ch14

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TS237-253
SC209-220
MS481-506-?513

written Dec 1904 in Pola [SL47] (chapters 14-18 were written in Pola between Dec and Feb, mostly at cafes, while working 16 hours/week at Berlitz, studying German, translating Moore's Celibates into Italian with Francini Bruni, gaining weight, getting glasses, and cultivating the appearance of a respectable professor)



The earliest surviving fragments of SH are framed as being the summer before entering University, though they seem based on two visits to Mullingar that Joyce took with his father in the summers of 1900 and 1901. In SH, the Retreat has taken place the previous December.
(Stephen smokes cigarettes in the chapter!) Again, this may indicate that in both SH and the Trieste Portrait, Joyce has shifted his first year or two of University back onto Belvedere, which they more closely resembled in terms of conformity, etc.

"new fervour of youth"

Clare Howard (there was a Howard family in the neighborhood) [j&c234] [1901]

Joyce told Stannie "Fulham is not old Sheehy-- he comes in later." [SL52, 07Feb 1905] [1901]

Joyce recycled the 'Fulham' name a few years later at the start of 'The Dead' [qv] as the landlord of the Usher's Island house-- actually a corn factor named Fagan [cite]

Fulham's house is based on Awley Bannon [j&c233]




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From the Broadstone to Mullingar is a journey of some fifty miles across the midlands of Ireland. Mullingar, the chief town of Westmeath, is the midland capital and there is a great traffic of peasants and cattle between it and Dublin. This fifty-mile journey is made by the train in about two hours and you are therefore to conceive Stephen Daedalus packed in the corner of a third-class carriage and contributing the thin fumes of his cigarettes to the already reeking atmosphere. The carriage was inhabited by a company of peasants nearly every one of whom had a bundle tied in a spotted handkerchief. The carriage smelt strongly of peasants, (an odour the debasing humanity of which Stephen remembered to have perceived in the little chapel of Clongowes on the morning of his first communion) and indeed so pungently that the youth could not decide whether he found the odour of sweat offensive because the peasant sweat is monstrous or because it did not now proceed from his own body. He was not ashamed to admit to himself that he found it offensive for both of these reasons. The peasants played with blackened edgeless cards from Broadstone onward and whenever it was time for a peasant to leave the company he took up his bundle and went out heavily through the door of the carriage, never closing it behind him. The peasants spoke little and rarely looked at the scene they passed but when they came to Maynooth Station a gentleman dressed in a frock-coat and tall hat who was giving loud directions to a porter concerning a case of machines attracted their wondering attention for several minutes.





At Mullingar Stephen took his neat little valise down from the rack and descended to the platform. When he had passed through the claws of the ticket-collectors he paused for a few moments in indecision before he was sighted by the driver of a small dark-green trap. The driver asked was he the young gentleman for Mr Fulham and on Stephen's answering 'yes' invited him to climb up beside him on the seat. So they set off easily. The trap which was not very clean jolted a good deal and Stephen looked once or twice anxiously at his oscillating valise but the driver said he need have no fear. The driver when he had said this a few times in the same words fell silent a while and then asked didn't Stephen come from Dublin. Re-assured on this point he fell silent again and began with a deliberate whip to flick flies off the ill-groomed hide between the shafts.



The trap went up the long crooked main street of the town and crossing over the bridge of the canal made out for the country. Stephen remarked that the houses were very small but catching sight of a large square building that stood in grounds closely walled he asked the driver what building it was. The driver told him it was the lunatic asylum and added impressively that there were a great many patients in it. The road wound through heavy pasture lands and in field after field Stephen saw herds of cattle fattening. Sometimes these cattle were in the charge of a drowsy peasant but oftener they were left to themselves and moved slowly from marsh to dry land and from dry land to marsh as the will took them. The little cottages along the road were covered with overblown roses and in many of the doorways there would stand a woman gazing silently over the flat country. Now and again a peasant plodding along the road would give the driver the time of day and if he judged Stephen worthy of the honour fumble at his hat. Proceeding in this manner along the dusty road the trap gradually drew near Mr Fulham's house.

lunatic asylum [info]

It was an old irregular house, barely visible from the road, and surrounded by a fair plantation. It was reached by an untended drive and the ground behind it thick with clumps of faded rhododendrons sloped down to the shore of Lough Owel. The lodge was a whitewashed cottage at the door of which a little child in a chemise sat eating a big crust of bread. The gate was open and the trap turned up the drive. After a circular tour of a few hundred yards the trap reached the door of the old discoloured house.

