No More Learning

--Well, he's going off by the mailboat, says Joe, tonight.

--That's too bad, says Bloom. I wanted particularly. Perhaps only Mr
Field is going. I couldn't phone. No. You're sure?

--Nannan's going too, says Joe. The league told him to ask a question
tomorrow about the commissioner of police forbidding Irish games in the
park. What do you think of that, citizen? _The Sluagh na h-Eireann_.

Mr Cowe Conacre (Multifarnham. Nat. ): Arising out of the question of
my honourable friend, the member for Shillelagh, may I ask the right
honourable gentleman whether the government has issued orders that these
animals shall be slaughtered though no medical evidence is forthcoming
as to their pathological condition?

Mr Allfours (Tamoshant. Con. ): Honourable members are already in
possession of the evidence produced before a committee of the whole
house. I feel I cannot usefully add anything to that. The answer to the
honourable member's question is in the affirmative.

Mr Orelli O'Reilly (Montenotte. Nat. ): Have similar orders been issued
for the slaughter of human animals who dare to play Irish games in the
Phoenix park?

Mr Allfours: The answer is in the negative.

Mr Cowe Conacre: Has the right honourable gentleman's famous
Mitchelstown telegram inspired the policy of gentlemen on the Treasury
bench? (O! O! )

Mr Allfours: I must have notice of that question.

Mr Staylewit (Buncombe. Ind. ): Don't hesitate to shoot.

(Ironical opposition cheers. )

The speaker: Order! Order!

(The house rises. Cheers. )

--There's the man, says Joe, that made the Gaelic sports revival. There
he is sitting there. The man that got away James Stephens. The champion
of all Ireland at putting the sixteen pound shot. What was your best
throw, citizen?

--_Na bacleis_, says the citizen, letting on to be modest. There was a
time I was as good as the next fellow anyhow.

--Put it there, citizen, says Joe. You were and a bloody sight better.

--Is that really a fact? says Alf.

--Yes, says Bloom. That's well known. Did you not know that?

So off they started about Irish sports and shoneen games the like of
lawn tennis and about hurley and putting the stone and racy of the soil
and building up a nation once again and all to that. And of course Bloom
had to have his say too about if a fellow had a rower's heart violent
exercise was bad. I declare to my antimacassar if you took up a straw
from the bloody floor and if you said to Bloom: _Look at, Bloom. Do you
see that straw? That's a straw_. Declare to my aunt he'd talk about it
for an hour so he would and talk steady.

A most interesting discussion took place in the ancient hall of _Brian
O'ciarnain's_ in _Sraid na Bretaine Bheag_, under the auspices of
_Sluagh na h-Eireann_, on the revival of ancient Gaelic sports and the
importance of physical culture, as understood in ancient Greece and
ancient Rome and ancient Ireland, for the development of the race.
The venerable president of the noble order was in the chair and the
attendance was of large dimensions. After an instructive discourse by
the chairman, a magnificent oration eloquently and forcibly expressed,
a most interesting and instructive discussion of the usual high standard
of excellence ensued as to the desirability of the revivability of
the ancient games and sports of our ancient Panceltic forefathers. The
wellknown and highly respected worker in the cause of our old tongue, Mr
Joseph M'Carthy Hynes, made an eloquent appeal for the resuscitation of
the ancient Gaelic sports and pastimes, practised morning and evening
by Finn MacCool, as calculated to revive the best traditions of manly
strength and prowess handed down to us from ancient ages. L. Bloom, who
met with a mixed reception of applause and hisses, having espoused the
negative the vocalist chairman brought the discussion to a close, in
response to repeated requests and hearty plaudits from all parts of
a bumper house, by a remarkably noteworthy rendering of the immortal
Thomas Osborne Davis' evergreen verses (happily too familiar to need
recalling here) _A nation once again_ in the execution of which the
veteran patriot champion may be said without fear of contradiction
to have fairly excelled himself. The Irish Caruso-Garibaldi was in
superlative form and his stentorian notes were heard to the greatest
advantage in the timehonoured anthem sung as only our citizen can sing
it. His superb highclass vocalism, which by its superquality greatly
enhanced his already international reputation, was vociferously
applauded by the large audience among which were to be noticed many
prominent members of the clergy as well as representatives of the press
and the bar and the other learned professions. The proceedings then
terminated.

