OpenLLM-France/wikimedia huggingface dataset:
# The American Cyclopædia (1879)/San Augustine

Edition of 1879. See also San Augustine County, Texas on Wikipedia; and the disclaimer.
​ SAN AUGUSTINE, an E. county of Texas, bordered W. by Angelina river and Attoyac bayou, and drained by their branches; area, 680 sq. m.; pop. in 1870, 4,196, of whom 1,964 were colored. The soil is very rich and produces excellent cotton. The chief productions in 1870 were 110,007 bushels of Indian corn, 10,082 of sweet potatoes, 2,598 bales of cotton, and 1,135 lbs. of wool. There were 913 horses, 2,576 milch cows, 791 working oxen, 5,368 other cattle, 1,221 sheep, and 8,713 swine. Capital, San Augustine.
# The American Cyclopædia (1879)/Salt Lake City

Edition of 1879. See also Salt Lake City on Wikipedia; and the disclaimer.
SALT LAKE CITY, a city, capital of Utah territory and of Salt Lake co., situated at the W. base of a spur of the Wahsatch mountains, 4,320 ft. above the level of the sea, about 12 m. from the S. E. extremity of the Great Salt lake, 2 m. E. of the river Jordan, and 600 m. E. by N. of San Francisco; lat. 40° 46' K, lon. 112° 6' W.; pop. in 1860, 8,236; in 1870, 12,854, of whom 5,250 were foreigners; in 1875, about 20,000, of whom about one third are gentiles and apostate Mormons. It is connected with the Union and Central Pacific railroads at Ogden, 37 m. N., by the Utah Central railroad. The Utah Southern railroad is completed to York, 78 m. S., and the Utah Western 25 m. W. Camp Douglas, a United States military post, is about 3 m. distant. Great care was displayed in selecting the site and in laying out the city. The streets are 128 ft. wide, and cross each other at right angles. There are 260 blocks, each one eighth of a mile square and containing 10 acres. Each block is divided into 8 lots, 10 by 20 rods, and containing 1¼ acre. Several of the blocks have been cut by cross streets laid out since the
founding of the city. Shade trees and ditches filled with running water, brought from City creek for the purpose of irrigation, line both sides of every street, while almost every lot has an orchard of pear, apricot, plum, peach, and apple trees. The city is divided into 20
wards, nearly every one of which has a public square. The dwellings and business structures are built principally of adobe. The former are generally small and of one story, with separate entrances where the proprietor has a plurality of wives. Among the public
buildings are the city hall, costing $70,000, used as the territorial capitol; the tabernacle, capable of seating about 15,000 persons, covered by a self-supporting roof; and the Mormon temple, in course of construction, estimated to cost $10,000,000. The theatre is very large. The government is vested in a mayor and common council, but they are really controlled by the president of the Mormon church. Recently 5 m. of street railroad have been built and gas works have been put in operation. The laying of about 5 m. of water pipes is in progress (1875). The city contains two national banks, a savings institution, and three private banks. There are no public schools, but many good private ones. The principal institutions of learning are the university of Deseret (Mormon), St. Mark's school (Episcopal), a Roman Catholic nunnery, and the Methodist and Presbyterian schools. There is a public library, under the auspices of the ladies of the city. Three daily (two Mormon and one gentile) and five weekly (two Scandinavian) newspapers and two monthly periodicals (devoted to religion and education) are published. A miners' hospital is supported mainly by the mining camp near the city. There are about 30 churches, of which all but 6 are Mormon. Salt Lake City was settled in 1847 by the Mormons, under the lead of Brigham Young.
Salt Lake City, showing the Tabernacle.
# The Annotated "Ulysses"/Page 062