Lough Owel

As the trap drew up to the door a young woman advanced to meet it with a quiet dignified gait. She was dressed completely in black and her dark hair was brushed plainly off her temples. She held out her hand:



— Welcome, she said. My uncle is in the orchard. We heard the noise of the wheels.



Stephen touched her hand slightly and bowed.



— Dan, leave that valise in the hall for the present and you, Mr Daedalus, are to come along with me. I hope you are not fatigued by your journey: it is so tiresome travelling.



— Not in the least.


"Clare Howard" appears in the character list, but Mr Fulham does not (he must have been introduced/described earlier though)


She led the way along the hall and through a little glass door into a great square orchard, the nearer half of which was still a sunny region. Here, screened by a broad straw hat, Mr Fulham was discovered sitting in a basket-chair. He greeted Stephen very warmly and made the usual polite enquiries. Miss Howard had brought out a little tray containing fruit and milk and the visitor gladly ate and drank for the dust of the roads had invaded his throat. Mr Fulham asked a great many questions about Stephen's studies and tastes while Miss Howard stood beside his chair in silence. At a pause in the interrogation she took up the tray and carried it into the house. When she came back she offered to show Stephen the orchard and, Mr Fulham returning at the same moment to his newspaper, she led the way down a walk of currant-bushes. Stephen had found his godfather's questions a somewhat severe ordeal and he revenged himself on Miss Howard by a counter-fire of questions concerning the names and seasons and prospects of her plants. She answered all his questions carefully but with the same air of indifferent exactness which marked all her acts. Her presence did not awe him as it had done when he had last met her and he thought that perhaps the uncontaminated nature which he had then imagined accusing him was no more than an unusual dignity of manner. He did not find this dignity of hers very congenial and his new fervour of youth was vitally piqued by her lack of animation. He decided in favour of some definite purpose of hers and against a mechanical discharge of duties and said to himself that it would be an intellectual game for him to discover it. He set this task to himself all the more readily since he suspected that this purpose guiding her conduct must be inimical to his present genial impulses and would probably elude him out of instantaneous distrust and seek natural safety in flight. This fugitive impulse would be prey for him and at once he summoned all his faculties to the chase.


Fulham's house is based on Awley Bannon [j&c233] 

(does he discover the "definite purpose of hers"?)

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Dinner was served at half past six in a long plainly-furnished room. The table spread under a tall lamp of elegant silver-work wore an air of chaste elegance. It was a slight trial on Stephen's hunger to accept these cold manners and in the warmth of his relish for food he condemned this strange attitude of human beings as ungrateful and unnatural. The conversation was also a little mincing and Stephen heard the words 'charming' and 'nice' and 'pretty' too often to find them agreeable. He discovered the weak point in Mr Fulham's armour very soon; Mr Fulham, like most of his countrymen, was a persuaded politician. Most of Mr Fulham's neighbours were primitive types and he, in spite of the narrowness of his ideas, was regarded by them as a man of ripe culture. In a discussion which took place over a game of bézique Stephen heard his godfather explain to a more rustic proprietor the nature of the work done by the missionary fathers in civilising the Chinese people. He sustained the propositions that the Church is also the chief repository of secular culture and that the tradition of learning must derive from the monks. He saw in the pride of the Church the only refuge of men against a threatening democracy and said that Aquinas had anticipated all the discoveries of the modern world. His neighbour was puzzled to discover the whereabouts of the souls of the Chinese people in the other life but Mr Fulham left the problem at the door of God's mercy. At this stage of the discussion Miss Howard, hitherto silent, said that there were three kinds of baptism and her statement was accepted as a closure.

3 kinds of baptism: by water, blood or desire [info]



Stephen was a long time in doubt as to the motive of his godfather's patronage. The second day after his arrival as they were driving back from a tennis-tournament Mr Fulham said to him.



— Isn't Mr Tate your English professor, Stephen?

chapter nine included an "Epiphany of Mr. Tate" but he's otherwise unmentioned in SH. PoA2 includes Tate accusing SD of heresy

— Yes, sir.



— His people are in Westmeath. We often see him during holiday time. He seems to take a great interest in you.



— O, you know him then?



— Yes. He is laid up at present with a bad knee or I'd write to him to come over here. Perhaps we may drive over to see him one of these days.... He is a very well-read man, Stephen.



— Yes, said Stephen.



