for a fellow to back a bill for me no later than last week. Sorry, Jack. You must take the will for the deed. With a heart and a half if I could raise the wind anyhow. J. J. O'Molloy pulled a long face and walked on silently. They caught up on the others and walked abreast. —When they have eaten the brawn and the bread and wiped their twenty fingers in the paper the bread was wrapped in they go nearer to the railings. —Something for you, the professor explained to Myles Crawford. Two old Dublin women on the top of Nelson's pillar. SOME COLUMN!—THAT'S WHAT WADDLER ONE SAID —That's new, Myles Crawford said. That's copy. Out for the waxies Dargle. Two old trickies, what? —But they are afraid the pillar will fall, Stephen went on. They see the roofs and argue about where the different churches are: Rathmines' blue dome, Adam and Eve's, saint Laurence O'Toole's. But it makes them giddy to look so they pull up their skirts... THOSE SLIGHTLY RAMBUNCTIOUS FEMALES —Easy all, Myles Crawford said. No poetic licence. We're in the archdiocese here. —And settle down on their striped petticoats, peering up at the statue of the onehandled adulterer. —Onehandled adulterer! the professor cried. I like that. I see the idea. I see what you mean. DAMES DONATE DUBLIN'S CITS SPEEDPILLS VELOCITOUS AEROLITHS, BELIEF —It gives them a crick in their necks, Stephen said, and they are too tired to look up or down or to speak. They put the bag of plums between them and eat the plums out of it, one after another, wiping off with their handkerchiefs the plumjuice that dribbles out of their mouths and spitting the plumstones slowly out between the railings. He gave a sudden loud young laugh as a close. Lenehan and Mr O'Madden Burke, hearing, turned, beckoned and led on across towards Mooney's. —Finished? Myles Crawford said. So long as they do no worse. SOPHIST WALLOPS HAUGHTY HELEN SQUARE ON PROBOSCIS. SPARTANS GNASH MOLARS. ITHACANS VOW PEN IS CHAMP. —You remind me of Antisthenes, the professor said, a disciple of Gorgias, the sophist. It is said of him that none could tell if he were bitterer against others or against himself. He was the son of a noble and a bondwoman. And he wrote a book in which he took away the palm of beauty from Argive Helen and handed it to poor Penelope. Poor Penelope