Amongst the clergy present were the very rev. William Delany, S. J. , L.
L. D. ; the rt rev. Gerald Molloy, D. D. ; the rev. P. J. Kavanagh, C. S.
Sp. ; the rev. T. Waters, C. C. ; the rev. John M. Ivers, P. P. ; the rev.
P. J. Cleary, O. S. F. ; the rev. L. J. Hickey, O. P. ; the very rev. Fr.
Nicholas, O. S. F. C. ; the very rev. B. Gorman, O. D. C. ; the rev. T.
Maher, S. J. ; the very rev. James Murphy, S. J. ; the rev. John Lavery,
V. F. ; the very rev. William Doherty, D. D. ; the rev. Peter Fagan, O.
M. ; the rev. T. Brangan, O. S. A. ; the rev. J. Flavin, C. C. ; the
rev. M. A. Hackett, C. C. ; the rev. W. Hurley, C. C. ; the rt rev. Mgr
M'Manus, V. G. ; the rev. B. R. Slattery, O. M. I. ; the very rev. M.
D. Scally, P. P. ; the rev. F. T. Purcell, O. P. ; the very rev. Timothy
canon Gorman, P. P. ; the rev. J. Flanagan, C. C. The laity included P.
Fay, T. Quirke, etc. , etc.

--Talking about violent exercise, says Alf, were you at that
Keogh-Bennett match?

--No, says Joe.

--I heard So and So made a cool hundred quid over it, says Alf.

--Who? Blazes? says Joe.

And says Bloom:

--What I meant about tennis, for example, is the agility and training
the eye.

--Ay, Blazes, says Alf. He let out that Myler was on the beer to run up
the odds and he swatting all the time.

--We know him, says the citizen. The traitor's son. We know what put
English gold in his pocket.

---True for you, says Joe.

And Bloom cuts in again about lawn tennis and the circulation of the
blood, asking Alf:

--Now, don't you think, Bergan?

--Myler dusted the floor with him, says Alf. Heenan and Sayers was only
a bloody fool to it. Handed him the father and mother of a beating. See
the little kipper not up to his navel and the big fellow swiping. God,
he gave him one last puck in the wind, Queensberry rules and all, made
him puke what he never ate.

It was a historic and a hefty battle when Myler and Percy were scheduled
to don the gloves for the purse of fifty sovereigns. Handicapped as he
was by lack of poundage, Dublin's pet lamb made up for it by superlative
skill in ringcraft. The final bout of fireworks was a gruelling for both
champions. The welterweight sergeantmajor had tapped some lively claret
in the previous mixup during which Keogh had been receivergeneral of
rights and lefts, the artilleryman putting in some neat work on the
pet's nose, and Myler came on looking groggy. The soldier got to
business, leading off with a powerful left jab to which the Irish
gladiator retaliated by shooting out a stiff one flush to the point of
Bennett's jaw. The redcoat ducked but the Dubliner lifted him with a
left hook, the body punch being a fine one. The men came to handigrips.
Myler quickly became busy and got his man under, the bout ending with
the bulkier man on the ropes, Myler punishing him.
The Englishman, whose
right eye was nearly closed, took his corner where he was liberally
drenched with water and when the bell went came on gamey and brimful of
pluck, confident of knocking out the fistic Eblanite in jigtime. It was
a fight to a finish and the best man for it. The two fought like tigers
and excitement ran fever high. The referee twice cautioned Pucking Percy
for holding but the pet was tricky and his footwork a treat to watch.
After a brisk exchange of courtesies during which a smart upper cut of
the military man brought blood freely from his opponent's mouth the
lamb suddenly waded in all over his man and landed a terrific left to
Battling Bennett's stomach, flooring him flat. It was a knockout clean
and clever. Amid tense expectation the Portobello bruiser was being
counted out when Bennett's second Ole Pfotts Wettstein threw in the
towel and the Santry boy was declared victor to the frenzied cheers of
the public who broke through the ringropes and fairly mobbed him with
delight.

--He knows which side his bread is buttered, says Alf. I hear he's
running a concert tour now up in the north.

--He is, says Joe. Isn't he?

--Who? says Bloom. Ah, yes. That's quite true. Yes, a kind of summer
tour, you see. Just a holiday.

--Mrs B. is the bright particular star, isn't she? says Joe.

--My wife? says Bloom. She's singing, yes. I think it will be a success
too.

He's an excellent man to organise. Excellent.