Tennis-tournaments, military bands, rustic cricket-matches, little flower shows were resorted to for Stephen's entertainment. At these functions he remarked that his godfather was very openly humoured and Miss Howard very respectfully courted and he began to suspect that there was money somewhere in the background. These entertainments did not amuse the youth; his manner was so quiet that often he passed unnoticed and remained unintroduced. Sometimes an officer would send a glance of impolite enquiry at the cheap-looking white shoes he wore but Stephen always looked his enemy in the face. After a short trial of eyes the youth could usually procure a truce. He was surprised to find that Miss Howard discharged her social duties with such apparent goodwill. He was displeased and disappointed to hear her make a pun one day — a pun which though it was not very clever raised a polite laugh from two scrupulous lieutenants. Mr Fulham was old and honoured enough to allow himself the luxury of admonishing publicly whenever occasion arose. One day an officer told a humorous story which was intended to poke fun at countrified ideas.



The story was this. The officer and a friend found themselves one evening surprised by a heavy shower far out on the Killucan road and forced to take refuge in a peasant's cabin. An old man was seated at the side of the fire smoking a dirty cutty-pipe which he held upside down in the corner of his mouth. The old peasant invited his visitors to come near the fire as the evening was chilly and said he could not stand up to welcome them decently as he had the rheumatics. The officer's friend who was a learned young lady observed a figure scrawled in chalk over the fireplace and asked what it was. The peasant said:


Killucan [map]


— Me grandson Johnny done that the time the circus was in the town. He seen the pictures on the walls and began pesterin' his mother for fourpence to see th' elephants. But sure when he got in an' all divil elephant was in it. But it was him drew that there.



The young lady laughed and the old man blinked his red eyes at the fire and went on smoking evenly and talking to himself:



— I've heerd tell them elephants is most natural things, that they has the notions of a Christian... I wanse seen meself a picture of niggers riding on wan of 'em— aye and beating blazes out of 'im with a stick. Begorra ye'd have more trouble with the childre is in it now that with one of thim big fellows.

peasants

The young lady who was much amused began to tell the peasant about the animals of prehistoric times. The old man heard her out in silence and then said slowly:



— Aw, there must be terrible quare craythurs at the latther ind of the world.



Stephen thought that the officer told this story very well and he joined in the laugh that followed it. But Mr Fulham was not of his opinion and spoke out against the moral of the story rather sententiously.



— It is easy to laugh at the peasant. He is ignorant of many things which the world thinks important. But we mustn't forget at the same time, Captain Starkie, that the peasant stands perhaps nearer to the true ideal of a Christian life than many of us who condemn him.



— I do not condemn him, answered Captain Starkie, but I am amused.



— Our Irish peasantry, continued Mr Fulham with conviction, is the backbone of the nation.





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peasants

Backbone or not, it was in the constant observance of the peasantry that Stephen chiefly delighted. Physically, they were almost Mongolian types, tall, angular and oblique-eyed. Stephen whenever he walked behind a peasant always looked first for the prominent cheek-bones that seemed to cut the air and the peasants in their turn must have recognized metropolitan features for they stared very hard at the youth as if he were some rare animal. One day Dan was sent into the town to buy some medicine at the druggist’s and Stephen went in with him. The trap stopped in the main street before the druggist’s and Dan handed down the order to a ragged boy telling him to take it into the shop. The ragged boy first showed the paper to an equally ragged friend and then went into the shop. When they came out they stood at the door of the shop gazing alternately from Stephen to the horse’s tail and back again. While they were thus gazing they were confronted by a lame beggar who advanced towards them gripping his stick:



— It was yous called out names after me yestherday.



The two children huddling in the doorway, gazed at him and answered:



— No, sir.



— O yes it was, though.



The beggar thrust his malign face down at their faces and began moving his stick up and down.



— But mind what I'm tellin' you. D'ye see that stick?



— Yes, sir.



— Well, if ye call out after me the next time I'll cut yez open with that stick. I'll cut the livers out of ye. He prodeeded to explain himself to the frightened children.



— D’ye hear me now? I’ll cut ye open with that stick. I’ll cut the livers and the lights out of ye.


