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Updated: June 29, 2025
I hope it wasn't any near relation. May as well get her sympathy. Dignam, Mr Bloom said. An old friend of mine. He died quite suddenly, poor fellow. Heart trouble, I believe. Funeral was this morning. Your funeral's tomorrow While you're coming through the rye. Diddlediddle dumdum Diddlediddle... Sad to lose the old friends, Mrs Breen's womaneyes said melancholily.
The train's due the very time the funeral's to start, but that train's always late, though they say the ingine-driver is an Orangeman! And the funeral will start at the time fixed, or I don't know the boys that belong to the lodge. So it's up to We, Us & Co. to see the thing through, or go bust. It don't suit me.
'And the funeral's to-morrow? I queried. 'Yes, yes, to-morrow, to-morrow we bury our dear one! The procession will leave the house precisely at eleven o'clock in the morning.... From here to the church of St. Nicholas on Hen's Legs... what strange names your Russian churches do have, you know! Then to the last resting-place in mother earth. You will come!
But in little ways, an' because it was secunt nature, just helpin', helpin', helpin' ... Mis' Holcomb-that-was-Mame-Bliss, Liddy Ember, Abagail Arnold an' her husband, that was alive then, hurryin' to open the home bakery to catch the funeral trade on the funeral's way back, Amanda an' Timothy Toplady rattlin' by in the wagon an' 'most likely scrappin' over the new springs ... an' all of 'em salt good at heart.
The whole affair vividly brought to my mind that description of the 'Gondola, given so graphically by Byron, that it 'Contain'd much fun, Like mourning coaches when the funeral's done." Some years ago I witnessed the funeral of a young lady, the only child of very wealthy parents, who resided in of Bedford-square.
You are still here, then?" he went on, feeling bound to make some remark, and saying the first obvious thing. "Still busy?" "Mr. Eldrick has lent me so to speak until the funeral's over, tomorrow," answered Pratt. "There are a lot of little things in which I can be useful, you know, Mr. Collingwood.
His wife she died about nine weeks ago last Sunday, and he died day before yesterday. Funeral's going to be this afternoon. Thought ye were some of her folks from up country, when we were coming along," said the man. "Guess they won't come nigh," said the woman, scornfully; "'fraid they'd have to help provide for the children. I was half-sister to him, and I've got to take the two least ones."
"Middlin'," answered the man, a woodcutter on the Steens estate. "He took it at three in the morning and never said another word, but passed away a little under two hours agone; and the funeral's on Thursday." Roger laid down the watch and stood erect. The band in the street still thumped out the Flora tune. "Malachi," said he, "can you dance the Flora?"
As for makin' me mad well, don't you flatter yourself. A moskeeter can pester me, but he don't make me mad but once and his funeral's held right afterwards. Now trot along and keep in the shade much as you can. You're so fresh the sun might spile you." The boy, looking rather foolish, laughed and drove out of the yard. Seth, his arms full, went back to the kitchen.
That is how the working-man dies still; though sometimes he is now buoyed up by the thought of his funeral's grandeur. "A certain playful devilry of spirit," "a ceaseless militancy" for life or death those are the best regulations. Just escaped from the prison-house of Russia, I had reached Marseilles.
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