Hoho begob says I to myself says I. That explains the milk in the
cocoanut and absence of hair on the animal's chest. Blazes doing the
tootle on the flute. Concert tour. Dirty Dan the dodger's son off Island
bridge that sold the same horses twice over to the government to fight
the Boers. Old Whatwhat. I called about the poor and water rate, Mr
Boylan. You what? The water rate, Mr Boylan. You whatwhat? That's the
bucko that'll organise her, take my tip. 'Twixt me and you Caddareesh.

Pride of Calpe's rocky mount, the ravenhaired daughter of Tweedy. There
grew she to peerless beauty where loquat and almond scent the air. The
gardens of Alameda knew her step: the garths of olives knew and bowed.
The chaste spouse of Leopold is she: Marion of the bountiful bosoms.

And lo, there entered one of the clan of the O'Molloy's, a comely hero
of white face yet withal somewhat ruddy, his majesty's counsel learned
in the law, and with him the prince and heir of the noble line of
Lambert.

--Hello, Ned.

--Hello, Alf.

--Hello, Jack.

--Hello, Joe.

--God save you, says the citizen.

--Save you kindly, says J. J. What'll it be, Ned?

--Half one, says Ned.

So J. J. ordered the drinks.

--Were you round at the court? says Joe.

--Yes, says J. J. He'll square that, Ned, says he.

--Hope so, says Ned.

Now what were those two at? J. J. getting him off the grand jury list
and the other give him a leg over the stile. With his name in Stubbs's.
Playing cards, hobnobbing with flash toffs with a swank glass in their
eye, adrinking fizz and he half smothered in writs and garnishee orders.
Pawning his gold watch in Cummins of Francis street where no-one would
know him in the private office when I was there with Pisser releasing
his boots out of the pop. What's your name, sir? Dunne, says he. Ay, and
done says I. Gob, he'll come home by weeping cross one of those days,
I'm thinking.

--Did you see that bloody lunatic Breen round there? says Alf. U. p: up.

--Yes, says J. J. Looking for a private detective.

--Ay, says Ned. And he wanted right go wrong to address the court only
Corny Kelleher got round him telling him to get the handwriting examined
first.

--Ten thousand pounds, says Alf, laughing. God, I'd give anything to
hear him before a judge and jury.

--Was it you did it, Alf? says Joe. The truth, the whole truth and
nothing but the truth, so help you Jimmy Johnson.

--Me? says Alf. Don't cast your nasturtiums on my character.

--Whatever statement you make, says Joe, will be taken down in evidence
against you.

--Of course an action would lie, says J. J. It implies that he is not
_compos mentis_. U. p: up.

_--Compos_ your eye! says Alf, laughing. Do you know that he's balmy?
Look at his head. Do you know that some mornings he has to get his hat
on with a shoehorn.

--Yes, says J. J. , but the truth of a libel is no defence to an
indictment for publishing it in the eyes of the law.

--Ha ha, Alf, says Joe.

--Still, says Bloom, on account of the poor woman, I mean his wife.

--Pity about her, says the citizen. Or any other woman marries a half
and half.

--How half and half? says Bloom. Do you mean he. . .

--Half and half I mean, says the citizen. A fellow that's neither fish
nor flesh.

--Nor good red herring, says Joe.

--That what's I mean, says the citizen. A pishogue, if you know what
that is.

Begob I saw there was trouble coming. And Bloom explaining he meant on
account of it being cruel for the wife having to go round after the
old stuttering fool. Cruelty to animals so it is to let that bloody
povertystricken Breen out on grass with his beard out tripping him,
bringing down the rain. And she with her nose cockahoop after she
married him because a cousin of his old fellow's was pewopener to the
pope. Picture of him on the wall with his Smashall Sweeney's moustaches,
the signior Brini from Summerhill, the eyetallyano, papal Zouave to the
Holy Father, has left the quay and gone to Moss street. And who was
he, tell us? A nobody, two pair back and passages, at seven shillings a
week, and he covered with all kinds of breastplates bidding defiance to
the world.

--And moreover, says J. J. , a postcard is publication. It was held to
be sufficient evidence of malice in the testcase Sadgrove v. Hole. In my
opinion an action might lie.

Six and eightpence, please. Who wants your opinion? Let us drink our
pints in peace. Gob, we won't be let even do that much itself.

--Well, good health, Jack, says Ned.

--Good health, Ned, says J. J.

---There he is again, says Joe.

--Where? says Alf.