    "In Mullingar: an evening in autumn
    The Lame Beggar-- (gripping his stick) ...It was you called out after me yesterday.
    The Two Children-- (gazing at him) ...No, sir.
    The Lame Beggar-- O, yes it was, though... (moving his stick up and down) ...But mind what I'm telling you... D'ye see that stick?
    The Two Children-- Yes, sir.
    The Lame Beggar-- Well, if ye call out after me any more I'll cut ye open with that stick. I'll cut the livers out o' ye... (explains himself) ...D'ye hear me? I'll cut ye open. I'll cut the livers and the lights out o' ye." [more]




This incident was stolidly admired by a few bystanders who made way for the beggar as he limped along the footpath. Dan, who had watched the scene from the trap, now descended to the ground and asking Stephen to look to the horse went into a very dirty public-house. Stephen sat alone in the car thinking of the beggar's face. He had never before seen such evil expressed in a face. He had sometimes watched the faces of prefects as they 'pandied' boys with a broad leather bat but those faces had seemed to him less malicious than stupid, dutifully inflamed faces. The recollection of the beggar's sharp eyes struck a fine chord of terror in the youth and he set himself to whistle away the keen throb of it. After a few minutes a fat young man with a very red head came out of the druggist's shop holding two neat parcels. Stephen recognized Nash and Nash testified that he recognized Stephen by changing complexion very painfully. Stephen could have enjoyed his old enemy's discomfiture had he chosen but disdaining to do so he held out his hand instead. Nash was junior assistant in the shop and when he learned that Stephen was on a visit to Mr Fulham his manner was tinged with discreet respectfulness. Stephen, however, soon put him at his ease and when Dan emerged from the grimy public-house the two were engaged in familiar chat. Nash said Mullingar was the last place God made, a God-forgotten hole, and asked Stephen how he could stick it.

pandying is mentioned for first time!

— I only wish I was back again in Dublin, that's all I know.



— How do you amuse yourself here? asked Stephen.



— Amuse yourself? You can't. There's nothing here.



— But haven't you concerts sometimes? The first day I came here I saw some bills up about a concert.



— O, that's off. Father Lohan put the boot on that — the P.P. you know.



— Why did he?



— O, you better ask him that. He says his parishioners don't want comic songs and skirt dances. If they want a decent concert, he says, they can get one up in the school-house, — O, he bosses them, I tell you.



— O, is that the way?



— They're afraid of their life of him. If he hears any dancing in a house at night he raps at the window and pouf! out goes the candle.



— By Jove!



— Fact. You know he has a collection of girl's hats.



— Girl's hats!



— Yes. Of an evening when the girls go out walking with the soldiers he goes out too and any girl he catches hold of he snaps off her hat and takes it back with him to the priest's house then if the girl goes to ask him for it he gives her a proper blowing-up.



— Good man!... Well, we must be off now. I suppose I'll see you again.



— Come in tomorrow, will you: it's a short day. And I'll tell you I'll introduce you to a friend of mine here — very decent sort — on the Examiner. You'll like him.



— Very good. Until then!



— So long! About two o'clock.



As they drove home together Stephen asked Dan some questions which Dan pretended not to hear and when Stephen pressed him for answers he gave the shortest possible answers. It was plain that he did not care to discuss his spiritual superior and Stephen had to desist.




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That evening at dinner Mr Fulham was in genial spirits and began to address his conversation pointedly to Stephen. Mr Fulham's method of 'drawing' his interlocutor was not a very delicate method but Stephen saw what was expected of him and merely waited till he was directly addressed. A neighbour had come to dinner, a Mr Heffernan. Mr Heffernan was not at all of his host's way of thinking and therefore the evening brought out some lively disputes. Mr Heffernan's son was learning Irish because he believed that the Irish people should speak their own language and not the language of their conquerors.


plenty of Heffernans in Westmeath but none knew Irish [1901]


— But the people of the United States who are more emancipated than Ireland is ever likely to be are content to speak English, said Mr Fulham.



— The Americans are different. They have no language to revive.



— For my part I am content with my conquerors.



— Because you occupy a good position under them. You are not a labourer. You enjoy the fruits of Nationalist agitation.



— Perhaps you are going to tell me that all men are equal, said Mr Fulham satirically.



— In a sense they may be.



— Nonsense, my dear sir. Our countrymen know nothing of the Reformation, as they call it, and I hope they will know nothing of the French Revolution either.



Mr Heffernan returned to the charge.



— But surely it is no harm for them to know something about their country — its traditions, its local history, its language!



— For those who have leisure it may be good. But you know I am a great enemy of disloyal movements. Our lot is thrown in with England.



— The young generation is not of your opinion. My son, Pat, is studying in Clonliffe at present and he tells me all the young students there, those who are to be our priests afterwards, have these ideas.


Clonliffe = Holy Cross College [map] [wiki]

— The Catholic Church, my dear sir, will never incite to rebellion. But here is one of the young generation. Let him speak.



— I care nothing for these principles of nationalism, said Stephen. I have enough bodily liberty.



