Mike Fletcher by George Moore (ebook pc reader .txt) 📕

Impenetrable Mystery,  And Lo,  They That Have Recognized The Radiance Of

The Sinaic Splendor Expired,  As They Caught A Lightening Glimpse Of This

Crimson Light Enveloping The Sinai Of Our Revelation. Thus Hath He Who Is

The Beauty Of The All-Merciful Come Down In The Clouds Of His Testimony,

And The Decree Accomplished By Virtue Of The Will Of God,  The

All-Glorious,  The All-Wise.

Say: Step Out Of Thy Holy Chamber,  O Maid Of Heaven,  Inmate Of The Exalted

Paradise! Drape Thyself In Whatever Manner Pleaseth Thee In The Silken

Vesture Of Immortality,  And Put On,  In The Name Of The All-Glorious,  The

Broidered Robe Of Light. Hear,  Then,  The Sweet,  The Wondrous Accent Of The

Voice That Cometh From The Throne Of Thy Lord,  The Inaccessible,  The Most

High. Unveil Thy Face,  And Manifest The Beauty Of The Black-Eyed Damsel,

And Suffer Not The Servants Of God To Be Deprived Of The Light Of Thy

Shining Countenance. Grieve Not If Thou Hearest The Sighs Of The Dwellers

Of The Earth,  Or The Voice Of The Lamentation Of The Denizens Of Heaven.

Leave Them To Perish On The Dust Of Extinction. Let Them Be Reduced To

Nothingness,  Inasmuch As The Flame Of Hatred Hath Been Kindled Within

Their Breasts. Intone,  Then,  Before The Face Fellow So-And-So Is; You Do Meet A Nice Lot

Of Fellows In The Temple,  Don't You?" It Seemed Almost Sufficient

That A Man Should Belong To The Temple For L'estrange To Find Him

Admirable. The Dinners In Hall Were Especially Delightful. Between

The Courses He Looked In Admiration On The Portraits And Old Oak

Carvings,  And The Armorial Bearings,  And Would Tell How One Bencher

Had Been Debarred From Election As Treasurer Because He Had,  On Three

Occasions,  Attended Dinner Without Partaking Of Any Food. Such An

Insult To The Kitchen Could Not Be Forgiven. L'estrange Was Full Of

Such Stories,  And He Relished Their Historical Flavour As A Gourmet

An Unusually Successful Piece Of Cooking. He Regarded The Temple And

Its Associations With Love.

When He Had Friends To Dinner In His Rooms The Dinner Was Always

Brought From The Hall; He Ordered It Himself In The Large Spacious

Kitchen,  Which He Duly Admired,  And Prying About Amid The Various

Meats,  He Chose With Care,  And When Told That What He Desired Could

Not Be Obtained That Day,  He Continued His Search Notwithstanding. He

Related That On One Occasion He Discovered A Greengage Pie,  After

Many Assurances That There Was No Such Thing In The Kitchen. If He

Was With A Friend He Laid His Hand On His Shoulder,  And Pointing Out

An Inscription,  He Said,  "Now One Thing I Notice About The Temple Is

That Never Is An Occasion Missed Of Putting Up An Inscription; And

Note The Legal Character Of The Inscriptions,  How Carefully It Is

Explained,  That,  For Instance,  The Cloisters,  Although They Are For

The Use Of The Inner As Well As The Middle Temple,  Yet It Was The

Middle Temple That Paid To Have Them Put Up,  And Therefore Owns The

Property." L'estrange Always Spoke Of The Gardens As "Our Gardens,"

Of The Church As "Our Church." He Was An Authority On All That

Related To The Temple,  And He Delighted In A Friend In Whom He Might

Confide; And To Walk About The Courts With Hall Or Sands,  Stopping

Now And Then To Note Some Curious Piece Of Sculpture Or Date,  And

Forthwith To Relate An Anecdote That Brought Back Some Of The

Fragrance And Colour Of Old Time,  And To Tell How He Intended To Work

Such Curious Facts Into The Book He Was Writing On The Temple,  Was

The Essence And The Soul Of This Dreamy Man's Little Life.

