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and the wave of hooshed and the wave of hawhawhawrd and the wave of
neverheedthemhorseluggarsandlisteltomine. Landloughed by his
neaghboormistress 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 flouting 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 earsend 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. Have you whines for my
wedding, did you bring bride and bedding, will you whoop for my deading is
a? Wake? Usgueadbaugham!
Anam muck an dhoul ! Did ye drink me doornail?
Now be aisy, good Mr Finnimore, sir. And take your laysure like a god
on pension and don't be walking abroad. 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.
Meeting some sick old bankrupt or the Cottericks' donkey with his shoe
hanging, clankatachankata, or a slut snoring with an impure infant on a
bench. '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, remembering 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 il 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. Your fame is
spreading like Basilico's ointment since the Fintan Lalors piped you
overborder and there's whole households beyond the Bothnians and they
calling names after you. The menhere'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 duddandgunne 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 Maccullaghmore 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. You had a gamier
cock than Pete, Jake or Martin and your archgoose of geese stubbled for All
Angels' Day. 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 Copricapron. 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, salvation boat. For we have
performed upon thee, thou abramanation, 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 shipmen, 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 Seagull'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
Williamswoodsmenufactors 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.
Aisy now, you decent man, with your knees and lie quiet and repose your
honour's lordship! Hold him here, Ezekiel Irons, and may God strengthen you!
It's our warm spirits, boys, he's spooring. 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 watching 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 allavalonche
that blows nopussy food. If you only were there to explain the meaning, best
of men, and talk to her nice of guldenselver. The lips would moisten once
again. As when you drove with her to Findrinny 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 to The 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!) the breezy side (for showm!), the height of
Brewster's chimpney and as broad below as Phineas Barnum; humphing 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 coolpigeons 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 himself 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 innebbiated, 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 Edenborough.
Now (to forebare for ever solittle of Iris Trees and Lili O'Rangans),
concerning the genesis of Harold or Humphrey Chimpden'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
Sidlesham 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 followed, also at walking pace, by a
lady pack of cocker spaniels. Forgetful 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) hasting 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 Haromphreyld
answered in no uncertain tones very similarly with a fearless 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 towards 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
Canmakenoise), 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 dilsydulsily: Holybones of Saint
Hubert how our red brother of Pouringrainia would audibly fume did he know
that we have for surtrusty bailiwick a turnpiker who is by turns a
pikebailer no seldomer 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 nominigentilisation as recorded and accolated in both
or either of the collateral andrewpaulmurphyc narratives. Are those their
fata which we read in sibylline between the fas and its nefas? No dung on
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 scentaurs stay. Bear in mind, son of Hokmah,
if so be you have metheg 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,
uncontrollable 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 initialled by Haromphrey bear the sigla H.C.E. and while he was only
and long and always good Dook Umphrey for the hungerlean 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 continually
surveyed, amid vociferatings from in front of Accept these few nutties! and
Take off that white hat!, relieved with Stop his Grog and Put It in the Log
and Loots 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 footlights from their assbawlveldts and oxgangs
unanimously to clapplaud (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 from The Bo' Girl and The Lily on all horserie show command
nights from his viceregal booth (his bossaloner is ceilinged 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 blurtingly 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 existence the mere
suggestion of him as a lustsleuth nosing for trouble 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 necessary quoniam to invent him) abhout that time stambuling haround
Dumbaling in leaky sneakers with his tarrk record who has remained
topantically anonymos but (let us hue him Abdullah 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 chargehard, 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 immodus opposite a pair of dainty maidservants in the
swoolth of the rushy hollow whither, or so the two gown and pinners pleaded,
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 touchwhich was admittedly an incautious but, at its
wildest, a partial exing the intimate nature of this, a first offence in
vert or venison 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! Ofman will
toman while led is the lol. Zessid's our kadem, villapleach, 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 sod 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 creation, 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 Poolblack 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 softnosed bullet from the sap, halted, quick on the draw,
and replyin 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 skirling of harsh Mother East old
Fox Goodman, the bellmaster, over the wastes to south, at work upon the ten
ton tonuant thunderous 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 presented (though this
seems in some cumfusium with the chapstuck ginger which, as being of sours,
acids, salts, sweets and bitters compompounded, we know him to have used as
chawchaw for bone, muscle, blood, flesh and vimvital,) that whereas 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 several degrees lower than yore triplehydrad snake.
