"From Gillen's hairdresser's window a composite portrait shows him gallant Nelson's image."

"A concave mirror at the side presents to him lovelorn longlost lugubru Booloohoom."

"Grave Gladstone sees him level, Bloom for Bloom."

"He passes, struck by the stare of truculent Wellington,"

"but in the convex mirror grin unstruck the bonham eyes and fatchuck cheekchops of jollypoldy the rixdix dolly.

At Antonio Pabaiotti's door Bloom halts, sweated under the bright arclamp. He disappears. In a moment he reappears and hurries on.)


Fish and taters. N. g. Ah!

(He disappears into Olhausen's, the porkbutcher's, under the downcoming rollshutter. A few moments later he emerges from under the shutter, puffing Poldy, blowing Bloohoom."

"In each hand he holds a parcel, one containing a lukewarm pig's crubeen, the other a cold sheep's trotter sprinkled with wholepepper. He gasps, standing upright. Then bending to one side he presses a parcel against his ribs and groans.)

Stitch in my side. Why did I run?
(He takes breath with care and goes forward slowly towards the lampset siding. The glow leaps again.)"

What is that? A flasher? Searchlight.
(He stands at Cormack's corner, watching.)

Aurora borealis or a steel foundry? Ah, the brigade, of course. South side anyhow. Big blaze. Might be his house. Beggar's bush. We're safe." (U15.166)
"(he hums cheerfully.) London's burning, London's burning! On fire, on fire! (He catches sight of the navvy lurching through the crowd at the farther side of Talbot street.) I'll miss him. Run. Quick. Better cross here." (U15.171)
"(He darts to cross the road. Urchins shout.)

Mind out, mister!"


Bang Bang Bla Bak Blud Bugg Bloo." (U15.188)
"(The brake cracks violently. Bloom, raising a policeman's whitegloved hand, blunders stifflegged out of the track. The motorman, thrown forward, pugnosed, on the guidewheel, yells as he slides past over chains and keys.)


Hey, shitbreeches, are you doing the hat trick?
(Bloom trickleaps to the curbstone and halts again. He brushes a mudflake from his cheek with a parcelled hand.)


No thoroughfare. Close shave that but cured the stitch."

"Must take up Sandow's exercises again. On the hands down. Insure against street accident too." (U15.199)

An ad for Sandow's Exercises, and their multiple health benefits, in Pearson's Magazine.
"(A sinister figure leans on plaited legs against O'Beirne's wall, a visage unknown, injected with dark mercury. From under a wideleaved sombrero the figure regards him with evil eye.)


Bueñas noches, señorita Blanca. Que calle es esta?


(Impassive, raises a signal arm.) Password. Sraid Mabbot.


Haha. Merci. Esperanto. Slan leath. (he mutters) Gaelic league spy, sent by that fireeater."

"(He steps forward. A sackshouldered ragman bars his path. He steps left, ragsackman left.)


I beg.

(He leaps right, sackragman right.)


I beg.

(He swerves, sidles, stepaside, slips past and on.)" (U15.228)

Keep to the right, right, right. If there is a signpost planted by the Touring Club at Stepaside who procured that public boon? I who lost my way and contributed to the columns of the Irish Cyclist the letter headed In darkest Stepaside. Keep, keep, keep to the right. Rags and bones, at midnight. A fence more likely. First place murderer makes for. Wash off his sins of the world." (U15.230)

[Image courtesy of the ZJJF]

Beware of pickpockets. Old thieves' dodge. Collide. Then snatch your purse.

(The retriever approaches sniffing, nose to the ground. A sprawled form sneezes. A stooped bearded figure appears garbed in the long caftan of an elder in Zion and a smokingcap with magenta tassels. Horned spectacles hang down at the wings of the nose. Yellow poison streaks are on the drawn face.)" (U15.244)