ce  o'malice kidsnapped  up  the jiminy
Tristopher and into the shandy westerness she rain, rain, rain. And Jarl van
Hoother warlessed after her with soft dovesgall: Stop deef stop come back to
my earin  stop.  But  she  swaradid  to  him: Unlikelihud.  And  there was a
brannewail that same sabboath night of falling angles somewhere in Erio. And
the prankquean went  for her forty years' walk in Tourlemonde and she washed
the blessings of the lovespots off the jiminy with soap sulliver suddles and
she  had  her four owlers  masters  for  to tauch  him  his  tickles and she
convorted him to the onesure  allgood  and he became a luderman. So then she
started to rain  and to rain and, be redtom, she was back again at Jarl  van
Hoother's  in a brace of  samers and the jiminy with her  in  her pinafrond,
lace at night, at another time. And where did she come but to the bar of his
bristolry. And Jarl von Hoother  had his baretholobruised heels  drowned  in
his cellarmalt, shaking warm hands with  himself and the jimminy  Hilary and
the dummy in their  first infancy  were below on the tearsheet, wringing and
coughing, like brodar and histher. And the prankquean nipped a paly  one and
lit  up again and redcocks flew flackering from  the hillcombs. And she made
her witter before the wicked, saying: Mark the Twy, why do I  am alook alike
two  poss  of  porterpease?  And:  Shut!  says the  wicked,  handwording her
madesty. So  her madesty  'a forethought'  set down  a jiminy and took up  a
jiminy and all  the lilipath ways to Woeman's Land she rain, rain, rain. And
Jarl von Hoother bleethered atter her with a loud  finegale:  Stop domb stop
come  back with my  earring stop. But the prankquean swaradid: Am liking it.
And there  was a wild old  grannewwail that  laurency night of starshootings
somewhere  in Erio. And the prankquean  went for  her  forty years' walk  in
Turnlemeem and she punched the curses of cromcruwell with the nail of  a top
into the jiminy and  she had  her  four larksical monitrix to  touch him his
tears  and she provorted  him to the  onecertain  allsecure  and he became a
tristian. So then she started  raining, raining, and in a pair  of changers,
be dom ter, she was back again at Jarl von Hoother's and  the Larryhill with
her under her abromette. And why would she halt at all if not by the ward of
his mansionhome of another nice lace  for  the  third  charm? And  Jarl  von
Hoother had  his  hurricane  hips  up to  his  pantrybox,  ruminating in his
holdfour stomachs (Dare! O dare!), ant the jiminy Toughertrees and the dummy
were  belove  on  the  watercloth,  kissing  and spitting,  and  roguing and
poghuing, like knavepaltry and naivebride and  in  their second infancy. And
the prankquean picked a blank and lit out and the valleys lay twinkling. And
she made  her  wittest in  front of the arkway of trihump, asking: Mark  the
Tris, why do I  am alook alike  three poss of porter pease? But that was how
the skirtmishes endupped. For like  the campbells acoming with  a fork lance
of-lightning, Jarl von  Hoother  Boanerges  himself, the old terror  of  the
dames, came hip hop handihap out through  the pikeopened arkway of his three
shuttoned castles, in  his broadginger  hat  and his civic chollar  and  his
allabuff hemmed and his bullbraggin  soxangloves and his ladbroke breeks and
his cattegut bandolair and his furframed panuncular  cumbottes  like  a rudd
yellan gruebleen orangeman in his  violet indigonation, to  the whole longth
of the  strongth of his bowman's bill. And he clopped his  rude hand to  his
eacy hitch and he ordurd  and his thick spch spck for  her  to shut up shop,
dappy.      And      the      duppy      shot     the      shutter      clup
(Perkodhuskurunbarggruauyagokgorlayorgromgremmitghundhurthrumathunaradidillifaititillibumullunukkunun!)
And  they  all drank free. For one man in his armour was a  fat match always
for any girls  under shurts. And that  was  the first peace  of illiterative
porthery in all the flamend floody flatuous world. How kirssy the tiler made
a sweet unclose to the Narwhealian captol. Saw fore  shalt thou  sea. Betoun
ye and be. The prankquean was to hold her dummyship and the jimminies was to
keep  the  peacewave  and  van  Hoother  was to  git  the wind up. Thus  the
hearsomeness of the burger felicitates the whole of the polis.
     O  foenix  culprit!  Ex  nickylow  malo comes mickelmassed bonum. Hill,
rill, ones in company, billeted, less be proud of. Breast high and bestride!
Only for that  these will not breathe upon Norronesen or Irenean the secrest
of  their  soorcelossness.  Quarry  silex,  Homfrie  Noanswa!  Undy  gentian
festyknees,  Livia  Noanswa?  Wolkencap is  on  him, frowned; audiurient, he
would evesdrip,  were it mous at hand, were it  dinn of  bottles  in the far
ear. Murk,  his vales are  darkling. With  lipth she lithpeth to him all  to
time of  thuch  on  thuch and  thow  on thow. She he  she ho she ha  to  la.
Hairfluke, if he could bad twig her! Impalpabunt, he abhears. The soundwaves
are  his buffeteers; they trompe him with their trompes;  the wave of  roary
and  the  wave  of hooshed  and  the  wave  of hawhawhawrd and the  wave  of
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.

        Chapter 2

     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