aded rabble of the cathedral close。 A hater of his kind ran from them to the wood of madness； his mane foaming in the moon； his eyeballs stars。 Houyhnhnm； horsenostrilled。 The oval equine faces。 Temple； Buck Mulligan； Foxy Campbell。 Lantern jaws。 Abbas father； furious dean； what offence laid fire to their brains？ Paff！ Descende； calve； ut ne nimium decalveris。 A garland of grey hair on his minated head see him me clambering down to the footpace （descende）； clutching a monstrance； basiliskeyed。 Get down； bald poll！ A choir gives back menace and echo； assisting about the altar's horns； the snorted Latin of jackpriests moving burly in their albs； tonsured and oiled and gelded； fat with the fat of kidneys of wheat。
And at the same instant perhaps a priest round the corner is elevating it。 Dringdring！ And two streets off another locking it into a pyx。 Dringadring！ And in a ladychapel another taking housel all to his own cheek。 Dringdringl Down； up； forward； back。 Dan Occam thought of that； invincible doctor。 A misty English morning the imp hypostasis tickled his brain。 Bringing his host down and kneeling he heard twine with his second bell the first bell in the transept （he is lifting his） and； rising； heard （now I am lifting） their two bells （he is kneeling） twang in diphthong。
Cousin Stephen； you will never be a saint。 Isle of saints。 You were awfully holy； weren't you？ You prayed to the Blessed Virgin that you might not have a red nose。 You prayed to the devil in Serpentine avenue that the fubsy widow in front might lift her clothes still more from the wet street。 O si； certo！ Sell your soul for that； do； dyed rags pinned round a squaw。 More tell me； more still！ On the top of the Howth tram alone crying to the rain： naked women！ What about that； eh？
What about what？ What else were they invented for？
Reading two pages apiece of seven books every night； eh？ I was young。 You bowed to yourself in the mirror； stepping forward to applause earnestly； striking face。 Hurray for the Goddamned idiot！ Hray！ No…one saw： tell no…one。 Books you were going to write with letters for titles。 Have you read his F？ O yes； but I prefer Q。 Yes； but W is wonderful。 O yes； W。 Remember your epiphanies on green oval leaves； deeply deep； copies to be sent if you died to all the great libraries of the world； including Alexandria？ Someone was to read them there after a few thousand year； a mahamanvantara。 Pico della Mirandola like。 Ay； very like a whale。 When one reads these strange pages of one long gone one feels that one is at one with one who once。。。
The grainy sand had gone from under his feet。 His boots trod again a damp crackling mast； razorshells； squeaking pebbles； that on the unnumbered pebbles beats； wood sieved by the shipworm； lost Armada。 Unwholesome sandflats waited to suck his treading soles； breathing upward sewage breath。 He coasted them； walking warily。 A porter…bottle stood up； stogged to its waist； in the cakey sand dough。 A sentinel： isle of dreadful thirst。 Broken hoops on the shore； at the land a maze of dark cunning nets； farther away chalkscrawled backdoors and on the higher beach a dryingline with two crucified shirts。 Ringsend： wigwams of brown steersmen and master mariners。 Human shells。
He halted。 I have passed the way to aunt Sara's。 Am I not going there？ Seems not。 No…one about。 He turned northeast and crossed the firmer sand towards the Pigeonhouse。
Qui vous a mis dans cette fichue position？
C'est le pigeon； Joseph。
Patrice； home on furlough； lapped warm milk with me in the bar MacMahon。 Son of the wild goose； Kevin Egan of Paris。 My father's a bird； he lapped the sweet lait chaud with pink young tongue； plump bunny's face。 Lap； lapin。 He hopes to win in the gros lots。 About the nature of women he read in Michelet。 But he must send me La Vie de Jésus by M。 Leo Taxil。 Lent it to his friend。
C'est tordant； vows savez。 Moi je suis socialiste。 Je ne crois pas en l'existence de Dieu。 Faut pas le dire à mon père。
Il croit？
Mon père； oui。
Schluss。 He laps。
My Latin quarter hat。 God； we simply must dress the character。 I want puce gloves。 You were a student； weren't you？ Of what in the other devil's name？ Paysayenn。 P。 C。 N。； you know： physiques； chimiques et naturelles。 Aha。 Eating your groatsworth of mou en civet； fleshpots of Egypt； elbowed by belching cabmen。 Just say in the most natural tone： when I was in Paris； boul' Mich'； I used to。 Yes； used to carry punched tickets to prove an alibi if they arrested you for murder somewhere。 Justice。 On the night of the seventeenth of February 1904 the prisoner was seen by two witnesses。 Other fellow did it： other me。 Hat； tie； overcoat； nose。 Lui； c'est moi。 You seem to have enjoyed yourself。
Proudly walking。 Whom were you trying to walk like？ Forget： a dispossessed。 With mother's money order； eight shillings； the banging door of the post office slammed in your face by the usher。 Hunger toothache。 Encore deux minutes。 Look clock。 Must get。 Fermé。 Hired dog！ Shoot him to bloody bits with a bang shotgun； bits man spattered walls all brass buttons。 Bits all khrrrrklak in place clack back。 Not hurt？ O； that's all right。 Shake hands。 See what I meant； see？ O； that's all right。 Shake a shake。 O； that's all only all right。