Saturday Night Is The Night Of Dalliance In The Temple,  And Not

Unfrequently On Sunday Morning,  Leaving A Lady Love,  L'estrange Would

Go To Church--Top Hat,  Umbrella,  And Prayer-Book--And Having A Sense

Of Humour,  He Was Amused By The Incongruity.

"I Have Left The Accursed Thing Behind Me," He Once Said To Mr.

Collier,  And By Such Facetiousness Had Seriously Annoyed The Immense

And Most Staid Mr. Collier.

A Gaunt,  Hollow-Eyed Man Was He,  Worn To A Thread By Diabetes; And To

Keep The Disease In Check,  Strictly Dieted. His Appearance Was So

Suggestive Of Illness,  That Whenever He Was Present The Conversation

Always Turned On What He Might Eat And What He Must Refrain From

Touching. A Large,  Gray-Skinned Man,  Handsome Somewhat Like A Figure

Of Melancholy Carved Out Of Limestone. Since He Had Left Oxford,

Where He Had Taken A Double First,  He Had Failed--At The Bar,  In

Literature,  And In Love. It Was Said That He Had Once Written An

Absurd Letter Asking A Lady,  Who Hoped To Marry A Duke,  To Go To

South America With Him. This Letter Had Been His Only Adventure.

He Was Like A Bookcase,  A Store Of Silent Learning,  With This

Difference--From The Bookcase Much May Be Extracted,  From Mr. Edmund

Collier Nothing. He Reminded You Of A Dry Well,  A London Fog,  An

Abandoned Quarry,  The Desert Of Sahara,  And The North Pole; Of All

Dull And Lugubrious Things He Seemed The Type. Nature Had Not

Afflicted Him With Passions Nor Any Original Thought,  He Therefore

Lived An Exemplary Existence,  His Mind Fortified With Exemplary

Opinions,  Doctrines,  And Old Saws.

"I Wonder If He Is Alive," Mike Had Once Said.

"_Hé,  Hé,  Tout Au Plus_," Harding Had Replied,  Sardonically.

Collier Was Now Learning Sanscrit And Writing An Article For The

_Quarterly_. L'estrange Used,  As He Said,  "To Dig At Him," And After

Many Exhausting Efforts Brought Up Interesting Facts To The Effect

That He Had Just Finished His Treatise On The Greek Participle,  And

Was About To Launch A Volume Of Verses Mainly Addressed To Children.

Collier Had Once Possessed Considerable Property,  But He Had Invested

Some In A Newspaper Of Which He Was Editor,  And He Had Squandered

Much In Vague Speculation. From The Account He Gave Of His Losses It

Was Difficult To Decide Whether He Had Been Moved By Mercenary Or

Charitable Temptations. Now Only The Merest Competence Remained. He

Lived In A Small Garret Where No Solicitor Had Penetrated,  Studying

Uninteresting Literatures,  Dimly Interested In All That The World Did

Not Care For. He Lived In The Gloom Of Present Failure,  Embittered By

The Memory Of Past Successes,  Wearied With Long Illness,  And

Therefore Constrained To Live Like A Hermit,  Never Appearing Anywhere

Except In Hall's Rooms.

Even Mr. Horace Baird,  The Recluse Of The Temple,  Was Sometimes Met

In Hall's Chambers. When He Lifted His Hat,  The White Locks Growing

Amid The Black,  Magnificent Masses Of Hair Caught The Eye,  And Set

The Mind Thinking On The Brevity Of Youth,  Or Wondering What

Ill-Fortune Had Thus Done The Work Of Time. A Passing Glance Told You

That He Was Unsuccessful In His Profession And Unfortunate In His

Life,  And If You Spoke To Him,  An Affected Gaiety Of Manner Confirmed

The Truth Of The First Impression. Near Him Sat A Patriarchal

Barrister Who Had Travelled In The Colonies,  Had Had Political

Appointments,  And In Vague Hopes Of Further Political Appointments

Professed Advanced Views,  Which He Endeavoured To Redeem With

Flavourless Humour. There Were Also Two Young Men Who Shared Chambers

And Took In Pupils. Fine Tales Their Laundress Told Of The State Of

Their Sitting-Room In The Morning,  The Furniture Thrown About,  The

Table-Cloth Drenched In Whiskey.

