At this pertinent suggestion， Mr Bloom， to change the subject， looked down， but in a quandary， as he couldn't tell exactly what construction to put on belongs to which sounded rather a far cry. The rebuke of some kind was clearer than the other part. Needless to say， the fumes of his recent orgy spoke then with some asperity in a curious bitter way， foreign to his sober state. Probably the home life， to which Mr Bloom attached the utmost importance， had not been all that was needful or he hadn't been familiarised with the right sort of people. With a touch of fear for the young man beside him， whom he furtively scrutinised with an air of some consternation remembering he had just come back from Paris， the eyes more especially reminding him forcibly of father and sister， failing to throw much light on the subject， however， he brought to mind instances of cultured fellows that promised so brilliantly， nipped in the bud of premature decay， and nobody to blame but themselves. For instance， there was the case of O'Callaghan， for one， the half crazy faddist， respectably connected， though of inadequate means， with his mad vagaries， among whose other gay doings when rotto and making himself a nuisance to everybody all round he was in the habit of ostentatiously sporting in public a suit of brown paper (a fact). And then the usual dénouement after the fun had gone on fast and furious he got landed into hot water and had to be spirited away by a few friends， after a strong hint to a blind horse from John Mallon of Lower Castle Yard， so as not to be made amenable under section two of the Criminal Law Amendment Act， certain names of those subpoenaed being handed in but not divulged， for reasons which will occur to anyone with a pick of brains. Briefly， putting two and two together， six sixteen， which he pointedly turned a deaf ear to， Antonio and so forth， jockeys and esthetes and the tattoo which was all the go in the seventies or thereabouts， even In the House of Lords， because early in life the occupant of the throne， then heir apparent， the other members of the upper ten and other high personages simply following in the footsteps of the head of the state， he reflected about the errors of notorieties and crowned heads running counter to morality such as the Cornwall case a number of years before under their veneer in a way scarcely intended by nature， a thing good Mrs Grundy as the law stands was terribly down on， though not for the reason they thought they were probably， whatever it was， except women chiefly， who were always fiddling more or less at one another， it being largely a matter of dress and all the rest of it. Ladies who like distinctive underclothing should， and every well tailored man must， trying to make the gap wider between them by innuendo and give more of a genuine fillip to acts of impropriety between the two， she unbuttoned his and then he untied her， mind the pin， whereas savages in the cannibal islands， say， at ninety degrees in the shade not caring a continental. However， reverting to the original， there were on the other hand others who had forced their way to the top from the lowest rung by the aid of their bootstraps. Sheer force of natural genius， that. With brains， sir.
For which and further reasons he felt it was interest and duty even to wait on and profit by the unlooked for occasion， though why， he could not exactly tell， being， as it was， already several shillings to the bad， having， in fact， let himself in for it. Still， to cultivate the acquaintance of someone of no uncommon calibre who could provide food for reflection would amply repay any small... Intellectual stimulation as such was， he felt， from time to time a firstrate tonic for the mind. Added to which was the coincidence of meeting， discussion， dance， row， old salt， of the here today and gone tomorrow type， night loafers， the whole galaxy of events， all went to make up a miniature cameo of the world we live in， especially as the lives of the submerged tenth， viz.， coalminers， divers， scavengers， etc.， were very much under the microscope lately. To improve the shining hour he wondered whether he might meet with anything approaching the same luck as Mr Philip Beaufoy if taken down in writing. Suppose he were to pen something out of the common groove (as he fully intended doing) at the rate of one guinea per column， My Experiences， let us say， in a Cabman's Shelter.
The pink edition， extra sporting， of the Telegraph， tell a graphic lie， lay， as luck would have it， beside his elbow and as he was just puzzling again， far from satisfied， over a country belonging to him and the preceding rebus the vessel came from Bridgwater and the postcard was addressed to A. Boudin， find the captain's age， his eyes went aimlessly over the respective captions which came under his special province， the allembracing give us this day our daily press. First he got a bit of a start but it turned out to be only something about somebody named H. du Boyes， agent for typewriters or something like that. Great battle Tokio. Lovemaking in Irish #200 damages. Gordon Bennett. Emigration swindle. Letter from His Grace William. Ascot Throwaway recalls Derby of '92 when Captain Marshall's dark horse， Sir Hugo ， captured the blue riband at long odds. New York disaster， thousand lives lost. Foot and Mouth. Funeral of the late Mr Patrick Dignam.
So to change the subject he read about Dignam， R.I.P.， which， he reflected， was anything but a gay sendoff.