In greater support 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 toosammenstucked from
successive accounts by Noah Webster in the redaction 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 Berlin
gauntlet chopstuck in the hough of his ellboge (by ancientest signlore his
gesture meaning: ~!) pointed at an angle of thirtytwo degrees towards his
duc de Fer's overgrown 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 woowoo 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, (diagnosing
through eustacetube that it was to make with a markedly postpuberal
hypertituitary type of Heidelberg mannleich cavern ethics) lufted his
slopingforward, bad Sweatagore good murrough 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 respectable 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 belcher spuckertuck in 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
proviant the littlebilker hoarsely relished, chaff it, in the snevel season,
being as fain o't as your rat wi'fennel; and on this celebrating occasion 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!) erebusqued 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, Pomeranzia!) 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
Mere 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 middle of 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 pickersup 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 neverrip 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 tipster, 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 choicest
herbage, supplied by the Duck and Doggies, the Galopping 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 housingroom 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 substance of the tale of the evangelical bussybozzy
and the rusinurbean (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 fossilyears, 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 shakedown,
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 (from these incurable welleslays among those uncarable
wellasdays through Sant Iago by his cocklehat, goot 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
tweenydawn-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 oberflake underrails and stations at this
time of riding) to the thrummings 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 songster-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- tre), where, the tale rambles along, 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 yesterday, flushed
with their firestufffortered friendship, the rascals came out of the
licensed premises, (Browne's first, the small p.s. ex-exexecutive 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 attractionable
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 legislator (Eleutheriodendron! Spare,
woodmann, spare!) to an overflow 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 minority and such
as had wayfared via Watling, 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 chronicler 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 airwhackers,
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, massgoing ladies from Hume Street in their chairs, the bearers
baited, some wandering hamalags out of the adjacent cloverfields of Mosse's
Gardens, an oblate father from Skinner's Alley, bricklayers, 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 annuitants' acorns not
forgetting a deuce of dianas ridy for the hunt, a particularist prebendary
pondering on the roman easter, the tonsure 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 uncle's place, were evidently under the spell of liquor, from
the wake of Tarry the Tailor a fair girl, a jolly postoboy 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
neverheedthemhorseluggarsandlisteltomine. Landloughed by his
neaghboormistress 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 flouting 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 earsend 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. Have you whines for my
wedding, did you bring bride and bedding, will you whoop for my deading is
a? Wake? Usgueadbaugham!
Anam muck an dhoul ! Did ye drink me doornail?
Now be aisy, good Mr Finnimore, sir. And take your laysure like a god
on pension and don't be walking abroad. 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.
Meeting some sick old bankrupt or the Cottericks' donkey with his shoe
hanging, clankatachankata, or a slut snoring with an impure infant on a
bench. '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, remembering 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 il 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. Your fame is
spreading like Basilico's ointment since the Fintan Lalors piped you
overborder and there's whole households beyond the Bothnians and they
calling names after you. The menhere'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 duddandgunne 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 Maccullaghmore 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. You had a gamier
cock than Pete, Jake or Martin and your archgoose of geese stubbled for All
Angels' Day. 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 Copricapron. 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, salvation boat. For we have
performed upon thee, thou abramanation, 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 shipmen, 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 Seagull'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
Williamswoodsmenufactors 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.
Aisy now, you decent man, with your knees and lie quiet and repose your
honour's lordship! Hold him here, Ezekiel Irons, and may God strengthen you!
It's our warm spirits, boys, he's spooring. 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 watching 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 allavalonche
that blows nopussy food. If you only were there to explain the meaning, best
of men, and talk to her nice of guldenselver. The lips would moisten once
again. As when you drove with her to Findrinny 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 to The 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!) the breezy side (for showm!), the height of
Brewster's chimpney and as broad below as Phineas Barnum; humphing 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 coolpigeons 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 himself 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 innebbiated, 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 Edenborough.
