Punch: Punch (70.1876)

May 27, 1876.]

PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.

215

Bella fell prone on the floor, her small, plump hands raised implor-
ingly above her head, and moaned painfully

His eyes wandered from her face to where in a corner the sun was
going down, golden red as a glorious carrot.

"I'm like him," said Tommy, with a gleam of the happiness of
former days when conundrums were his greatest joy, " because I'm
going down."

"Oh no! " exolaimed Bella, blushing, "you must mean 'up,'
not ' down.' " •

He seemed a little worried by her not at once comprehending his
meaning, and mildly corrected her.

" The sun is sinking—so am I. That is why I am like the sun.
Do you see?"

Yes, she did see ; and, stooping, she covered his hand with warm,
passionate kisses, while, unseen by her, a smile stole over his placid
face, and his right eye slowly closed and opened, re-closed and re-
opened twice with an intense profundity of meaning.

" Tommy," she sighed, " tell me you are happy! "

Then the calm, gentle voice, interrupted by slight pantings, came
to her ear again,

" I am : very happy, very, very happy," and once more he closed
and opened his eye with slight exertion, and, as she bent over him,
she_caught these words, murmured indistinctly,
" I 're—gone—wrong—
For—the—sake—of—Sarah "—

the words of the tune he had last learnt on his concertina. Then he
gave her a sweet smile—so sweet, it might have been lollipops for
unorganised cherubs. She did not want that smile, and so she
returned it. Like a Frenchwoman she had been " coquette," then
"prude," now she was to show herself " devotee."*

Good bye, Tommy ! " she cried. " Dear old boy, good bye. You
are going to Heaven, of course ? "

" Of course, naturally," was the humble reply of this meek, dying
saint. " I'm a very good person. There never was a better person:
in fact, I am quite one of the best persons of my acquaintance.
But," he added, always unselfish, "I shan't really enjoy myself
anywhere till you are there. Of course out of politeness I shan't
say so, but I shall scarcely know a soul in the place till you come,
so don't disappoint me, will you ? In fact, I don't think I shall go
to regions of Fairy Bliss, unless you come too." Then he put his
arms about her neck, and whispered, " I leave you-"

She listened eagerly. She knew he possessed a little property in
the Yenetian Asphalte Paving Company.

" I leave you-" he said, slowly, and with difficulty.

" What ? " she asked, in a soft, anxious whisper.

The reply came in the same gentle tone.

" Alone. As I have always left you. As you have always asked
me to leave you."
" But not now," she murmured.
"Not now?"

" No, dearest, truest Tommy, my first, my best, my onliest,
lovingest, and most lovedest love, I have been young and wayward,
but I am so no longer. Dusover deceived me; Orliss is gone;
Percy Shortwynd has married Yirginia Creeper. I would not
have had either of them at the best of my time—for my heart was
always true to you." Again his right eye closed, and opened, like a
wild rose, with tender significance, as he pressed her closer to his
bosom, and stroked the soft, luxuriant mass of^warm, sweet-scented
hair. " And I do not ask you any longer to ^ave me alone. Take
me, oh take me, Tommy, I am yours !"

A convulsive tremor passed through his slight, patient body, as
he took her to his heart.

" Kiss me, Bella, kiss me ! " murmured this poor, fast-sinking,
saint-like creature.

Without a word he gathers her up in handfuls, as it were, and
for one heavenly moment they are bathed in the wild, tumultuous,
throbbing, fierce, religious silence of an everlasting farewell.

Her sister Jenny enters the room, suddenly.

(To be concluded in our next.)

* "Like a Frenchwoman '■Coquette, -prude, devotee." What the Editor
says.—" Excusez encore. A Frenchwoman might be coquette, also prude, but
she never could be ' devotee'—for the plain reason that there is no such word
in the French language. She can be ' devote,' as a gentleman can be ' de'vot,'
and 'de'voue'e' she can be, but 1 devotee' never. "We think it just as well to
mention this, there being so much French scattered loosely about in your
charming works, and as you yourself would of course be the first to wish us to
correct, or expose, what you might possibly set down to an error on the part
of the printer."

Miss R. D. to Editor.—" Vous n'avez pas V habitude de parler. In conver-
sational French—and talking it, every day, abroad—as I used to do—the word
' devotee ' was far from uncommon ; as also were several words and phrases,
which you would not have recognised on paper. C'est une chose d dire, c'est
i une autre d ecrire. > Allez ! —E. D.

East India " Company."—At the Guildhall, Friday, May 19.

SAYINGS FOR THE SEASON.

(Dedicated to Sir James Hannen.)

Lover in the hand is worth
two Husbands in the bush.

You may take an Adorer
to the Conservatory, but
you cannot make him pro-
pose.

When you are in Society
you must do what Society
does.

What is "Sauce "to the
Husband is not considered
"Sauce" by the Wife.

You cannot make a Lover
out of an ugly Husband
with money.

A Waltz is scarcely as
good as a Supper.

One Flirtation makes
many. _

A Cup of Tea in time
saves nine.

While the Chaperone is
away the Debutantes will
play.

It is a long Waltz that
has no head turning.

Every Marriage should
have a silver lining.
A Married Woman who
<=~PjD' Flirts has a Fool for her
Lover.

Amongst Husbands the Bachelor'is King.
A Wink is as good as a Nod to a Blind Husband.
From the Frying-pan of Engagement into the Fire of Matri-
mony.

What is one Man's Food is another Woman's Poison.
When the Milliner comes in at the door the Cheque-Book flies out
at the window.
A Kiss is as good as a Smile, if not worse.
Matrons the Gods wish to render absurd begin to dance.
All is not diamond that glitters.
Skate before you Rink.
Half a Heart is better than no Head.
A Widowed Wife dreads the Divorce Court.
All crooked Roads lead away from Home.

Call "passion" by another name and you had better hang
yourself.

QUESTIONS OF THE DAY.

Shall I be asked to the Ball at Buckingham Palace ?

Can I afford to go to Madame Frangipane for a new ball-dress ?

If I have a new one, what colour shall it be ?

Must I go in my Court dress, altered ?

Shall it be lower than last year ?

Can it be tighter ?

Will those odious Shoddy girls be asked ?

Will Charlle or the Major be there ?

Won't Mamma send our dresses to the Morning Post f

Will Papa grumble about the expense ?

Must Anne do our hair, or may we have Leopold ?

Will the coiffeur be in time ?

Don't I want a little more hair in plaits ?

Would a little colour be possible ?

If I try just a soupgon, shall I be found out ?

Shall I look my very best ?

Will any one be jealous?

And, finally, it is possible that His Royal Highness will ask me to
dance r

from legal to culinary (a translation).

" Communis error facit jus." " Potage aux erreurs vulgaires."
(Or you may, with the same material, make a hash of it, a. broil, or
a stew.) _

opposltes prom the same direction.

Welcome arrival from the East—the Prince.
Unwelcome ditto from ditto—the Wind.