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But I am not here to talk about myself. I come to ask you to do me the honor to accept a copy of my new volume of poems: Metatoron's Flames. Is it not a beautiful title? When Enoch was taken up to heaven while yet alive, he was converted to flames of fire and became Metatoron, the great spirit of the Cabalah.
He is dead: but he lives for ever enshrined in the noble tribute to his genius in Metatoron's Flames." Little Sampson seized the "copy" and darted with it to the composing-room, where Raphael was busy giving directions. By his joyful face Raphael saw the crisis was over. Little Sampson handed the manuscript to the foreman, then drawing a deep breath of relief, he began to hum a sprightly march.
By good fortune I assisted at the foundation of the Holy Land League, now presided over by Gideon, the member for Whitechapel. I was moved to tears by the enthusiasm; it was there I made the acquaintance of Strelitski. He spoke as if inspired. I also met a poverty-stricken poet, Melchitsedek Pinchas, who afterwards sent me his work, Metatoron's Flames, to Harrow. A real neglected genius.
"What do I know of the Holy Tongue!" repeated Ebenezer scornfully. "Hold yours!" The Committee laughed, but Schlesinger, who was a serious man, said, "Business, gentlemen, business." "Come, then! I'll challenge you to translate a page of Metatoron's Flames," said Pinchas, skipping about the office like a sprightly flea.
Metatoron's Flames vill shine eternally." His head drooped again. "I have all I vant, and you are the best man in the vorld. But I am the most miserable." "Nonsense! cheer up," said Raphael. "I can never cheer up any more. I vill shoot myself. I have realized the emptiness of life. Fame, money, love all is Dead Sea fruit." His shoulders heaved convulsively; he was sobbing.
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