— But do you feel no duty to your mother-country, no love for her? asked Mr Heffernan.



— Honestly, I don't.



— You live then like an animal without reason! exclaimed Mr Heffernan.



— My own mind, answered Stephen, is more interesting to me than the entire country.



— Perhaps you think your mind is more important than Ireland!



— I do, certainly.



— These are strange ideas of your godson's, Mr Fulham. May I ask did the Jesuits teach you them.



— The Jesuits taught me other things, reading and writing.



— And religion also?



— Naturally. 'What doth it profit a man to gain the whole world if he lose his soul?'



— Nothing, of course. That is quite so. But humanity has claims on us. We have a duty to our neighbour. We have received a commandment of charity.



— I hear so, said Stephen, at Christmas. Mr Fulham laughed at this and Mr Heffernan was stung.



— I may not have read as much as you, Mr Fulham, or even as much as you, young man, but I believe that the noblest love a man can have, of course after the love of God, is love of his native land.



— Jesus was not of your opinion, Mr Heffernan, said Stephen.



— You speak very boldly, young man, said Mr Heffernan reprovingly.



— I am not afraid to speak openly, answered Stephen, even of the parish priest.



— You use the Holy Name glibly for one so young.



— Not in execration. I mean what I say. The ideal presented to mankind by Jesus is one of self-denial, of purity, and of solitude; the ideal you present to us is one of revenge, of passion and of immersion in worldly affairs.



— It seems to me that Stephen is right, said Miss Howard.



— I can see, said Mr Fulham, what these movements tend to.



— It is impossible for us all to live the lives of hermits! exclaimed Mr Heffernan desperately.



— We can combine the two lives by living as a Catholic should, doing our duty to God first and then the duties of our station in life, said Mr Fulham, leaning comfortably on the last phrase.



— You can be a patriot, Mr Heffernan, said Stephen, without accusing those who do not agree with you of irreligion.



— I never accused...



— Come now, said Mr Fulham genially, we all understand each other.



Stephen had enjoyed this little skirmish: it had been a pastime for him to turn the guns of orthodoxy upon the orthodox ranks and see how they would stand the fire. Mr Heffernan seemed to him a typical Irishman of the provinces; assertive and fearful, sentimental and rancourous, idealist in speech and realist in conduct. Mr Fulham was harder to understand. His championing of the Irish peasant was full of zealous patronage, his ardour for the Church was implicit with his respect for feudal distinctions, and his natural submission to what he regarded as the dispenser of these distinctions. He would enforce his aristocratic notions in a homely way:



— Come now, Mr So and So, you buy cattle on fair-day in the town?



— Yes.



— And you go the racecourse and make a bet or two as you fancy?



— I must admit I do.



— And you pride yourself on knowing a thing or two about coursing?



— I think I do.



— Then how can you say there is no aristocracy of breed in men since you know it exists in animals?



Mr Fulham's pride was the pride of the burgher in the costly burdensome canopy which he has exerted and loves to sustain. He had affection for the feudal machinery and desired nothing better than that it should crush him — a common wish of the human adorer whether he cast himself under Juggernaut or pray God with tears of affection to mortify him or swoon under the hand of his mistress. To the sensitive inferior his charity would have offered intolerable pain of mind and yet the giver would use neither the air nor the language of the self-righteous. His conceptions of human relations might perhaps have passed for a progressive conception in the ages when the earth was thought to be scaphoid and had he lived then he might have been reputed the most enlightened of slave-owners. As Stephen watched the old man gravely handing his snuff-box to Mr Heffernan, and the latter perforce appeased, inserting a large hand therein he thought:

"scaphoid" = boatshaped

— My godfather is the Papal ambassador to Westmeath.




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Nash was waiting for him at the door of the shop and they walked down the main street together towards the Examiner office. In the window a white fox-terrier's head could be seen over a dirty brown blind and his intelligent eyes were the only signs of life in the office. Mr Garvey was sent for and presently sent in word that his two visitors were to come into the Greville Arms. Mr Garvey was found sitting at the bar with his hat pushed far back from a glowing forehead. He was 'chaffing' the barmaid but when his visitors entered he stood up and shook hands with them. Then he insisted on their joining him in a drink. The barmaid was 'chaffed' again by Mr Garvey and by Nash but always within limits. She was a genteel young person of a very tempting figure. While she was polishing glasses she indulged in flirty, gossipy conversation with the young men: she seemed to have the life of the town at her fingers' ends. She reproved Mr Garvey once or twice for levity and asked Stephen wasn't it a shame for a married man. Stephen said it was and began to count the buttons of her blouse. The barmaid said Stephen was a nice sensible young man not a gadabout fellow and smiled very sweetly over her brisk napkin. After a while the young men left the bar, first touching the fingertips of the barmaid and raising their hats.

