"peace, perfect peace"

(548.19-550.7)  Today, HCE continues the narrative of his life with ALP.  Following their wedding, he outfitted her with fine, name-brand clothing, jewelry, and undergarments (e.g., "trancepearances such as women cattle bare and peltries piled, the peak of Pim's and Slyne's and Sparrow's, loomends day lumineused luxories on looks" and a necklace of "shells of moyles marine to swing their saysangs in her silents").  Candles were lit to light the streets, and peace and plenty came to the country:  "for days there was no night for nights were days and our folk had rest from Blackheathen and the pagans from the prince of pacis:  what was trembling sod quaked no more, what were frozen loins were stirred and lived."  Even time itself appeared to cease its gloomy march, as the days and months lost their negativity:  "gone the septuor, dark deadly dismal doleful desolate dreadful desperate, no more the tolvmaans, bloody gloomy hideous fearful furious alarming terrible mournful sorrowful frightful appaling."  Instead, there was "peace, perfect peace."

HCE bottled up the sea water and served it in his pub.  He settled in Dublin, he says, with "the little crither of my hearth."  He fed her generously with both knowledge and food, and she drew the praise of HCE's patrons.  The passage ends with an interruption from the four young chaps, who begrudgingly give HCE some credit as one notes that the "S.S. Paudraic's in the harbour," perhaps indicating that it's nearly time for our ship to sail (which makes sense, since there's less than five pages left in this chapter).