And there they were too listening in as hard as they could to the solans and sycamores and the migratories and mistlethrushes and all the birds of the sea, all four of them, listening: They were the big four, the four master waves of Erin, all listening, four. There was old Matt Gregory and then besides old Matt there was old
{f10, 298}
Marcus Lyons, the four waves, and oftentimes they used to be saying grace together right enough: here now we are the four of us: old Matt Gregory and old Marcus and old Luke Tarpey: the four of us and sure thank God there are no more of us: and sure now you wouldn't go and ^|3forget and^3| leave out the other fellow and old Johnny MacDougall: the four of us and no more of us and so now pass the fish for Christ' sake, Amen: the way they used to be saying their grace before fish ^|3repeating itself^3| for auld lang syne. And so there they were spraining their ears listening and listening to the oceans of kissening with their eyes glistening all the four when he was kiddling and cuddling his colleen bawn that was very wrong ^|3andº^3| most improper and cuddling her and kissing her with his poghue like Arrah-na-poghue the dear dear ^|3annual annual,º^3| they all four remembored who made the world and how they used to be at that time
{f39, 385}
cuddling and kiddling her from under her mistlethrush and kissing and listening in the good old bygone days of Dion Boucicault the elder in Arrah-na-poghue in one of the farback centuries when who made the world ^|3where whenº^3| they knew ^|3O'Clery O'Clery,º^3| the man on the door when they were all four collegians on the nod with their slates and satchels in the queen's colleges with another fellow. Ah ho! It brought the dear
{f10, 299}
scenes all back again as fresh as of yore Matt and Marcus and after that now there he was and his Arrah-na-poghue before the four of them so shocking and scandalous and now thank God there were no more of them and he poghuing and poghuing and there they were listening as tired as they were, the three jolly topers, with their mouths watering along with the other fellow so pass the poghue for Christ' sake, Amen. Listening and poghuing and watering, all the four, the old men of the sea, Luke and Johnny MacDougall and all wishening for anything at all of the bygone times for a cup of kindness yet for four farback tumblerfuls of woman squash with them all four listening and spraining their ears and all their mouths making water.

Johnny. Ah well sure that's the way up and it so happened there was poor Matt Gregory up and up the others and now really and truly they were four dear old heladies and really they looked so nice and respectable with their grey half a tall hat and tailormade frock coat and after that they had their fathomglasses to find out all the fathoms and their half a tall hat just now like the ^|3old^3| marquess of Powerscourt only for the saltwater or the auctioneer there in front of the place near Clery's ^|3beside^3| that ancient Dame street where the statue of Mrs Dana O'Connell behind the Trinity college that arranges all the auctions of the valuable colleges, Battersby Sisters, like the auctioneer Battersby Sisters that sells all the fine statues and powerscourts,
{f10, 300}
James ⁽⁺³H H.^+)3| Tickell, the jaypee, off Hoggin Green going to the horse show before the flood along with another fellow and the shoeblacks and everyone highstepping to get out of his way and all the tercentenary horses
{f39, 387}
from the Curragh and confusionaries over from England and American visitors (so they say) all over in his grey half a tall hat (how do you do, jaypee?) and his fathomglasses to find out all the improper colleges (and how do you do, Mr Dame James? get out of my way!) and all the horsepowers. But now that reminds me of the poor Marcus of Lyons and poor Johnny and what do you think of the four of us and there they were now listening right enough, the four saltwater widowers, and all they could remembore long long ago in the olden times and Lally when my heart knew no care and after that then there was the landing of Lady James Casement in the year of the flood 1132 and the christening of Queen Battersby the Fourth according to her grace the bishop, alderwoman J. P. Bishop, Senior, and then there was the drowning of Pharoah and all his pedestrians and they were all completely drowned into the sea, the red sea, and then poor Martin Cunningham out of the castle on pension when he was completely drowned off Dunleary at that time in the red sea and a lovely mourning paper and thank God there were no more of him. And that now was how it was. Ay, ay. And so he was.