And begob there he was passing the door with his books under his oxter
and the wife beside him and Corny Kelleher with his wall eye looking in
as they went past, talking to him like a father, trying to sell him a
secondhand coffin.

--How did that Canada swindle case go off? says Joe.

--Remanded, says J. J.

One of the bottlenosed fraternity it was went by the name of James
Wought alias Saphiro alias Spark and Spiro, put an ad in the papers
saying he'd give a passage to Canada for twenty bob. What? Do you see
any green in the white of my eye? Course it was a bloody barney. What?
Swindled them all, skivvies and badhachs from the county Meath, ay, and
his own kidney too. J. J. was telling us there was an ancient Hebrew
Zaretsky or something weeping in the witnessbox with his hat on him,
swearing by the holy Moses he was stuck for two quid.

--Who tried the case? says Joe.

--Recorder, says Ned.

--Poor old sir Frederick, says Alf, you can cod him up to the two eyes.

--Heart as big as a lion, says Ned. Tell him a tale of woe about arrears
of rent and a sick wife and a squad of kids and, faith, he'll dissolve
in tears on the bench.

--Ay, says Alf. Reuben J was bloody lucky he didn't clap him in the dock
the other day for suing poor little Gumley that's minding stones, for
the corporation there near Butt bridge.

And he starts taking off the old recorder letting on to cry:

--A most scandalous thing! This poor hardworking man! How many children?
Ten, did you say?

--Yes, your worship. And my wife has the typhoid.

--And the wife with typhoid fever! Scandalous! Leave the court
immediately, sir. No, sir, I'll make no order for payment. How dare you,
sir, come up before me and ask me to make an order! A poor hardworking
industrious man! I dismiss the case.

And whereas on the sixteenth day of the month of the oxeyed goddess and
in the third week after the feastday of the Holy and Undivided Trinity,
the daughter of the skies, the virgin moon being then in her first
quarter, it came to pass that those learned judges repaired them to the
halls of law. There master Courtenay, sitting in his own chamber, gave
his rede and master Justice Andrews, sitting without a jury in the
probate court, weighed well and pondered the claim of the first
chargeant upon the property in the matter of the will propounded and
final testamentary disposition _in re_ the real and personal estate of
the late lamented Jacob Halliday, vintner, deceased, versus Livingstone,
an infant, of unsound mind, and another. And to the solemn court of
Green street there came sir Frederick the Falconer. And he sat him there
about the hour of five o'clock to administer the law of the brehons at
the commission for all that and those parts to be holden in and for the
county of the city of Dublin. And there sat with him the high sinhedrim
of the twelve tribes of Iar, for every tribe one man, of the tribe of
Patrick and of the tribe of Hugh and of the tribe of Owen and of the
tribe of Conn and of the tribe of Oscar and of the tribe of Fergus and
of the tribe of Finn and of the tribe of Dermot and of the tribe of
Cormac and of the tribe of Kevin and of the tribe of Caolte and of the
tribe of Ossian, there being in all twelve good men and true. And he
conjured them by Him who died on rood that they should well and
truly try and true deliverance make in the issue joined between their
sovereign lord the king and the prisoner at the bar and true verdict
give according to the evidence so help them God and kiss the book. And
they rose in their seats, those twelve of Iar, and they swore by
the name of Him Who is from everlasting that they would do His
rightwiseness. And straightway the minions of the law led forth from
their donjon keep one whom the sleuthhounds of justice had apprehended
in consequence of information received. And they shackled him hand and
foot and would take of him ne bail ne mainprise but preferred a charge
against him for he was a malefactor.

--Those are nice things, says the citizen, coming over here to Ireland
filling the country with bugs.

So Bloom lets on he heard nothing and he starts talking with Joe,
telling him he needn't trouble about that little matter till the first
but if he would just say a word to Mr Crawford. And so Joe swore high
and holy by this and by that he'd do the devil and all.

--Because, you see, says Bloom, for an advertisement you must have
repetition. That's the whole secret.

--Rely on me, says Joe.

--Swindling the peasants, says the citizen, and the poor of Ireland. We
want no more strangers in our house.

--O, I'm sure that will be all right, Hynes, says Bloom. It's just that
Keyes, you see.

--Consider that done, says Joe.

--Very kind of you, says Bloom.

--The strangers, says the citizen. Our own fault. We let them come in.
We brought them in. The adulteress and her paramour brought the Saxon
robbers here.