— Show here, she said. I put a mark in it. There’s a word I wanted to ask you.
She swallowed a draught of tea from her cup held by nothandle and, having wiped her fingertips smartly on the blanket, began to search the text with the hairpin till she reached the word.
— Met him what? he asked.
— Here, she said. What does that mean?
He leaned downwards and read near her polished thumbnail.
— Metempsychosis?
— Yes. Who’s he when he’s at home?
— Metempsychosis, he said, frowning. It’s Greek : from the Greek. That means the transmigration of souls.
— O, rocks! she said. Tell us in plain words.
He smiled, glancing askance at her mocking eye. The same young eyes. The first night after the charades. Dolphin’s Barn. He turned over the smudged pages. Ruby : the Pride of the Ring. Hello. Illustration. Fierce Italian with carriagewhip. Must be Ruby pride of the on the floor naked. Sheet kindly lent. The monster Maffei desisted and flung his victim from him with an oath. Cruelty behind it all. Doped animals. Trapeze at Hengler’s. Had to look the other way. Mob gaping. Break your neck and we’ll break our sides. Families of them. Bone them young so they metempsychosis. That we live after death. Our souls. That a man’s soul after he dies. Dignam’s soul...
— Did you finish it? he asked.
— Yes, she said. There’s nothing smutty in it. Is she in love with the first fellow all the time?
— Never read it. Do you want another?
— Yes. Get another of Paul de Kock’s. Nice name he has.
She poured more tea into her cup, watching its flow sideways.
Must get that Capel street library book renewed or they’ll write to Kearney, my garantor. Reincarnation : that’s the word.
— Some people believe, he said, that we go on living in another body after death, that we lived before. They call it reincarnation. That we all lived before on the earth thousands of years ago or some other planet. They say we have forgotten it. Some say they remember their past lives.
The sluggish cream wound curdling spirals through her tea. Better remind her of the word : metempsychosis. An example would be better. An example?
The Bath of the Nymph over the bed. Given away with the Easter number
# The Annotated "Ulysses"/Page 058

His hand accepted the moist tender gland and slid it into a sidepocket. Then it fetched up three coins from his trousers’ pocket and laid them on the rubber prickles. They lay, were read quickly and quickly slid, disc by disc, into the till.
— Thank you, sir. Another time.
A speck of eager fire from foxeyes thanked him. He withdrew his gaze after an instant. No : better not : another time.
— Good morning, he said, moving away.
— Good morning, sir.
No sign. Gone. What matter?
He walked back along Dorset street, reading gravely. Agendath Netaim : planters’ company. To purchase waste sandy tracts from Turkish government and plant with eucalyptus trees. Excellent for shade, fuel and construction. Orangegroves and immense melonfields north of Jaffa. You pay eight marks and they plant a dunam of land for you with olives, oranges, almonds or citrons. Olives cheaper : oranges need artificial irrigation. Every year you get a sending of the crop. Your name entered for life as owner in the book of the union. Can pay ten down and the balance in yearly instalments. Bleibtreu- strasse 34, Berlin, W, I5.
Nothing doing. Still an idea behind it.
He looked at the cattle, blurred in silver heat. Silvered powdered olive- trees. Quiet long days : pruning ripening. Olives are packed in jars, eh? I have a few left from Andrews. Molly spitting them out. Knows the taste of them now. Oranges in tissue paper packed in crates. Citrons too. Wonder is poor Citron still alive in Saint Kevin’s parade. And Mastiansky with the old cither. Pleasant evenings we had then. Molly in Citron’s basketchair. Nice to hold, cool waxen fruit, hold in the hand, lift it to the nostrils and smell the perfume. Like that, heavy, sweet, wild perfume. Always the same, year after year. They fetched high prices too Moisel told me. Arbutus place : Pleasants street : pleasant old times. Must be without a flaw, he said. Coming all that way : Spain, Gibraltar, Mediterranean, the Levant. Crates lined up on the quayside at Jaffa, chap ticking them off in a book, navvies handling them in soiled dungarees. There’s whatdoyoucallhim out of. How do you? Doesn’t see. Chap you know just to salute bit of a bore. His back is like that Norwegian captain’s. Wonder if I’ll meet him today. Watering cart. To provoke the rain. On earth as it is in heaven.
A cloud began to cover the sun wholly slowly wholly. Grey. Far.
# The Annotated "Ulysses"/Page 061

look what I found in professor Goodwin’s hat! All we laughed. Sex breaking out even then. Pert little piece she was.
He prodded a fork into the kidney and slapped it over : then fitted the teapot on the tray. Its hump bumped as he took it up. Everything on it? Bread and butter, four, sugar, spoon, her cream. Yes. He carried it upstairs, his thumb hooked in the teapot handle.
Nudging the door open with his knee he carried the tray in and set it on the chair by the bedhead.
— What a time you were? she said.
She set the brasses jingling as she raised herself briskly, an elbow on the pillow. He looked calmly down on her bulk and between her large soft bubs, sloping within her nightdress like a shegoat’s udder. The warmth of her couched body rose on the air, mingling with the fragrance of the tea she poured.
A strip of torn envelope peeped from under the dimpled pillow. In the act of going he stayed to straighten the bedspread.
— Who was the letter from? he asked.
Bold hand. Marion.
— O, Boylan, she said. He’s bringing the programme.
— What are you singing?
— Là ci darem with J. C. Doyle, she said, and Love’s Old Sweet Song.
Her full lips, drinking, smiled. Rather stale smell that incense leaves next day. Like foul flowerwater.
— Would you like the window open a little?
She doubled a slice of bread into her mouth, asking:
— What time is the funeral?
— Eleven, I think, he answered. I didn’t see the paper.
Following the pointing of her finger he took up a leg of her soiled drawers from the bed. No? Then, a twisted grey garter looped round a stocking: rum- pled, shiny sole.
— No : that book.
Other stocking. Her petticoat.
— It must have fell down, she said.
He felt here and there. Voglio e non vorrei. Wonder if she pronounces that right : voglio. Not in the bed. Must have slid down. He stooped and lifted the valance. The book, fallen, sprawled against the bulge of the orangekeyed chamberpot.
# The Annotated "Ulysses"/Page 064

