Портрет художника в юности

           Howsadandhowbeautiful!Hewantedtocryquietlybutnotforhimself:forthewords,sobeautifulandsad,likemusic.Thebell!Thebell!Farewell!Ofarewell!

           ThecoldsunlightwasweakerandBrotherMichaelwasstandingathisbedsidewithabowlofbeef-tea.Hewasgladforhismouthwashotanddry.Hecouldhearthemplayingintheplaygrounds.Andthedaywasgoingoninthecollegejustasifhewerethere.

           ThenBrotherMichaelwasgoingawayandthefellowoutofthethirdofgrammartoldhimtobesureandcomebackandtellhimallthenewsinthepaper.HetoldStephenthathisnamewasAthyandthathisfatherkeptalotofracehorsesthatwerespiffingjumpersandthathisfatherwouldgiveagoodtiptoBrotherMichaelanytimehewanteditbecauseBrotherMichaelwasverydecentandalwaystoldhimthenewsoutofthepapertheygoteverydayupinthecastle.Therewaseverykindofnewsinthepaper:accidents,shipwrecks,sports,andpolitics.

           —Nowitisallaboutpoliticsinthepapers,hesaid.Doyourpeopletalkaboutthattoo?

           —Yes,Stephensaid.

           —Minetoo,hesaid.

           Thenhethoughtforamomentandsaid:

           —Youhaveaqueername,Dedalus,andIhaveaqueernametoo,Athy.Mynameisthenameofatown.YournameislikeLatin.

           Thenheasked:

           —Areyougoodatriddles?

           Stephenanswered:

           —Notverygood.