— He has shares in the Tivoli, — said, and it was he got up that match between Keogh-Bennett boxing match. I heard he made a hundred quid over it, laying the odds. He spread the report Myler was on the beer and by God he was training all the time. Did you see that match?
— I did not.
— Myler dusted the floor with him. |1Heenan and Sayers was only a fool to it.1| A grand sight it was, to see the little chap standing up to him not up to his navel, and the big fellow swiping. Jesus, he gave him one puck in the wind |1right in the navel |aQueensberry rules and all,a|1| made him puke what he never ate.
was a memorable
Handicapped as he was by lack of poundage Dublin's pet lamb made up for it
by superlative skill in ringcraft. The final
claret round was a
gruelling for both champions. Bennett had tapped
claret in the
of fireworks1| and
Myler came on looking groggy. The soldier
got to business, leading off with a powerful left jab to which Myler retaliated by shooting out |1at a stiff one to1| Bennett's face. The latter ducked but the Dubliner lifted him with a left hook, the punch being a fine one. The men came to grips and the |1round bout1| ended with Bennett on the ropes|1, and1| Myler punishing him. The Englishman was well drenched with water and when the whistle went came on |1refreshed gamey1| and full of pluck. It was a fight to a finish. The men fought like |1demons tigers1| and the excitement was terrific. After a rapid exchange of blows |1during1| which a clever upper cut of the military man brought blood freely from his opponent's mouth the lamb suddenly landed a terrific left to Bennett's stomach which floored him flat. |1It was a |aclean & clever knockout knockout clean & clevera|.1| Amid tense excitement the Shropshire boy was counted out and Myler declared the winner amid the frenzied plaudits of the public who broke through the ringropes and fairly mobbed him with delight.
— I wouldn't like to see that, — said. And those butting matches they have in California, going for each heads down like a bull at a gate.
— And bullfighting, Mr B—, and cockfighting all those
sports are terribly inhuman and hare hunting
— Well, yes, of course …
— What about bughunting, — asked with a grin.
— Cimex lectularius, L— put in
— Isn't it what you call brain versus brawn
— |1They're They are1| simply disgusting, Bloom said. Brutal.
He walked to …
— Did you twig the one I gave him? — said, about the buggy jews?
— Still and all, — said, he's a humane chap.
— He is that, — said sourly.
He'd shove a
soft hand under a hen. But I'd like to see him in the
f nine acres in a hurley scrap.
|1Gara. Klooklooklook. Black Liz is our hen. She lays eggs for us. When she lays her egg she is so glad. Gara klooklooklook. Then comes good uncle Leo. She puts his hand under black Liz and takes her fresh egg. Gara klooklooklook.1|
He sang the Pæan of the Games of the Gael: he sang the Deeds of his Prowess. Youthful he drove the Wolf and the Boar: in the |1chace Chace1| he led the |1knights Knights1| of Uladh. From his godlike |1shoulder Shoulder1| sped the Stone: terrible, swift as the Glance of Balor.
— Ay, that's a fact, — bore out. |1He was.1| How many feet could you put it?
— And that's what |1you we1| want in Ireland today. Fine open air games. Irish games. Irish strength and skills. Hurley, Gaelic, slogger, soccer. Racy of the soil. That's what'll build up men Ireland a nation once again.
A most interesting discussion took place in the ancient hall of —
under the auspices of Cumann na Gadhael on the revival of ancient Gaelic sports
and the importance of physical culture, as understood in
ancient |1times Greece and Rome and Ireland1|, for the development of the race. The venerable president of the ancient order of hibernians brother Michael Cusack was in the chair and the attendance was of large dimensions. After an instructive discourse f by the chairman a most |1interesting and1| instructive discussion ensued as to the desirability of |1reviving revivability1| the ancient games and sports of our old |1ancient1| Irish forefathers. |1J. Hynes The wellknown |a& highly respecteda| worker in the cause of our old |alanguage tonguea|, Mr Joseph |aF.X. McCarthya| Hynes1| made an eloquent appeal in favour for the resuscitation of the ancient Gaelic sports and pastimes as calculated to revive the best |1racy of the soil1| traditions of manly strength and prowess handed down to us from ancient times. L Bloom having espoused the negative the chairman brought the discussion to a close and, in response to repeated requests |1and hearty plaudits1| from all parts of the house, by a remarkably noteworthy rendering of Thomas Osborne Davis's immortal anthem A Nation Once Again |1in the execution of which the veteran patriot champion may be said without fear of contradiction to have fairly excelled himself1|. The timehonoured |1His The venerable patriot champion's1| stentorian notes were heard to the greatest advantage |1in the grand old song1| and |1both1| the timehonoured anthem |1itself1| |1and the superb highclass vocalism1| |1was were1| vociferously applauded by the |1large1| audience among whom were to be noticed many prominent members of the clergy as well as representatives of the press and the bar and of the other learned professions. The proceedings then terminated.