Greville Arms on Saturday. There is a young student comes here some even- ings named Bannon his cousins or something are big swells he sings Boylan’s (I was on the pop of writing Blazes Boylan’s) song about those seaside girls. Tell him silly Milly sends my best respects. Must now close with fondest love.
Your fond daughter,
MILLY.
P.S. Excuse bad writing, am in a hurry. Byby.
M.
Fifteen yesterday. Curious, fifteenth of the month too. Her first birthday away from home. Separation. Remember the summer morning she was born, running to knock up Mrs Thornton in Denzille street. Jolly old woman. Lots of babies she must have helped into the world. She knew from the first poor little Rudy wouldn’t live. Well, God is good, sir. She knew at once. He would be eleven now if he had lived.
His vacant face stared pitying at the postscript. Excuse bad writing. Hurry. Piano downstairs. Coming out of her shell. Row with her in the XL Café about the bracelet. Wouldn’t eat her cakes or speak or look. Saucebox. He sopped other dies of bread in the gravy and ate piece after piece of kidney. Twelve and six a week. Not much. Still, she might do worse. Music hall stage. Young student. He drank a draught of cooler tea to wash down his meal. Then he read the letter again : twice.
O well : she knows how to mind herself. But if not? No, nothing has happened. Of course it might. Wait in any case till it does. A wild piece of goods. Her slim legs running up the staircase. Destiny. Ripening now. Vain : very.
He smiled with troubled affection at the kitchen window. Day I caught her in the street pinching her cheeks to make them red. Anemic a little. Was given milk too long. On the Erin’s King that day round the Kish. Damned old tub pitching about. Not a bit funky. Her pale blue scarf loose in the wind with her hair.
                All dimpled cheek’s and curls,
                Your head it simply swirls.
Seaside girls. Torn envelope. Hands stuck in his trousers’ pockets, jarvey off for the day, singing. Friend of the family. Swurls, he says. Pier with lamps, summer evening, band,

## Annotations

"Seaside girls. . . . Swurls"
A song by Harry B. Norris "Those Seaside Girls" (1899) is recurrently quoted. Cf. Page 065; the "Hades" episode, Page 105; and the "Sirens" episode, moreover.
# The Annotated "Ulysses"/Page 056

He approached Larry O’Rourke’s. From the cellar grating floated up the flabby gush of porter. Through the open doorway the bar squirted out whiffs of ginger, teadust, biscuitmush. Good house, however : just the end of the city traffic. For instance M’Auley’s down there : n. g. as position. Of course if they ran a tramline along the North Circular from the cattle market to the quays value would go up like a shot.
Bald head over the blind. Cute old codger. No use canvassing him for an ad. Still he knows his own business best. There he Is, sure enough, my bold Larry, leaning against the sugarbin in his shirtsleeves watching the aproned curate swab up with mop and bucket. Simon Dedalus takes him off to a tee with his eyes screwed up. Do you know what I’m going to tell you? What’s that, Mr O’Rourke? Do you know what? The Russians, they’d only be an eight o’clock breakfast for the Japanese.
Stop and say a word : about the funeral perhaps. Sad thing about poor Dignam, Mr O’Rourke.
Turning into Dorset street he said freshly in greeting through the doorway :
— Good day, Mr O’Rourke.
— Good day to you.
— Lovely weather, sir.
— ’Tis all that.
Where do they get the money? Coming up redheaded curates from the county Leitrim, rinsing empties and old man in the cellar. Then, lo and behold, they blossom out as Adam Findlaters or Dan Tallons. Then think of the competition. General thirst. Good puzzle would be cross Dublin without passing a pub. Save it they can’t. Off the drunks perhaps. Put down three and carry five. What is that? A bob here and there, dribs and drabs. On the wholesale orders perhaps. Doing a double shuffle with the town travellers. Square it with the boss and we’ll split the job, see?
How much would that tot to off the porter in the month? Say ten barrels of stuff. Say he got ten per cent off. O more. Ten. Fifteen. He passed Saint Joseph’s, National school. Brats’ clamour. Windows open. Fresh air helps memory. Or a lilt. Ahbeesee defeegee kelomen opeecue rustyouvee double you. Boys are they? Yes. Inishturk. Inishark. Inishboffin. At their joggerfry. Mine. Slieve Bloom.
He halted before Dlugacz’s window, staring at the hanks of sausages, polonies, black and white. Fifty multiplied by. The figures whitened in his mind unsolved : displeased, he let them fade. The shiny links packed with
# The Annotated "Ulysses"/Page 063

