Saturday, December 15, 2012

The Parable of the Good Sherlockian.

'The Good Samaritan' Jean Milet 1846.

Testament of Isa Whitney.

 (as dictated to his loving wife, Kate. Bethlem Royal Hospital 1889.)

The Parable of the Good Sherlockian.

[from The Book of Isa.
Apocryphal Canon.]
ch. XVII vv. 212-227

212. Hearken, all Ye of Little Faith, to the Testament of Isa of the Tribe of Whitney, who once was Lost and now is Found!

213. There came about, in the Time of the Great Queen, the Passing of an Elder of my Tribe, one Elias, God-fearing Brother to this thy Prodigal Sinner. And was there Lamentation in the House for most Beloved was the Good Elias.

214. Turn Ye from  False Idols! For did I then (no Brother being my Guide) render myself, Body and Soul, unto the Reading of the Forbidden Scrolls of the Wandering Tribe of Quincey.

215. Yea! Even as I took unto myself as Wife the Fairest in the Land, the more did I enslave my very Being unto Unholy Rites that Droopeth the very Eye Lids, Pasteth the Face in Ashes and 
Huddleth the Man upon his own Divan. Oh! Wreck-ed! Ruin-ed! Most unfortunate Isa of Whitney!

216. To Swandham then I came; and entereth in a Tent of  Barr-ed Gold which hous-ed Denizens of Vileness and Iniquity.  Noxious the Poisons in the Very Air! And had they King over them  Abaddon, Angel of the Bottomless Pit, Prince of Opiates, also call-ed 'Lascar'. 
 217. And did there befall a Time when there was no Time more. 

218.  Take Heed! Ye of the Desert Tribes of Moran; then was there only the Wailing of the Wilderness.

219. Isa of the House of Whitney did Stumble forever Lost upon the Stones of Unhallowed Ground. 

220. Yea! Prayeth he Days in Vain for the Rains that Water the Soul; calleth to the Passing Pharisee; to the Hideous Lascar; to He of the Twisted Lip for Charity! Nor was there any Thing or Person of Charity in that Place.

The Good Sherlockian with the  Master.
221. But a certain Sherlockian, as he journeyed, came where I was, and when he saw me, he had Compassion on me.

222. And went to me, and Rouseth me, saying (in a strange Holmesian Tongue): "I tell you it is Friday, man! Your wife has been waiting this two days for you. You should be ashamed of yourself!" 

223. And he, a Man of Medicine, call-ed John of the House of Watson, a Disciple of the Way of Sherlock, giveth unto my Lips sundry Draughts of Healing, seateth me within a Hansom Cab at his own Expense, and delivereth me thus unto my Wife and Tents. 

224. Oblations made I at the Temple of the Seventeen Steps, in the Street of Bakers; Yea! Offerings of Tokay, Oxen and Tobaccos of the Turk. 

225. Such is the Testament of Isa as it is written; such the Parable of the Good Sherlockian.

226. Go Thou and do likewise!

227. Climb! Crawl out from the Low, Vile Alleyways; and Stride thou Tall along the Broad High Way of Baker!  

Blessed be 221b!

[In the time of his extremity my husband, I fear, was, for some months, quite overcome by the most hideous of hallucinatory bouts, from which he is blessed to be wholly liberated. The foregoing represents much the mildest of such fancies - and, I believe, his inherent goodness of soul. I trust the reader will forgive and acquiesce in my beloved husband's extravagant style and read it for what it is - the bravest of essays in gratitude to dear, dear John Watson and his friend and colleague, Mr. Sherlock Holmes of Baker Street.
Mrs. Kate Whitney, 1889]

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