hour strikes, would bring them rightcameback in the flesh, thumbs down, to their orses and their hashes.

In the bottled heliose case continuing, Long Lally Tobkids,
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the special, sporting a fine breast of medals, and a conscientious scripturereader to boot in the brick and tin choorch round the corner, swore like a Norewheezian on the stand before the proper functionary that he was up against a right querrshnorrt of a mand in the butcher of the blues who, he guntinued, on last epening after delivering some carcasses and meatjutes on behalf of Messrs Otto Sands and Eastman, Limericked, victuallers, went and, with his unmitigated astonissment, hickicked at the dun and doorass against all the runes and, when challenged about the pretended hick (it was kickup and down with him) on his solemn by the imputant imputed, said simply: I appop pie oath, Phillyps. You did, as I sostressed before. You are deepknee in error, sir, Madam Tomkims, let me then tell you, replied with a gentlewomanly salaam MackPartland (the meatmam's family, and the oldest in the world except nick, name). And Phelps was flayful with his peeler. But his phizz fell.

Now to the obverse. From velveteens to dimities is barely a fivefinger span and hence these camelback excesses are thought to have been instigated by one or either of the causing causes of all, those rushy hollow heroines in their skirtsleeves, be she the margretta be she the posque. Oh! Oh! Because it is a horrible thing to have to say to say to day but one dilalah, Lupita Lorette, shortly after in a fit of the unexpectednesses drank carbolic with all her dear placid life before her and paled off while the other soiled dove that's her sister-in-love, Luperca Latouche, finding
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one day while dodging chores that she stripped well and that her galbs were glad to see each other, the nautchy girl soon found her fruitful hat too small for her and rapidly taking time, look, she rapidly took to necking, partying and selling her spare favours in the haymow or in lumber closets or in the greenawn ad huck or in the sweet churchyard close itself for a bit of soft coal or an array of thin trunks, serving whom in fine that same hot coney à la zingara which our own little Graunya of the chilired cheeks dished up to the greatfather of Oscar, that son of a Coole. Houri of the coast of emerald, arrah of the lacessive poghue, did not she, come leinster's eve, true dotter of a dearmud, with so valkirry a licence as sent many a poor pucker packing to perdition, again and again, ay, and again sfidare him, tease fido, eh tease fido, eh eh tease fido, toos topples topple, stop, ye dog ye! Angealousmei! And did not he, like Arcoforty, farfar off Bisavolo, missbrand her behaveyous with iridescent huecry of down right
{f10, 55}
mean false sop lap sick dope? Tawfulsdreck! A reine of the shee, a shebeen quean, a queen of pranks. A kingly man, of royal mien, regally robed! x! So gave, so take. Now not, not now. He would just a min. Suffering trumpet! He thought he want. Whath? Hear, O hear, living of the land! Hungreb, dead era, hark! He hea, eyes ravenous on her lippling lills. He hear her voi of day gon by. He hears! Zay, zay, zay! But cannot answer. Nor needs none shaft from Phenicia or Little Asia to obelise on the spout, neither pobalclock neither folkstone, nor sunkenness in Tomar's Wood to bewray how erpressgangs score off the rued. The mouth that tells not will ever attract the unthinking tongue and so long as the obseen draws theirs which hear not so long and so longer shall the blind lead the deaf. If violence to life, limb and chattels, often as
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not, has been the expression, direct or through an agent male, of womanhid offended (ah! ah!) has not levy of blackmail from the times the fairies were in it and fain for daisyroots followed an impressive private reputation for whispered sins?