Marcus. And after that^|3, not forgetting,^3| there was the Flemish armada all scattered and all drowned there and then on a lovely morning after the flood at about eleven thirtytwo ^|3(was it?)º^3| off the coast of Cunningham and saint Patrick the anabaptist and Kevin the lacustrian and Powerscourt and Dana our first marents and Lapoleon, the equestrian and all they remembored and then there was the French fleet round about the year of Notre Dame 1132 ^|3or so^3| landing from under Madam-general Bonaboche in his half a grey hat and after that there he was, so terrestrial, cuddling and poghuing her scandalous and very wrong under the sycamores in Arrah-na-poghue, so silvestrious, near the queen's colleges in 1132 Bride street behind the century man on the door. And then again they used to give the grandest known lectures from sea to sea (Matt speaking!) according to the pictures postcard in Roman history repeating itself (Marcus Lyons speaking!) to the collegians green and all the old trinitarian senate and the Plymouth brethren nodding and sleeping away ^|3there like forgetmenots^3| in the four trinity colleges of Ulcer, Moonster, Leanstare and Cannought, the four grandest colleges of Killorcure and Killthemall and Killeachother and Killkelly-on-the-Flure. Those were the
{f10, 302}
grandest gynecollege histories (Lucas calling, hold the line!) in the Jane Andersdaughter university for auld acquaintance sake (this unitarian lady lived to a great age at or in or about No. 1132 ^|3or 1169^3| Fitzmary Round where she was seen by many and widely liked) for teaching the Woman history repeating herself of the spirit of nature as divinely developed in time by psadatepholomy, the past and present (Johnny MacDougall speaking, give me trunks, miss!) and present and absent and past and present and future arma virumque romano. Ah, dearo dear! How it all came back to them to hear him there kissing her and cuddling her in his Roman catholic arms by the Cornelius Nepos. Mnepos. Anumque. Umque.

Queh? Quos?

Ah, dearo dearo dear! It was so sorry for all the whole twice two four of us and Lally when he lost part of his half a hat and repeating himself and telling him ^|3to forget the past and all^3| about Lally and his old fellow and all the old drakes ever he had up in the bohereen and the old folks at home and Duignam and Lapole and he couldn't stop laughing over Tom Tim Tarpey, the Welshman, and the four widowers. And now that reminds me ^|3of not to forget^3| the four of the Welsh waves, leaping laughing, in their half a Roman hat in Chichester college auction and thank God they were all summarily divorced four years before, so they say, by their dear poor shehusbands in dear bygone days and never brought to mind, to see no more the rainwater on the floor but still they parted, raining water laughing, on the best of terms and be forgot which was plainly foretold by their old pilgrim song As I was going to Ballymacarett we fell in with a lout by the name of Peebles as also in another place by their orthodox proverb That old fellow knows milk though he's not used to it latterly. And so they parted. Ay, ay. The good go and the wicked is left over. Ay, ay. Ah, well, sure that's the way. Woman. Squash. Part. Ay, ay. By decree absolute.

Lucas. And ^|3O soº^3| well they could remembore at that time Mrs Dowager Justice Squelchman in her fullbottom wig
{f39, 391}
and beard in or aring or around about the year of disgrace 1132 ^|3or 1169 or 1798º^3| at the Married Male Auctioneers' court in Arrahnacuddle. Poor Johnny of the clan of the Dougals, the poor Scotsman, ^|3dinna forget,^3| so frightened on account of her fullbottom, and the four masters because he was so slow grooming her ladyship instead of backscratching proper like any old methodist and all divorced according to their dear faithful. Ah, now, it was too bad! And poor Marcus Powerscourt all persecuted by everybody he was, by decree absolute because he ^|3made forgot himself making^3| wind and water and ^|3dirtied all made a mess of all of^3| himself and because he forgot to remembore to sign an old morning paper, a request in writing to herself on stamped parchment before saying his grace before fish and then and there and too there was poor Dion Boucicault all drowned too poor Dion before the world and her husband because it was most improper and most wrong when he attempted to — well, he was shocking bad in his health, he said, with the shingles falling off him — because he — ah, well now, we won't be too hard on
{f10, 304}
him as an old Manx presbyterian, and after that he made his last will and went to confession on his two bare marrowbones to Mother Evangelist Sweeney and he was so sorry, he was really, because he left the boot button in the hansom cab and now tell the truth there
{f39, 392}
were faults on both sides — well, he attempted (or so they say) — ah, ^|3now, forget and forgive,º and^3| sure, he was only funning, with his andrewmartins and his old age coming over him — well, he attempted or he was tempted to attempt some hunnish familiarities after eating a bad crab in the red sea and sure he was deadseasickabed (it was really too bad!), her poor old divorced male, in the hospice for the dying and trying to hold the nursetender's hand, ah, the poor old coax, and count the buttons and her hand and frown on a bad crab and dying to remembore who made a who a snore. Ah dearo dearo dear!

And where do you leave Matt? They were all so sorry for poor Matt in his saltwater hat that she grew all out of too big for him of Mnepos and his overalls all falling over her in folds — sure, he hadn't the heart in him to pull them up — poor Matt, the old peregrine matriarch, and a queenly man, sitting there Themistletocles on his multilingual tombstone with her face to the wall in sight of the poorhouse amid the rattle of ^|3hailstones hailstorms^3|, with her ivyclad hat and gripping an old pair of curling tongs belonging to Mrs Dana O'Connell to blow his brains with, with his can of tea from Anne Lynch and two cuts of Shackleton's brown loaf and dilisk, waiting for the end to come — God of heaven, when you think of it! Ah ho! It was too bad entirely! All divorce by active parlourmen of woman squelch and all on account of the
{f39, 393}
smell of Shackleton and Scratchman and his mouth watering and so now pass the loaf for Christ' sake, Amen. And so. And all.
{f10, 305}

Matt. And loaf. Ah, God be good to us! Poor Andrew Martin Cunningham! Ay, ay!