of Photo Bits : Splendid masterpiece in art colours. Tea before you put milk in. Not unlike her with her hair down : slimmer. Three and six I gave for the frame. She said it would look nice over the bed. Naked nymphs : Greece : and for instance all the people that lived then.
He turned the pages back.
— Metempsychosis, he said, is what the ancient Greeks called it. They used to believe you could be changed into an animal or a tree, for instance. What they called nymphs, for example.
Her spoon ceased to stir up the sugar. She gazed straight before her, inhaling through her arched nostrils.
— There’s a smell of burn, she said. Did you leave anything on the fire?
— The kidney! he cried suddenly.
He fitted the book roughly into his inner pocket and, stubbing his toes against the broken commode, hurried out towards the smell, stepping hastily down the stairs with a flurried stork’s legs. Pungent smoke shot up in an angry jet from a side of the pan. By prodding a prong of the fork under the kidney he detached it and turned it turtle on its back. Only a little burned. He tossed it off the pan on to a plate and let the scanty brown gravy trickle over it.
Cup of tea now. He sat down, cut and buttered a slice of the loaf. He shore away the burnt flesh and flung it to the cat. Then he put a forkful into his mouth, chewing with discernment the toothsome pliant meat. Done to a turn. A mouthful of tea. Then he cut away dies of bread, sopped one in the gravy and put it in his mouth. What was that about some young student and a picnic? He creased out the letter at his side, reading it slowly as he chewed, sopping another die of bread in the gravy and raising it to his mouth.
             Dearest Papli,
Thanks ever so much for the lovely birthday present. It suits me splendid. Everyone says I’m quite the belle in my new tam. I got mummy’s lovely box of creams and am writing, They are lovely. I am getting on swimming in the photo business now. Mr Coghlan took one of me and Mrs will send when developed. We did great biz yesterday. Fair day and all the beef to the heels were in. We are going to lough Owel on Monday with a few friends to make a scrap picnic. Give my love to mummy and to yourself a big kiss and thanks. I hear them at the piano downstairs. There is to be a concert in the
# The Annotated "Ulysses"/Page 060

— She got the things, she said.
He waited till she had laid the card aside and curled herself back slowly with a snug sigh.
— Hurry up with that tea, she said. I’m parched.
— The kettle is boiling, he said.
But he delayed to clear the chair : her striped petticoat, tossed soiled linen : and lifted all in an armful on to the foot of the bed.
As he went down the kitchen stairs she called :
— Poldy!
— What?
— Scald the teapot.
On the boil sure enough : a plume of steam from the spout. He scalded and rinsed out the teapot and put in four full spoons of tea, tilting the kettle then to let water flow in. Having set it to draw, he took off the kettle and crushed the pan flat on the live coals and watched the lump of butter slide and melt. While he unwrapped the kidney the cat mewed hungrily against him. Give her too much meat she won’t mouse. Say they won’t eat pork. Kosher. Here. He let the bloodsmeared paper fall to her and dropped the kidney amid the sizzling butter sauce. Pepper. He sprinkled it through his fingers, ringwise, from the chipped eggcup.
Then he slit open his letter, glancing down the page and over. Thanks : new tam : Mr Coghlan : lough Owel picnic : young student : Blazes Boylan’s seaside girls.
The tea was drawn. He filled his own moustachecup, sham crown Derby, smiling. Silly Milly’s birthday gift. Only five she was then. No wait : four. I gave her the amberoid necklace she broke. Putting pieces of folded brown paper in the letterbox for her. He smiled, pouring.
                O, Milly Bloom, you are my darling.
                You are my looking glass from night to morning.
                I’d rather have you without a farthing
                Than Katey Keogh with her ass and garden.
Poor old professor Goodwin. Dreadful old case. Still he was a courteous old chap. Oldfashioned way he used to bow Molly off the platform. And the little mirror in his silk hat. The night Milly brought it into the parlour. O,
# The Annotated "Ulysses"/Page 065

