尤利西斯-第75章

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neficent　institution。　Quite　an　excellent　repast　consisting　of　rashers　and　eggs；　fried　steak　and　onions；　done　to　a　nicety；　delicious　hot　breakfast　rolls　and　invigorating　tea　had　been　considerately　provided　by　the　authorities　for　the　consumption　of　the　central　figure　of　the　tragedy　who　was　in　capital　spirits　when　prepared　for　death　and　evinced　the　keenest　interest　in　the　proceedings　from　beginning　to　end　but　he；　with　an　abnegation　rare　in　these　our　times；　rose　nobly　to　the　occasion　and　expressed　the　dying　wish　（immediately　acceded　to）　that　the　meal　should　be　divided　in　aliquot　parts　among　the　members　of　the　sick　and　indigent　roomkeeper's　association　as　a　token　of　his　regard　and　esteem。　The　nec　and　non　plus　ultra　of　emotion　were　reached　when　the　blushing　bride　elect　burst　her　way　through　the　serried　ranks　of　the　bystanders　and　flung　herself　upon　the　muscular　bosom　of　him　who　was　about　to　be　launched　into　eternity　for　her　sake。　The　hero　folded　her　willowy　form　in　a　loving　embrace　murmuring　fondly　Sheila；　my　own。　Encouraged　by　this　use　of　her　christian　name　she　kissed　passionately　all　the　various　suitable　areas　of　his　person　which　the　decencies　of　prison　garb　permitted　her　ardour　to　reach。　She　swore　to　him　as　they　mingled　the　salt　streams　of　their　tears　that　she　would　cherish　his　memory；　that　she　would　never　forget　her　hero　boy　who　went　to　his　death　with　a　song　on　his　lips　as　if　he　were　but　going　to　a　hurling　match　in　Clonturk　park。　She　brought　back　to　his　recollection　the　happy　days　of　blissful　childhood　together　on　the　banks　of　Anna　Liffey　when　they　had　indulged　in　the　innocent　pastimes　of　the　young　and；　oblivious　of　the　dreadful　present；　they　both　laughed　heartily；　all　the　spectators；　including　the　venerable　pastor；　joining　in　the　general　merriment。　That　monster　audience　simply　rocked　with　delight。　But　anon　they　were　overe　with　grief　and　clasped　their　hands　for　the　last　time。　A　fresh　torrent　of　tears　burst　from　their　lachrymal　ducts　and　the　vast　concourse　of　people；　touched　to　the　inmost　core；　broke　into　heartrending　sobs；　not　the　least　affected　being　the　aged　prebendary　himself。　Big　strong　men；　officers　of　the　peace　and　genial　giants　of　the　royal　Irish　constabulary；　were　making　frank　use　of　their　handkerchiefs　and　it　is　safe　to　say　that　there　was　not　a　dry　eye　in　that　record　assemblage。　A　most　romantic　incident　occurred　when　a　handsome　young　Oxford　graduate；　noted　for　his　chivalry　towards　the　fair　sex；　stepped　forward　and；　presenting　his　visiting　card；　bankbook　and　genealogical　tree；　solicited　the　hand　of　the　hapless　young　lady；　requesting　her　to　name　the　day；　and　was　accepted　on　the　spot。　Every　lady　in　the　audience　was　presented　with　a　tasteful　souvenir　of　the　occasion　in　the　shape　of　a　skull　and　crossbones　brooch；　a　timely　and　generous　act　which　evoked　a　fresh　outburst　of　emotion：　and　when　the　gallant　young　Oxonian　（the　bearer；　by　the　way；　of　one　of　the　most　timehonoured　names　in　Albion's　history）　placed　on　the　finger　of　his　blushing　fiancée　an　expensive　engagement　ring　with　emeralds　set　in　the　form　of　a　fourleaved　shamrock　excitement　knew　no　bounds。　Nay；　even　the　stern　provostmarshal；　lieutenantcolonel　Tomkin…Maxwell　ffrenchmullan　Tomlinson；　who　presided　on　the　sad　occasion；　he　who　had　blown　a　considerable　number　of　sepoys　from　the　cannonmouth　without　flinching；　could　not　now　restrain　his　natural　emotion。　With　his　mailed　gauntlet　he　brushed　away　a　furtive　tear　and　was　overheard　by　those　privileged　burghers　who　happened　to　be　in　his　immediate　entourage　to　murmur　to　himself　in　a　faltering　undertone：　
　God　blimey　if　she　aint　a　clinker；　that　there　bleeding　tart。　Blimey　it　makes　me　kind　of　bleeding　cry；　straight；　it　does；　when　I　sees　her　cause　I　thinks　of　my　old　mashtub　what's　waiting　for　me　down　Limehouse　way。　
