Punch (70.1876)

April 22, 1876.] PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI. 155

TRYING."

Happy Swain (she has "named the day"). " And now, dearest Edith, that
is all settled. avlth regard to jewellery, my love ; would you like a
Set in plain Gold, or-"

Edith (economical and courageous, and who suffers a good deal from toothache). "Oh,
Augustus, now you ask me—do you know—i—really—but—Mr. Clinch told
me yesterday that he could extract all i ha ye, and put in a beautiful
new Set for only Fifteen Guineas ! ! "

"When I were"—he said—"I mean—when I wore uniform--"

" In the service ? " she asked, eagerly.

"Yes," he replied, hesitatingly, yet with impassioned moiirnfulness, " when
I was—in—in service"-—she winced, and he continued, clasping her still more
convulsively to his great, magnificent, broad chest, and repeating the words
distinctly, and deliberately, as though he were stabbing himself, with each word,
as with a dagger—"when I was in service—I wore no beard-"

" It is not permitted in the Army," she interrupted, with a secret misgiving,
at her heart, of some great overpowering evil, yet to come upon her.

"Who said ' the Army' ? " he exclaimed, fiercely. Then he resumed, with
a despairing tenderness, that sent a thrill through her whole body down into her
very sole—" No, the service in which I was enlisted did not permit either
beard, or moustache ; it was necessary to be close shaven."

Her last hope was vanishing fast.

" But," she murmured, " you have smelt powder ? "

" Yes," answered Dusover, calmly, with a very dreary laugh, that the heart
denied all partnership in, as his full lips curved downwards under his heavy,
sunset-dyed moustache. "Yes, I have smelt powder, Bella."

'' Thank Heaven for that! "

" And," he went on, holding her arms, and turning full on to her his own
lustrous orbs, in which the fiery light was flashing and dancing, full on to her
odd big green eyes, thinly curtained by her bright sweeping lashes, " I have
worn it."

" At Court ? " she gasped, her veins throbbing.

"Aye, at Court! " said the rich voice, shaking and quivering under some
strong agitation.

"Before the Queen?"

" No ; behind the Queen—on the footboard of the royal carriage."

He seized her hands, detaining her with a grip of iron, and hurried on in a
hoarse, broken voice, " Just now you spoke of knickerbockers—of calves." He
paused, as though contending with a whirlwind of passionate agitation, and con-
flicting emotions. Then, finding himself uninterrupted, he went on, with
reckless, despairing candour, "They were my fortune. Would Heaven they

had never been! I was on the footboard behind—and
she—a lady of title—no matter who—sat in the carriage
following Aus—I mean us." She sent me a billy doo. I
was fool enough to accept the tempting bait, and I
^assumed—I mean assumed—the name of Dusover
Beljambe at 'er request—I mean at Aer request."

"Her!" she exclaimed, lighting up an eager and
mobile face. " Was she beautiful ? "

This is always a woman's first question.

"No.".

And this is always the man's answer to it.

Bella sighed happily, and her heaving breast rose,
and fell, in short quick undidations.

" She was rich—hawful rich—and squinted frightful.
But I was vain and poor—and—and—I changed my
name in order that she might change hers. I went
secretly to a night-school to complete my heddication "
—he stammered slightly, and his swart face was suffused
with that dark, brick-dust flush, that stood to him in-
stead of a blush, as he corrected his slip—" I mean my
' education.' And then, she bought me a rank in the
Marine Yeomanry Contingent; and then—I called myself
Captain Dusover Beljambe."

" And," asks Bella, breathlessly, her great eyes, green
as goose-berries, fastened on his face, " before that—you
were—I mean your name was-"

He looks grimly down into her upturned glowing face,
and answers with a death-like calmness, "I ivas—John
Tummus Jeames—the Jeames of Bukley Square."

He watched her changing, flushing, paling face.

" Have you told me all f " she asked, almost inaudibly.

"Nearly," answered Dusover Beljambe, smiling as
bitterly as though he had taken a deep, unwholesome
draught of sun-turned, thunder-struck, hop-ful bever-
age. " We ivere—married!"

Silence—such a silence! how many years of agony
were pent up in those few pulse-beats ? We shall never
know, we shall never learn the answer ; had Bella been
asked at this moment, she would have given it up, des-
pairingly.

"Married!" she echoed, in a dry, unnatural voice,
that jarred on his ear as though it had issued from the
metallic mouthpiece of an itinerant Punch showman.
"Is that all?"

" No," he went on, with a gall-bitter sneer, which,
lasting as it did for several minutes, was more painful to
sustain than any tears or sneezing—indeed sneezing
would have been a glad relief—" I had deceived her. I
had obtained .her hand under false pretences. She had
taken me for my magnificent figure, for my gigantic,
/anormous /(and—I mean /normous, and—«^nequalled,
calves. A huge hair-pin, thrust in forcibly when I warn't
looking, and causing me not the slightest /(emotion —
emotion—betrayed my secret. My art failed me-"

"Your heart or your art?" inquired Bella, bent on
sparing herself no single aspirate.

" Art, not Aeart," answered Dusover, emphatically.
"My heart could have proved true, but my art had
played me false. My calves, like the poetry of a maga-
zine, were mere padding."

A spasm of pain crossed his face.

" Aren't you well ? " she inquired, anxiously.

He made no reply, but forcibly clenching his hands,
threw himself wildly on the ground, rolled over three
times in his utter, hopeless, despairing, writhing misery,
then turned his face to the cliff, and^groaned.

(To be continued.)

Doctrine and Drink.

In announcing the decease of a late priest, the Times
observes that—■

" His death was the natural termination of a long illness,
brought on by too close an attention to theological studies."

Theology is like wine, beer, and spirits, calumniously
called intoxicating liquors, because they do not intoxi-
cate unless they are abused or taken in excess ; but
then they do, and their continued abuse may end in
delirium tremens. Theology too closely and deeply
studied may prove, for the student excessively addicted
to it, like brandy-and-water—too much of a good thing.

The Last Sensation.—Too Many Titles. A com-
panion story to No Name.