"The dead of Dublin from Prospect and Mount Jerome in white sheepskin overcoats and black goatfell cloaks arise and appear to many. A chasm opens with a noiseless yawn. Tom Rochford, winner, in athlete's singlet and breeches, arrives at the head of the national hurdle handicap and leaps into the void. He is followed by a race of runners and leapers. In wild attitudes they spring from the brink. Their bodies plunge. Factory lasses with fancy clothes toss redhot Yorkshire baraabombs. Society ladies lift their skirts above their heads to protect themselves."
"Laughing witches in red cutty sarks ride through the air on broomsticks. Quakerlyster plasters blisters. It rains dragons' teeth. Armed heroes spring up from furrows. They exchange in amity the pass of knights of the red cross and fight duels with cavalry sabres: Wolfe Tone against Henry Grattan, Smith O'Brien against Daniel O'Connell, Michael Davitt against Isaac Butt,"
"Justin M'Carthy against Parnell,"
(Image courtesy of Neal Pistole)
"against John Redmond,"
"John O'Leary against Lear O'Johnny,"
"Lord Edward Fitzgerald against Lord Gerald Fitzedward,"
"The O'Donoghue of The Glens against The Glens of The O'Donoghue. On an eminence, the centre of the earth, rises the feldaltar of Saint Barbara. Black candles rise from its gospel and epistle horns. From the high barbacans of the tower two shafts of light fall on the smokepalled altarstone. On the altarstone Mrs Mina Purefoy, goddess of unreason, lies, naked, fettered, a chalice resting on her swollen belly."
The O'Donoghue of the Glens, also Lord of Glenflesk, is the hereditary chieftain of the cadet line of the Eoganachta dynasty of Munster. Originally styled Princes of Eoghanacht Loch Lein (Eoganacht Locha Léin), an area extending from the Roughty River at Kenmare, to Lough Lein at Killarney, the Clan divided at an early period into the distinct chiefly lines of O'Donoghue Mor (extinct since the 16c.), and O'Donoghue of the Glens. This photo is Daniel O'Donoghue (1831 - 1889), who served in the British Parliament as M.P. for Tipperary (1857 - 1865) then for Tralee (1865 - 1885).
"Father Malachi O'Flynn, in a lace petticoat and reversed chasuble, his two left feet back to the front, celebrates camp mass. The Reverend Mr Hugh C Haines Love M.A. in a plain cassock and mortarboard, his head and collar back to the front, holds over the celebrant's head an open umbrella.)"
"FATHER MALACHI O'FLYNN
Introibo ad altare diaboli.
THE REVEREND MR HAINES LOVE
To the devil which hath made glad my young days.
FATHER MALACHI O'FLYNN
(takes from the chalice and elevates a blooddripping host) Corpus meum.
THE REVEREND MR HAINES LOVE
(raises high behind the celebrant's petticoat, revealing his grey bare hairy buttocks between which a carrot is stuck) My body."
(Breaks loose.) I'll insult him.
(He rushes towards Stephen, fists outstretched, and strikes him in the face. Stephen totters, collapses, falls, stunned. He lies prone, his face to the sky, his hat rolling to the wall. Bloom follows and picks it up.)"
(loudly) Carbine in bucket! Cease fire! Salute!"
"Let them go and fight the Boers!"
Listen to who's talking! Hasn't the soldier a right to go with his girl? He gave him the coward's blow.
(They grab at each other's hair, claw at each other and spit.)"
(To the watch, with drawling eye.) That's all right. I know him. Won a bit on the races. Gold cup. Throwaway. (He laughs.) Twenty to one. Do you follow me?
(Turns to the crowd.) Here, what are you all gaping at? Move on out of that.
(The crowd disperses slowly, muttering, down the lane.)"
"With my tooraloom tooraloom tooraloom tooraloom. What, eh, do you follow me?
(Genially.) Ah, sure we were too.
(winking) Boys will be boys. I've a car round there.
All right, Mr Kelleher. Good night.
I'll see to that."