So　then　the　citizens　begin　talking　about　the　Irish　language　and　the　corporation　meeting　and　all　to　that　and　the　shoneens　that　can't　speak　their　own　language　and　Joe　chipping　in　because　he　stuck　someone　for　a　quid　and　Bloom　putting　in　his　old　goo　with　his　twopenny　stump　that　he　cadged　off　Joe　and　talking　about　the　Gaelic　league　and　the　antitreating　league　and　drink；　the　curse　of　Ireland。　Antitreating　is　about　the　size　of　it。　Gob；　he'd　let　you　pour　all　manner　of　drink　down　his　throat　till　the　Lord　would　call　him　before　you'd　ever　see　the　froth　of　his　pint。　And　one　night　I　went　in　with　a　fellow　into　one　of　their　musical　evenings；　song　and　dance　about　she　could　get　up　on　a　truss　of　hay　she　could　my　Maureen　Lay；　and　there　was　a　fellow　with　a　Ballyhooly　blue　ribbon　badge　spiffing　out　of　him　in　Irish　and　a　lot　of　colleen　bawns　going　about　with　temperance　beverages　and　selling　medals　and　oranges　and　lemonade　and　a　few　old　dry　buns；　gob；　flahoolagh　entertainment；　don't　be　talking。　Ireland　sober　is　Ireland　free。　And　then　an　old　fellow　starts　blowing　into　his　bagpipes　and　all　the　gougers　shuffling　their　feet　to　the　tune　the　old　cow　died　of。　And　one　or　two　sky　pilots　having　an　eye　around　that　there　was　no　goings　on　with　the　females；　hitting　below　the　belt。　
So　howandever；　as　I　was　saying；　the　old　dog　seeing　the　tin　was　empty　starts　mousing　around　by　Joe　and　me。　I'd　train　him　by　kindness；　so　I　would；　if　he　was　my　dog。　Give　him　a　rousing　fine　kick　now　and　again　where　it　wouldn't　blind　him。　
　Afraid　he'll　bite　you？　says　the　citizen；　sneering。　
　No；　says　1。　But　he　might　take　my　leg　for　a　lampost。　
So　he　calls　the　old　dog　over。　
　What's　on　you；　Garry？　says　he。　
Then　he　starts　hauling　and　mauling　and　talking　to　him　in　Irish　and　the　old　towser　growling；　letting　on　to　answer；　like　a　duet　in　the　opera。　Such　growling　you　never　heard　as　they　let　off　between　them。　Someone　that　has　nothing　better　to　do　ought　to　write　a　letter　pm　bono　publico　to　the　papers　about　the　muzzling　order　for　a　dog　the　like　of　that。　Growling　and　grousing　and　his　eye　all　bloodshot　from　the　drouth　is　in　it　and　the　hydrophobia　dropping　out　of　his　jaws。　
All　those　who　are　interested　in　the　spread　of　human　culture　among　the　lower　animals　（and　their　name　is　legion）　should　make　a　point　of　not　missing　the　really　marvellous　exhibition　of　cynanthropy　given　by　the　famous　old　Irish　red　wolfdog　setter　formerly　known　by　the　sobriquet　of　Garryowen　and　recently　rechristened　by　his　large　circle　of　friends　and　acquaintances　Owen　Garry。　The　exhibition；　which　is　the　result　of　years　of　training　by　kindness　and　a　carefully　thoughtout　dietary　system；　prises；　among　other　achievements；　the　recitation　of　verse。　Our　greatest　living　phonetic　expert　（wild　horses　shall　not　drag　it　from　us！）　has　left　no　stone　unturned　in　his　efforts　to　delucidate　and　pare　the　verse　recited　and　has　found　it　bears　a　striking　resemblance　（the　italics　are　ours）　to　the　ranns　of　ancient　Celtic　bards。　We　are　not　speaking　so　much　of　those　delightful　lovesongs　with　which　the　writer　who　conceals　his　identity　under　the　graceful　pseudonym　of　the　Little　Sweet　Branch　has　familiarised　the　bookloving　world　but　rather　（as　a　contributor　D。　O。　C。　points　out　in　an　interesting　munication　published　by　an　evening　contemporary）　of　the　harsher　and　more　personal　note　which　is　found　in　the　satirical　effusions　of　the　famous　Raftery　and　of　Donald　MacConsidine　to　say　nothing　of　a　more　modern　lyrist　at　present　very　much　in　the　public　eye。　We　subjoin　a　specimen　which　has　been　rendered　into　English　by　an　eminent　scholar　whose　name　for　the　moment　we　are　not　at　liberty　to　disclose　though　we　believe　our　readers　will　find　the　topical　allusion　rather　more　than　an　indication。　The　metrical　system　of　the　canine　original；　which　recalls　the　intricate　alliterative　and　isosyllabic　rules　of　the　Welsh　englyn；　is　infinitely　more　plicated　but　we　believe　our　readers　will　agree　that　the　spirit　has　been　well　caught。　Perhaps　it　should　be　added　that　the　effect　is　greatly　increased　if　Owen's　verse　be　spoken　somewhat　slowly　and　indistinctly　in　a　tone　suggestive　of　suppressed　rancour。　
The　curse　of　my　curses
Seven　days　every　day
And　seven　dry　Thursdays
On　you；　Barney　Kiernan；
Has　no　sup　of　water
To　cool　my　courage；
And　my　guts　red　roaring
After　Lowry's　lights。
So　he　told　Terry　to　bring　some　water　for　the　dog　and；　gob；　you　could　hear　him　lapping　it　up　a　mile　off。　And　Joe　asked　him　would　he　have　another。　
　I　will；　says　he；　a　chara；　to　show　there's　no　ill　feeling。