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Page 58
It was not to Mount Olympus that our friend Bold betook himself. He
had before now wandered round that lonely spot, thinking how grand a
thing it was to write articles for _The Jupiter_; considering within
himself whether by any stretch of the powers within him he could ever
come to such distinction; wondering how Tom Towers would take any
little humble offering of his talents; calculating that Tom Towers
himself must have once had a beginning, have once doubted as to
his own success. Towers could not have been born a writer in _The
Jupiter_. With such ideas, half ambitious and half awe-struck, had
Bold regarded the silent-looking workshop of the gods; but he had
never yet by word or sign attempted to influence the slightest word
of his unerring friend. On such a course was he now intent; and not
without much inward palpitation did he betake himself to the quiet
abode of wisdom, where Tom Towers was to be found o' mornings inhaling
ambrosia and sipping nectar in the shape of toast and tea.
Not far removed from Mount Olympus, but somewhat nearer to the blessed
regions of the West, is the most favoured abode of Themis. Washed by
the rich tide which now passes from the towers of C�sar to Barry's
halls of eloquence; and again back, with new offerings of a city's
tribute, from the palaces of peers to the mart of merchants, stand
those quiet walls which Law has delighted to honour by its presence.
What a world within a world is the Temple! how quiet are its
"entangled walks," as someone lately has called them, and yet how
close to the densest concourse of humanity! how gravely respectable
its sober alleys, though removed but by a single step from the
profanity of the Strand and the low iniquity of Fleet Street! Old
St Dunstan, with its bell-smiting bludgeoners, has been removed; the
ancient shops with their faces full of pleasant history are passing
away one by one; the bar itself is to go--its doom has been pronounced
by _The Jupiter_; rumour tells us of some huge building that is to
appear in these latitudes dedicated to law, subversive of the courts
of Westminster, and antagonistic to the Rolls and Lincoln's Inn; but
nothing yet threatens the silent beauty of the Temple: it is the
medi�val court of the metropolis.
Here, on the choicest spot of this choice ground, stands a lofty row
of chambers, looking obliquely upon the sullied Thames; before the
windows, the lawn of the Temple Gardens stretches with that dim yet
delicious verdure so refreshing to the eyes of Londoners. If doomed
to live within the thickest of London smoke you would surely say that
that would be your chosen spot. Yes, you, you whom I now address, my
dear, middle-aged bachelor friend, can nowhere be so well domiciled
as here. No one here will ask whether you are out or at home; alone
or with friends; here no Sabbatarian will investigate your Sundays,
no censorious landlady will scrutinise your empty bottle, no
valetudinarian neighbour will complain of late hours. If you love
books, to what place are books so suitable? The whole spot is
redolent of typography. Would you worship the Paphian goddess, the
groves of Cyprus are not more taciturn than those of the Temple.
Wit and wine are always here, and always together; the revels of the
Temple are as those of polished Greece, where the wildest worshipper
of Bacchus never forgot the dignity of the god whom he adored. Where
can retirement be so complete as here? where can you be so sure of all
the pleasures of society?
It was here that Tom Towers lived, and cultivated with eminent success
the tenth Muse who now governs the periodical press. But let it not
be supposed that his chambers were such, or so comfortless, as are
frequently the gaunt abodes of legal aspirants. Four chairs, a
half-filled deal book-case with hangings of dingy green baize, an old
office table covered with dusty papers, which are not moved once in
six months, and an older Pembroke brother with rickety legs, for all
daily uses; a despatcher for the preparation of lobsters and coffee,
and an apparatus for the cooking of toast and mutton chops; such
utensils and luxuries as these did not suffice for the well-being of
Tom Towers. He indulged in four rooms on the first floor, each of
which was furnished, if not with the splendour, with probably more
than the comfort of Stafford House. Every addition that science
and art have lately made to the luxuries of modern life was to be
found there. The room in which he usually sat was surrounded by
book-shelves carefully filled; nor was there a volume there which was
not entitled to its place in such a collection, both by its intrinsic
worth and exterior splendour: a pretty portable set of steps in one
corner of the room showed that those even on the higher shelves were
intended for use. The chamber contained but two works of art:--the
one, an admirable bust of Sir Robert Peel, by Power, declared the
individual politics of our friend; and the other, a singularly long
figure of a female devotee, by Millais, told equally plainly the
school of art to which he was addicted. This picture was not hung,
as pictures usually are, against the wall; there was no inch of wall
vacant for such a purpose: it had a stand or desk erected for its own
accommodation; and there on her pedestal, framed and glazed, stood
the devotional lady looking intently at a lily as no lady ever looked
before.
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