There Was A Young Man Whose Hobby Was Dress And Chorus Girls. There

Was A Young Man Whose Hobby Was Pet Birds; He Talked About The

Beautiful South American Bird He Had Just Bought,  And He Asked You To

Come And See It Taking Its Bath In The Morning. Several Persons Were

Writing Law-Books,  Which Their Authors Hoped Would Rival _Chitty On

Contracts_.

The Temple,  Like A Fatherland,  Never Loses Its Influence Over Its

Children. He Who Has Lived In The Temple Will Return To The Temple.

All Things Are Surrendered For The Temple. All Distances Are

Traversed To Reach The Temple. The Temple Is Never Forgotten. The

Briefless Barrister,  Who Left In Despair And Became Attorney-General

Of New South Wales,  Grows Homesick,  Surrenders His Position,  And

Returns. The Young Squire Wearies In His Beautiful Country House,  And

His Heart Is Fixed In The Dingy Chambers,  Which He Cannot Relinquish,

And For Which Wealth Cannot Compensate Him. Even The Poor Clerks Do

Not Forget The Temple,  And On Saturday Afternoons They Prowl About

Their Old Offices,  And Often Give Up Lucrative Employments. They Are

Drawn By The Temple As By A Magnet,  And Must Live Again In The Shadow

Of The Old Inns. The Laundresses' Daughters Pass Into Wealthy

Domesticities,  But Sooner Or Later They Return To Drudge Again In The

Temple.

"How Awfully Jolly!--I Do Enjoy An Evening Like This," Said Mike,

When The Guests Had Departed.

At That Moment A Faint Footstep Was Heard On The Landing; Hall Rushed

To See Who Was There,  And Returned With Two Women. They Explained

That They Wanted A Drink. Mike Pressed Them To Make Themselves At

Home,  And Hall Opened Another Bottle.

"How Comfortable You Bachelors Are Here By Yourselves," Said One.

"I Should Think We Are Just; No Fear Of Either Of Us Being Such Fools

As To Break Up Our Home By Getting Married," Replied Mike.

Sometimes Mike And Hall Returned Early From The Restaurant,  And Wrote

From Eight To Eleven; Then Went Out For A Cup Of Coffee And A Prowl,

Beating Up The Strand For Women. They Stayed Out Smoking And Talking

At The Corners Till The Streets Were Empty. Once They Sent A Couple

Of Harlots To Rouse A Learned Old Gentleman Who Lived In Brick Court,

And With Bated Breath Listened From The Floor Beneath To The Dialogue

Above.

But To Continue This Life,  Which He Enjoyed So Intensely That He Had

Even Lost His Desire To Gamble,  Mike Was Forced To Borrow. Knowing

How Such Things Are Bruited About,  Mike Chose To Go To A Woman Rather

Than To Any Of His Men Friends. Mrs. Byril Lent Him Twenty Pounds,

Wherefore He Thought It Necessary To Lecture Hall For One Whole

Evening On The Immorality Of Ever Accepting Money From Women; And He

Remained For Weeks In Idleness,  Smoking And Drinking In Restaurants

And Bar Rooms,  Deaf To Frank's Many Pleadings For "Copy." At Last He

Roused A Little,  And Feeling He Could Do Nothing In London,  Proposed

To Come And Stay With Frank In His Cottage At Marlow,  And There Write

The Letters.

It Was A Bright October Afternoon,  Frank Had Gone To The Station,  And

Lizzie,  To Appease The Baby,  Had Unbuttoned Her Dress. The Little

Servant-Girl Who Assisted With The House-Work Was Busy In The

Kitchen; For The Fatted Calf Had Been Killed--That Is To Say,  A Pair

Of Soles,  A Steak,  And A Partridge Were In Course Of Preparation.

Lizzie Thought Of The Partridge. She Had Omitted Soup From The Dinner

So That She Might Herself See To The Fish; The Steak,  Unless

Something Quite Unforeseen Occurred,  Annie Would Be Able To Manage,

But The Partridge! Lizzie Determined She Would Find An Excuse For

Leaving The Room; Frank Would Not Like It,  But Anything Would Be

Better Than