                Those girls, those girls,
                Those lovely seaside girls.
Milly too. Young kisses : the first. Far away now past. Mrs Marion. Reading lying back now, counting the strands of her hair, smiling, braiding.
A soft qualm regret, flowed down his backbone, increasing. Will happen, yes. Prevent. Useless : can’t move. Girl’s sweet light lips. Will happen too. He felt the flowing qualm spread over him. Useless to move now. Lips kissed, kissing kissed. Full gluey woman’s lips.
Better where she is down there : away. Occupy her. Wanted a dog to pass the time. Might take a trip down there. August bank holiday, only two and six return. Six weeks off however. Might work a press pass. Or through M’Coy.
The cat, having cleaned all her fur, returned to the meatstained paper, nosed at it and stalked to the door. She looked back at him, mewing. Wants to go out. Wait before a door sometime it will open. Let her wait. Has the fidgets. Electric. Thunder in the air. Was washing at her ear with her back to the fire too.
He felt heavy, full : then a gentle loosening of his bowels. He stood up, undoing the waistband of his trousers. The cat mewed to him.
— Miaow! he said in answer. Wait till I’m ready.
Heaviness : hot day coming. Too much trouble to fag up the stairs to the landing.
A paper. He liked to read at stool. Hope no ape comes knocking just as I’m.
In the table drawer he found an old number of Titbits. He folded it un- der his armpit, went to the door and opened it. The cat went up in soft bounds. Ah, wanted to go upstairs, curl up in a ball on the bed.
Listening, he heard her voice :
— Come, come, pussy. Come.
He went out through the backdoor into the garden : stood to listen towards the next garden. No sound. Perhaps hanging clothes out to dry. The maid was in the garden. Fine morning.
He bent down to regard a lean file of spearmint growing by the wall. Make a summerhouse here. Scarlet runners. Virginia creepers. Want to manure the whole place over, scabby soil. A coat of liver of sulphur. All soil like that
# The Annotated "Ulysses"/Page 057

forcemeat fed his gaze and he breathed in tranquilly the lukewarm breath of cooked spicy pig’s blood.
A kidney oozed bloodgouts on the willowpatterned dish : the last. He stood by the nextdoor girl at the counter. Would she buy it too, calling the items from a slip in her hand. Chapped : washing soda. And a pound and a half of Denny’s sausages. His eyes rested on her vigorous hips. Woods his name is. Wonder what he does. Wife is oldfish. New blood. No followers allowed. Strong pair of arms. Whacking a carpet on the clothesline. She does whack it, by George. The way her crooked skirt swings at each whack.
The ferreteyed porkbutcher folded the sausages he had snipped off with blotchy fingers, sausagepink. Sound meat there like a stallfed heifer.
He took up a page from the pile of cut sheets. The model farm at Kinnereth on the lakeshore of Tiberias. Can become ideal winter sanatorium. Moses Montefiore. I thought he was. Farmhouse, wall round it, blurred cattle cropping. He held the page from him : interesting : read it nearer, the title, the blurred cropping cattle, the page rustling. A young white heifer. Those mornings in the cattlemarket the beasts lowing in their pens, branded sheep, flop and fall of dung, the breeders in hobnailed boots trudging through the litter, slapping a palm on a ripemeated hindquarter, there’s a prime one, unpeeled switches in their hands. He held the page aslant patiently, bending his senses and his will, his soft subject gaze at rest. The crooked skirt swinging whack by whack by whack.
The porkbutcher snapped two sheets from the pile, wrapped up her prime sausages and made a red grimace.
— Now, my miss, he said.
She tendered a coin, smiling boldly, holding her thick wrist out.
— Thank you, my miss. And one shilling threepence change. For you, please?
Mr Bloom pointed quickly. To catch up and walk behind her if she went slowly, behind her moving hams. Pleasant to see first thing in the morning. Hurry up, damn it. Make hay while the sun shines. She stood outside the shop in sunlight and sauntered lazily to the right. He sighed down his nose : they never understand. Sodachapped hands. Crusted toenails too. Brown scapulars in tatters, defending her both ways. The sting of disregard glowed to weak pleasure within his breast. For another : a constable off duty cuddled her in Eccles’ Lane. They like them sizeable. Prime sausage. O please, Mr Policeman, I’m lost in the wood.
— Threepence, please.