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Cashel Boyle O'Connor Fitzmaurice Tisdall Farrell, murmuring, glassyeyed, strode past the Kildare street club. Ben Dollard frowned and, making suddenly a chanter's mouth, gave forth a deep note. Aw! he said. That's the style, Mr Dedalus said, nodding to its drone. What about that? Ben Dollard said. Not too dusty? What? He turned to both. That'll do, Father Cowley said, nodding also.
There he is, by God, he said, arse and pockets. Ben Dollard's loose blue cutaway and square hat above large slops crossed the quay in full gait from the metal bridge. He came towards them at an amble, scratching actively behind his coattails. As he came near Mr Dedalus greeted: Hold that fellow with the bad trousers. Hold him now, Ben Dollard said.
By rose, by satiny bosom, by the fondling hand, by slops, by empties, by popped corks, greeting in going, past eyes and maidenhair, bronze and faint gold in deepseashadow, went Bloom, soft Bloom, I feel so lonely Bloom. Tap. Tap. Tap. Pray for him, prayed the bass of Dollard. You who hear in peace. Breathe a prayer, drop a tear, good men, good people. He was the croppy boy.
Most trenchant rendition of that ballad, upon my soul and honour It is. Lablache, said Father Cowley. Ben Dollard bulkily cachuchad towards the bar, mightily praisefed and all big roseate, on heavyfooted feet, his gouty fingers nakkering castagnettes in the air. Big Benaben Dollard. Big Benben. Big Benben. Rrr.
At times their warriors delighted to lurk in the outskirts of Montreal with tomahawk and scalping-knife and to organize great war-parties, such as that which was arrested by Dollard and his heroic companions at the Long Sault in 1660.
Perhaps the most unique shrine in the province is that of Mount Rigaud, on the banks of the Ottawa, not far from the spot where Dollard and his band of Christian knights lay down their lives. The mountain is regarded with much superstition by the ignorant, on account of its peculiar and unaccountable natural phenomena, whose origin has puzzled the most learned scientists to account for.
He stood beside them beaming, on them first and on his roomy clothes from points of which Mr Dedalus flicked fluff, saying: They were made for a man in his health, Ben, anyhow. Bad luck to the jewman that made them, Ben Dollard said. Thanks be to God he's not paid yet. And how is that basso profondo, Benjamin? Father Cowley asked.
"I need not explain to you further," Thayor resumed, "that the statements are pure forgeries. You will readily see that it was Bergstein's method to open a small account at these reputable houses and add the rest." "I tink he been one beeg rascal hein!" grinned Le Boeuf. There were others present who were still unconvinced. "Anything further, Mr. Dollard?" asked Thayor sharply.
Fourteen years before, the Iroquois had exterminated the Hurons, and since this period the colonists had not enjoyed a single hour of calm; the devotion of Dollard and of his sixteen heroic comrades had narrowly saved them from a horrible danger. The worthy prelate obtained from the king a sufficiently large assignment of troops to deliver the colony at last from its most dangerous enemies.
It is strange that one of the most insignificant streets in the city, a mere lane, of a single block in length, should bear the name of Dollard, the hero of one of the most illustrious deeds recorded in history, an event which has rightly been called the Thermopylæ of Canada.
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