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Updated: June 1, 2025
I could hear Temple rehearsing his German vocabulary, 'Brod, butter, wasser, fleisch, bett, as we stumbled along. Then it fell to 'Brod, wasser, bett, and then, 'Bett' by itself, his confession of fatigue.
The other names to which I gave slight heed, for their owners were not especially significant in appearance were Mr. Fleisch, a short, small German with eye-glasses, and Mrs. Marsh, a fat, genial matron of five-and-forty. "Has he not soulful eyes?" she asked. "Who?" said I, though I knew to whom she must refer. "Mr. Barr." "What is he?" said I.
Fleisch, Paul Barr conversed with my father, laying down the law in his most superb fashion regarding the immense fortune in store for any one who would start what he called a fig farm in this country.
"I lay a living soul within the tomb, A ghastly cabin damp with church-yard loam, Where worms are rampant and where night enthrones Darkness and horror, dust, decay, and bones; Extremity of doleful comprehension." There was a murmur of applause. "Exquisitely apposite!" cried Mr. Fleisch, and for the first time he surveyed me through his eye-glass with evident interest. Mr.
Spence again turned to me, "Worse; night in tomb!" "Beside corpse!" explained Mr. Fleisch. The ladies shivered. "Trifle," murmured Mr. Spence. "Extremity of doleful comprehension!" said Miss Kingsley. I felt that my opportunity had come. Carried away as I was by the interest and excitement of the proceedings, I repeated from memory, without embarrassment, the first five lines of Mr.
But by a rapid inspiration I shook my head and said, "Never." "There. During Commune," continued my interrogator, and I saw from Miss Kingsley's radiant and encouraging smile and nod that I had been right in my assumption that he wished to know if I had ever been there. "Really!" I said, emboldened. "Grisly," said he. "Cat!" almost hissed Mr. Fleisch in his excitement. "Dog!" said Mrs. Marsh.
The philosopher was said to be more and more under her thrall every day, as I was informed by Mr. Fleisch whom I invited to several of my receptions. He told me he was himself no longer in harmony with Mr. Spence, or rather that the master could not afford to pay him a sufficient salary to warrant him in devoting his entire time to the doctrine of Moderation.
For this reason it is possible to make meat more tender by soaking it in vinegar or in vinegar and water, the proportions of the two depending on the strength of the vinegar. Sour beef or "sauer fleisch," as it is known to Germans, is a palatable dish of this sort.
Therefore I resolved to act exactly as if I were unconscious of Miss Kingsley's disapprobation. I was aroused from these reflections by hearing Mr. Fleisch call me by name. He informed me in the curtailed speech we were using that he had set to music the words of the poem from which I had quoted, and that after tea he would, with the permission of the company, play it to us. From him and Mr.
He would eat hurriedly for a moment, and then fold his arms and listen with his brow almost buried in his black bristly beard, and his glance centred on me. The talk went on briskly. Mrs. Marsh presently joined in; and after the discussion of the atmospheric conditions of Tinker's Reach was exhausted, a criticism of a recent volume of poetry followed, in which Mr. Fleisch and Mrs.
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