And still and all at that time they were always thinking up ^|3of and forgetting about^3| auld lang syne up their four hosenbands that were four up beautful sister masters, now happily married, and there they were always counting every night the lovely mother-of-periwinkle buttons according to the lapper part of their dress up one up two up one up four and after that there now she was, the deary, the beautfour sisters and that was her modern name right enough and they used to be getting up from under at the kookaburra bell ringing all wrong inside of them ^|3come (come^3| in come ^|3on on,^3| you lazy ^|3loafs loafs!)^3| all inside their poor old Shandon bellbox ^|3come (come^3| out to ^|3hell hell,^3| you lousy ^|3louts, louts!)^3| so frightened, at all hours every night on their mistletoes, the four old oldsters, when nobody wouldn't even let them rest, and getting into their way something scandalous, changing the one wet underdown bed they used to sleep under and putting on their half a hat and falling over all synopticals ^|3and repeating themselves^3|, look all round the stool walk everywhere for a jool to break fire to all the rancers to collect all and bits of brown, the rathure's evelopmen in spirits of time in all fathom of space and slooping around in a bath slipper and go away see the doctor ^|3Walker^3| and after that so glad they had their night tentacles and there they used to be flapping around the waists of the ships, as tired as they were, the clipperbuilt and the fourmasters and Lally and Roe and he telling him that one about a goose a lay a goldeny egg and Johnny MacGory, dear mister John, and all the other analist, the steamships and the women-o'-war and playing ladies' foursome and their pair of green eyes and peering in, so they say, through the steamy windows into the honeymoon cabins on board the big steamadories made by Fumadory and the saloon ladies' modern toilet chambers lined over prawn silk and rub off the salty catara off a windows and hee hee listening, the poor old quakers, to see all the hunnishmooners and the firstclass ladies and shee shee all improper in a lovely mourning toilet under all their familarities, ^|3saying forgetting to say^3| their grace before chambadory so pass the poghue for grace sake, Amen. And all hee hee hee quaking, so fright, and shee shee shaking. Aching. Ay, ay.
{f10, 308}

And then after that they used to be ^|3so forgetful^3| counting ^|3their^3| motherpeributts up one up four to membore her beaufu modern
{f39, 397}
maiden name by the dream. From Greg and Doug on poor Greg and Mat and Mar and Lu and Jo, now happily buried, our four sisters. And there she was now right enough, that lovely sight enough, the ^|3lady girleen^3| bawn asthore as for days galore of planxty Gregory. Egory. Ay, ay.

But sure that reminds me now, like another tellmastory ^|3repeating yourself^3|, how they used to be at that time up always, tired and all, over their singing up the top of the voice of Mamalujo sitting round two by two up the wet air register in Old Man's House with their cold knees and their poor up feet asleep and all dolled up for their blankets and materny mufflers and plimsoles and their bowl of brown schackle and milky and clots for a cup of kindest yet with hold take hand and nurse and only touch of eat a lovely munkybown and wait the pinch and prompt poor Mucus Lyons to pass the teeth for choke sake Amensch when it so happen they were all sicamore ^|3and by the world forgot^3| since the phlegmish hoopicough for all a possabed after eat a bad cramp and johnny magories and backscrat the poor bedsores and their farthing dip and read a letter or two every night before going to sleep in the twilight, a capitaletter on their old book of old year's eve 1132, ^|3old style,^3| their Seanchus Mor by Mrs Shemans, final buff lunch edition and Lally through their gangrene spentacles and all the good they did in their time for Roe and O'Mulconry a
{f39, 398}
Conry on Mul or Lap at Morion and Buffler on Matty MacGregory for Marcus by Daddy de Wyer, old bagabroth, and one by one and sing a mamalujo.

And after that now ^|3start all all startº repeating ourselves and all now^3| say oremus prayer ^|3for auld acquaintance^3| to Peregrine and Michael and Farfassa and Peregrine for navigants et peregrinantibus in all the old sea and sing a lovasteamadorion in her doaty ducky little blue and roll a hoop and how she ran ^|3we never never shall forget^3| and old Luke and Seanchus Mor and another more for auld luke syne and she haihaihail her kobbor kohinor sehehet on the praze savohohole Shanghai.