Now (to forebare for ever solittle of Iris Trees and Lili O'Rangans),
concerning the genesis of Harold or Humphrey Chimpden'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
Sidlesham 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 followed, also at walking pace, by a
lady pack of cocker spaniels. Forgetful 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) hasting 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 Haromphreyld
answered in no uncertain tones very similarly with a fearless 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 towards 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
Canmakenoise), 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 dilsydulsily: Holybones of Saint
Hubert how our red brother of Pouringrainia would audibly fume did he know
that we have for surtrusty bailiwick a turnpiker who is by turns a
pikebailer no seldomer 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 nominigentilisation as recorded and accolated in both
or either of the collateral andrewpaulmurphyc narratives. Are those their
fata which we read in sibylline between the fas and its nefas? No dung on
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 scentaurs stay. Bear in mind, son of Hokmah,
if so be you have metheg 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,
uncontrollable 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 initialled by Haromphrey bear the sigla H.C.E. and while he was only
and long and always good Dook Umphrey for the hungerlean 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 continually
surveyed, amid vociferatings from in front of Accept these few nutties! and
Take off that white hat!, relieved with Stop his Grog and Put It in the Log
and Loots 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 footlights from their assbawlveldts and oxgangs
unanimously to clapplaud (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 from The Bo' Girl and The Lily on all horserie show command
nights from his viceregal booth (his bossaloner is ceilinged 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 blurtingly 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 existence the mere
suggestion of him as a lustsleuth nosing for trouble 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 necessary quoniam to invent him) abhout that time stambuling haround
Dumbaling in leaky sneakers with his tarrk record who has remained
topantically anonymos but (let us hue him Abdullah 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 chargehard, 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 immodus opposite a pair of dainty maidservants in the
swoolth of the rushy hollow whither, or so the two gown and pinners pleaded,
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 touchwhich was admittedly an incautious but, at its
wildest, a partial exing the intimate nature of this, a first offence in
vert or venison 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! Ofman will
toman while led is the lol. Zessid's our kadem, villapleach, 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 sod 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 creation, 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 Poolblack 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 softnosed bullet from the sap, halted, quick on the draw,
and replyin 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 skirling of harsh Mother East old
Fox Goodman, the bellmaster, over the wastes to south, at work upon the ten
ton tonuant thunderous 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 presented (though this
seems in some cumfusium with the chapstuck ginger which, as being of sours,
acids, salts, sweets and bitters compompounded, we know him to have used as
chawchaw for bone, muscle, blood, flesh and vimvital,) that whereas 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 several degrees lower than yore triplehydrad snake.
In greater support 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 toosammenstucked from
successive accounts by Noah Webster in the redaction 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 Berlin
gauntlet chopstuck in the hough of his ellboge (by ancientest signlore his
gesture meaning: ~!) pointed at an angle of thirtytwo degrees towards his
duc de Fer's overgrown 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 woowoo 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, (diagnosing
through eustacetube that it was to make with a markedly postpuberal
hypertituitary type of Heidelberg mannleich cavern ethics) lufted his
slopingforward, bad Sweatagore good murrough 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 respectable 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 belcher spuckertuck in 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
proviant the littlebilker hoarsely relished, chaff it, in the snevel season,
being as fain o't as your rat wi'fennel; and on this celebrating occasion 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!) erebusqued 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, Pomeranzia!) 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
Mere 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 middle of 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 pickersup 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 neverrip 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 tipster, 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 choicest
herbage, supplied by the Duck and Doggies, the Galopping 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 housingroom 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 substance of the tale of the evangelical bussybozzy
and the rusinurbean (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 fossilyears, 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 shakedown,
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 (from these incurable welleslays among those uncarable
wellasdays through Sant Iago by his cocklehat, goot 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
tweenydawn-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 oberflake underrails and stations at this
time of riding) to the thrummings 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 songster-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- tre), where, the tale rambles along, 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 yesterday, flushed
with their firestufffortered friendship, the rascals came out of the
licensed premises, (Browne's first, the small p.s. ex-exexecutive 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 attractionable
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 legislator (Eleutheriodendron! Spare,
woodmann, spare!) to an overflow 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 minority and such
as had wayfared via Watling, 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 chronicler 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 airwhackers,
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, massgoing ladies from Hume Street in their chairs, the bearers
baited, some wandering hamalags out of the adjacent cloverfields of Mosse's
Gardens, an oblate father from Skinner's Alley, bricklayers, 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 annuitants' acorns not
forgetting a deuce of dianas ridy for the hunt, a particularist prebendary
pondering on the roman easter, the tonsure 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 uncle's place, were evidently under the spell of liquor, from
the wake of Tarry the Tailor a fair girl, a jolly postoboy 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