You were going to do wonders； what？ Missionary to Europe after fiery Columbanus。 Fiacre and Scotus on their creepystools in heaven spilt from their pintpots； loudlatinlaughing： Euge！ Euge！ Pretending to speak broken English as you dragged your valise； porter threepence； across the slimy pier at Newhaven。 ment？ Rich booty you brought back； Le Tutu； five tattered numbers of Pantalon Blanc et Culotte Rouge； a blue French telegram； curiosity to show：
Mother dying e home father。
The aunt thinks you killed your mother。 That's why she won't。
Then here's a health to Mulligan's aunt
And I'll tell you the reason why。
She always kept things decent in
The Hannigan famileye。
His feet marched in sudden proud rhythm over the sand furrows； along by the boulders of the south wall。 He stared at them proudly； piled stone mammoth skulls。 Gold light on sea； on sand； on boulders。 The sun is there； the slender trees； the lemon houses。
Paris rawly waking； crude sunlight on her lemon streets。 Moist pith of farls of bread； the froggreen wormwood； her matin incense； court the air。 Belluomo rises from the bed of his wife's lover's wife； the kerchiefed housewife is astir； a saucer of acetic acid in her hands。 In Rodot's Yvonne and Madeleine newmake their tumbled beauties； shattering with gold teeth chaussons of pastry； their mouths yellowed with the pus of flan breton。 Faces of Paris men go by； their wellpleased pleasers； curled conquistadores。
Noon slumbers。 Kevin Egan rolls gunpowder cigarettes through fingers smeared with printer's ink； sipping his green fairy as Patrice his white。 About us gobblers fork spiced beans down their gullets。 Un demi setier！ A jet of coffee steam from the burnished caldron。 She serves me at his beck。 Il est irlandais。 Hollandais？ Non fromage。 Deux irlandais； nous； Irlande； vous savez？ Ah oui！ She thought you wanted a cheese hollandais。 Your postprandial； do you know that word？ Postprandial。 There was a fellow I knew once in Barcelona； queer fellow； used to call it his postprandial。 Well： slainte！ Around the slabbed tables the tangle of wined breaths and grumbling gorges。 His breath hangs over our saucestained plates； the green fairy's fang thrusting between his lips。 Of Ireland； the Dalcassians； of hopes； conspiracies； of Arthur Griffith now。 To yoke me as his yokefellow； our crimes our mon cause。 You're your father's son。 I know the voice。 His fustian shirt； sanguineflowered； trembles its Spanish tassels at his secrets。 M。 Drumont； famous journalist； Drumont； know what he called queen Victoria？ Old hag with the yellow teeth。 Vieille ogresse with the dents jaunes。 Maud Gonne； beautiful woman； La Patrie； M。 Millevoye； Félix Faure； know how he died？ Licentious men。 The froeken； bonne à tout faire； who rubs male nakedness in the bath at Upsala。 Moi faire； she said。 Tous les messieurs。 Not this Monsieur； I said。 Most licentious custom。 Bath a most private thing。 I wouldn't let my brother； not even my own brother； most lascivious thing。 Green eyes； I see you。 Fang； I feel。 Lascivious people。
The blue fuse burns deadly between hands and burns clear。 Loose tobacco shreds catch fire： a flame and acrid smoke light our corner。 Raw facebones under his peep of day boy's hat。 How the head centre got away； authentic version。 Got up as a young bride； man； veil orangeblossoms； drove out the road to Malahide。 Did； faith。 Of lost leaders； the betrayed； wild escapes。 Disguises； clutched at； gone； not here。
Spurned lover。 I was a strapping young gossoon at that time； I tell you； I'll show you my likeness one day。 I was； faith。 Lover； for her love he prowled with colonel Richard Burke； tanist of his sept； under the walls of Clerkenwell and； crouching； saw a flame of vengeance hurl them upward in the fog。 Shattered glass and toppling masonry。 In gay Paree he hides； Egan of Paris； unsought by any save by me。 Making his day's stations； the dingy printingcase； his three taverns； the Montmartre lair he sleeps short night in； rue de la Goutte…d'Or； damascened with flyblown faces of the gone。 Loveless； landless； wifeless。 She is quite nicey fy without her outcastman； madame； in rue G？t…le…Coeur； canary and two buck lodgers。 Peachy cheeks； a zebra skirt； frisky as a young thing's。 Spurned and undespairing。 Tell Pat you saw me； won't you？ I wanted to get poor Pat a job one time。 Mon fils； soldier of France。 I taught him to sing。 The boys of Kilkenny are stout roaring blades。 Know that old lay？ I taught Patrice that。 Old Kilkenny： saint Canice； Strongbow's castle on the Nore。 Goes like this。 O； O。 He takes me； Napper Tandy； by the hand。
O； O the boys of
Kilkenny。。。
Weak wasting hand on mine。 They have forgotten Kevin Egan； not he them。 Remembering thee； O Sion。
He had e nearer the edge of the sea and wet sand slapped his boots。 The new air greeted him； harping in wild nerves； wind of wild air of seeds of brightness。 Here； I am not walking out to the Kish lightship； am I？ He stood suddenly； his feet beginning to sink slowly in the quaking soil。 Turn ba