Now, by memory inspired, turn wheel again to the whole of the wall. There was once upon a wall and a hooghoog wall a was and such a wallhole did exist. A stonehinged gate there was for another thing while the suroptimist had bought and enlarged that shack under fair rental of one yearlyng sheep (prime), value of sixpence, and one small yearlyng goat (cadet), value of eightpence, to grow old and happy in (hogg it and kid him) for the reminants of his years; and when everything was got up for the purpose he put a gate on the place by no means as some pretend a bedstead in loo thereof to keep out donkeys (the pigdirt hanging from the jags to this hour makes that clear) and just thenabouts the iron gape, by old custom left open to prevent the cat from getting at the goat, was triplepatlockt on him on purpose by his faithful poorters to keep him inside probably and possibly in case he felt like sticking out his chest too far and tempting gracious providence by a stroll on the nation's eggday, unused as he was as yet to being freely clodded.
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O, by the by, it ought to be always remembered in connection with what has gone before that there was a northroomer digging in number 32 at the Rum and Puncheon in Laxlip (where the salmon were stopping at the time) prior to that, a commercial
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from Osterich, the U.S.E., paying 11/- in the week (Gosh, these wholly romads!) and he missed a soft felt and, take this in, six quid fifteen of conscience money in the first deal of Yuly and constated that one had on him the melton disturbed and wider he might one monkey's damages become. Now you must know that the gate and bandstand butchery was merely a tissue of threats and abuse and after this sort. Humphrey's unsolicited visitor from the middle west, after having blew some quaker's (for you!) in through the houseking's keyhole to attract attention bleated through the gale outside which he was howling, first, be the hirsuiter, that he would break his head for him, next, be the heeltapper, that he would break the gage over his lankyduckling head the same way he would crack a nut with a monkeywrench and, last of all, be the stirabouter, that he would give him his (or the umperom's) blood to drink. He demanded more wood alcohol to pitch in with, alleging that his grandfather's was all taxis and that it was only after ten o'connell, and then, not easily discouraged, opened the floodgates of his wrath and went on at a wicked rate, weathering against him from eleven thirty to two in the afternoon without even a luncheonette interval for House, son of Clay, to come out to be Executed. Earwicker, longsuffering,
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under restraint in the sititout corner of his conservatory behind faminebuilt walls, his thermos
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flask and ripidion flabel by his side and a walrus whiskerbristle for a tuskpick, compiled a long list (now feared in part lost) to be kept on file of all the abusive names he was called (we have been compelled etcetera by Josephine Brewster in the collision known as Contrastations with Inkermann and so on and so onward, lacies in loo water, flee, celestials, one clean turv): Firstnighter, Informer, Old Fruit, Yellow Whigger, Wheatears, Goldy Goat, Bogside Beauty, York's Porker, Funnyface, Grease with the Butter, Cainandabler, Ireland's Eighth Wonderful Wonder, Beat My Price, Codsoilman, Moonface the Murderer, Hoary Hairy Hoax, Midnight Sunburst, Thinks he's Godblast the Good Dook of Ourguile, W.D.'s Grace, Swad Puddlefoot, Gouty Ghibellino, Loose Luther, Hatches Cocks' Eggs, Muddle the Plan, Luck before Wedlock, I Divorce Thee Husband, Tanner and a Make, Barebarean, Peculiar Person, Grunt Owl's Facktotem, Twelve Months' Aristocrat, Lycanthrope, Left Boot Sent on Approval, Cumberer of Lord's Holy Ground,
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Scuttle to Cover, Bombard Street Bester, Sublime Porter, Ruin of the Small Trader, He — —, Milkinghoneybeaverbrooker, Armenian Atrocity, Sickfish Bellyup, Edomite, — —, Man Devoyd of the Commoner Characteristics of an Irish Nature, Bad Humborg, —, Hraabhraab, Coocoohandler, Dirt, Micher from your Home, Woolworth's Worst, Guineapig's Bastard, Boose in
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the Bed, Mister Fatmate: but did not respond a solitary wedgeword beyond such sedentarity, though it was as easy as kissanywhere for the passive resistant in the booth he was in to reach for the hello grip and ring up Kimmage Outer 17.67 because, as the fundamentalist explained, touchin his woundid feelins in the fuchsiar, the dominican mission was on at the time and he thought the rowmish devowtion known as the howly rowsary might reeform ihm, Gunn. That more than considerably unpleasant bullocky before he rang off drunkishly pegged a few polished stones, all of a size, at the wicket in support of his words but reconnoitring through his semisubconscious the seriousness of what he might have done had he really carried out his terrible intentions finally caused him to change the bawling and leave downg the whole grumus of brookpebbles pangpung and, having sobered up a bit, this backblocks boor left the paleologic scene after exhorting Earwicker or, in slightly modified phraseology, Mr Earwicker, Seir, his name of multitude, to cocoa come outside to Mockerloo out of that for the honour of Crumlin with his broody old flishguds, Gog's curse to thim, so as he could brianslog and burst him all up, you go bail, like Potts Fracture did with Keddle Flatnose and nobodyatall with Wholyphamous and build rocks over him or, if he didn't, for two and thirty straws, be Cacao Campbell, he didn't know what he wouldn't do for him nor nobody else nomore nor him, after which, playing on the least change of his manjester's voice the first heroic couplet from the fuguall tropical, Opus Elf, Thortytoe,

My schemes into obeyance for
This time has had to fall,

he bit goodbye to his thumb and proceeded with a Hubbleforth slouch in his slips backwords (Et Cur Heli!) in the directions of the duff and demb institutions about ten or eleven hundred years lurch away in the moonshiny gorge of Patself on the Bach.
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Yet he made leave to many a door beside of Finglas wold for his chambered cairns are at browse up hill and down coombe and on eolithostroton, at Howth or at Coolock or even at Enniskerry. Oliver's lambs we do call them and they skall be gathered unto him, their herd and paladin, in that day hwen he skall wake from earthsleep in his valle of briers and o'er dun and dale the wulverulverlord (protect us!) his mighty horn skall roll, orland, roll.

Liverpoor? Sot a bit of it! His braynes coolt parritch, his pelt nassy, his heart's adrone, his bluidstreams acrawl, his puff but a piff, his extremities extremely so: Humph is in his doge. Words weigh no more to him than raindrips to Rathfernhim. Which we all like. Rain. When we sleep. Drops. But wait until our sleeping. Drain. Sdops.