fox terrier

Greville Arms

touching fingertips goodbye

Mr Garvey whistled the terrier out of the office and they set out for a walk. Mr Garvey wore heavy boots and he plodded along sturdily in them, tapping the road with his stick. The road and the actual sultry day had made him sensible and he gave the younger men some sound advice.

epiphanies used: Examiner editor (realname Michael Tobin)

28yo in 1901

— After all, there's nothing like marriage for making a fellow steady. Before I got this sit on the Examiner here I used knock about with the lads and boose bit... You know, he said to Nash — Nash nodded.


"Mullingar: a Sunday in July: noon
Tobin-- (walking noisily with thick boots and tapping the road with his stick) ...O there's nothing like marriage for making a fellow steady. Before I came here to the Examiner I used to knock about with fellows and boose... Now I've a good house and... I go home in the evening and if I want a drink... well, I can have it... My advice to every young fellow that can afford it is: marry young." [more]


— Now I've a good house, said Mr Garvey, and... I go home in the evening and if I want a drink... well, I can have it. My advice to every young fellow that can afford it is: marry young.



— There's something in that, said Nash, when you've had your fling, that is.



— O, yes, said Mr Garvey. By the bye I hope you'll come and see me some evening and bring your friend. You'll come, Mr Daedalus? The missus'll be glad to see you: she plays a bit, you know.



Stephen mumbled his thanks and decided that he would endure severe bodily pain rather than visit Mr Garvey.



Mr Garvey began then to tell some press stories. When he heard from Nash that Stephen was inclined for writing he said:



— You take my tip: shorthand.



He told many stories illustrating his own smartness at his business and said that he had once got a 'par' into a London morning paper and got paid well for it by return of post.



— These English chaps, you know, they know how to do business. Pay good money too.



The day was very hot and the town seemed dozing in the heat but when the young men came to the canal bridge they noticed a crowd collected some fifty yards off on the canal bank. A butcher's boy was telling a circle of workmen about it.

canal bank

— I seen her first. I noticed something — a long-looking green thing lying among the weeds and I went for Joe CoghIan. Him and me tried to get it up but it was too heavy. So then what did we do but I thought if we could only get the lend of a pole off someone. So Joe and me, then, went down to the back of Slater's yard...


the drowning actually took place on 19Jul00 [j&c229]

A pace or two from the brink of the water a thing was lying on the bank partly covered by a brown sack. It was the body of a woman: the face was to the ground and from the thick black hair a pool of water had oozed out. The body was curved upwards with legs abroad but over [...] someone had drawn down the [...] nightdress. The woman had escaped from the asylum the night before and Stephen heard many criticisms of the nurses.



— It's be better for 'em mind the patients than traipsing about with every Tom, Dick and Harry of a doctor.



— It's them has the style.



Mr Garvey's dog wanted to sniff the body but Mr Garvey kicked him heavily and the dog curled up yelping. Then there was silence for some time, everyone remaining at his post watching the corpse, until a voice said 'Here's the doctor!' A stout well-dressed man came down the path quickly without acknowledging the salutes of the people and after a few moments Stephen heard him saying the woman was dead and telling the people to get a cart and have the body taken away. The three young men then continued their walk but Stephen had to be waited for and called to. He remained behind gazing into the canal near the feet of the body, looking at a fragment of paper on which was printed: The Lamp a magazine for... the rest was torn away and several other pieces of paper were floating about in the water.

"The Lamp" was a Canadian Theosophical monthly (?!) [gBooks]

The afternoon was well advanced before the young men separated. Stephen bade his friends goodbye, promising to renew acquaintance very soon, and took a path through the fields. The ground was very treacherous and he slipped often into bog-water. However he found a broad highway over the bog and here he was as secure as on the road. The sun was declining and against the deep gold of the western sky the figures of some bending turf-cutters were outlined. He reached Mr Fulham's house by a back road and climbing over the fence came up through a little wood. As he walked on the soft grass he made no noise. At the edge of the wood he stood still. Miss Howard was leaning on the high painted gate facing the sunset. The full glow of the sunset had covered her sombre vesture with streaks of rust and scattered spangles of rust upon her sombre hair. Stephen came towards her but when he was a few paces

turf cutters

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