Page:Punch Vol 148.djvu/556

["The Government are of opinion that the general question of personal responsibility shall be reserved until the end of the War."—Mr. Balfour in the House.]

When Margot Davenish proved herself unworthy of a poet's homage by her hilarious reception of a proposal of marriage framed in deathless anapaests, Reggie Outhwaite found himself in a quandary. Margot's bright eyes had inspired the rapturous abandon of the early pages of his Purple Passionings, and without her he despaired of completing the volume. As a lover scorned, he realised that tradition called upon him to eschew the society of women; as a writer of erotic verse, he felt that his Muse stood urgently in need of a lady-help.

It was at this crisis that Esmeralda came into his life. She lived at the corner of Bath Street behind the plate-glass of "Sidonie, Robes et Modes," and her mission was to demonstrate the ethereal perfection of Madame Sidonie's creations. Coarser natures lacking the artistic temperament called her a dummy, but at the first glance Reggie knew that at last his prayers had been answered. That night he threw off two sonnets and a virelai before going to bed to dream of her.

Esmeralda was not one of those shameless hussies whose outrageous déshabillé crimsons the young man's cheek. She was a very superior article, fashioned probably in Paris and obviously by an artist. No mere pedestal surmounted by a head and shoulders; as far as the eye could see she was quite all there. She sat in an armchair with one knee crossed discreetly over the other and one dear little mouse of a shoe daintily tip-tilted; toying with her parasol and smiling mysteriously. For Reggie her smile was fraught with all the suggestive allurement of the Monna Lisa. Moreover, in his infatuation, he deemed her eyes a wondrous passion-grey, and grey eyes had always done anything they liked with him.

For weeks Reggie haunted the neighbourhood of "Sidonie, Robes et Modes." He did not care to stand in open adoration, for the window contained other things besides Esmeralda, and he was a man as well as a poet. He would pace slowly past his divinity; then, turning suddenly as if he had remembered something, as slowly retrace his steps. Some days he covered miles in this way. One morning a damsel in black silk draperies whose bearing would have graced a Princess of the Blood Royal moved Esmeralda farther back into the shop, fearing doubtless that her ears would come unstuck under his ardent glances. It was then that Reggie decided that he must buy Esmeralda. With her companionship to inspire his pen he would not disappoint posterity. But the artistic temperament never shines amid the sordid chafferings of the market-place and the thought of the Princess's icy scorn daunted him.

To brace himself for the encounter he took a month's rest at the seaside. Returning full of courage he at once made his way to Bath Street in such a state of elation that blank verse positively streamed from his lips. But a cruel shock awaited him. Where formerly had gleamed the tender message, "Sidonie, Robes et Modes," there now flaunted the vulgar inscription, "I. Isaacstein, Gents' and Boys' Outfitter." Behind the plate-glass there smirked a wax figure clad in an Eton suit. An icy fear gripped at his heart as he stumbled towards the door. What if this upstart tailor proved ignorant of Madame Sidonie's new address! Then, as his gaze fell again on the smirking lad, the truth burst upon him in all its horror, and he sank heavily to the pavement. From out that waxen countenance there smiled a pair of wondrous passion-grey eyes! The incomparable Esmeralda had been melted down to fit an Eton jacket!

Reggie is now a respectable member of society, for in that awful moment the last spark of his poetic fire flickered out for ever. But he never despairs. Often of a Spring evening, when the throstle is calling to his mate and the very air is palpitating with passion, he will sharpen his pencil and bear his swelling heart out into the garden, there to compose an elegy worthy of his lost goddess. His progress is very slow. Hour after hour the pages of his rhyming dictionary rustle beneath his questing thumb, but not yet has he achieved an opening couplet to satisfy his fastidious soul. At present his choice is wavering between

and

He feels both these couplets possess the true poetic touch, the greatness of simplicity; but he cannot make up his mind which of them more accurately interprets the tender melancholy of his spirit.

"Mr. Balfour and Mr. Austen Chamberlain both visited Buckingham Palace and had audiences of His Majesty. The King to-day received the American Ambassador, Mr. Page, at Buckingham Palace. The inquest was adjourned until June 16."

Manchester Evening News.

We have to thank innumerable correspondents who have forwarded the above paragraph, and regret that none of them has been able to throw any light upon what looks like a tragedy. We are happy to state, however, that all the distinguished personages mentioned are still alive.

"Since the war began the honour of being the first airman to bring down a Zeppelin has been eaglerly sought."—The Globe.

The new adverb is excellently appropriate.