LITERATURE.

Globe, Volume XXIV, Issue 2692, 23 November 1882, Page 4

LITERATURE.

THE STORY OF SAMBO,

( Concluded .)

Still that smilo hung around his beak. Sambo showed a contemptible spirit of revenge. He was incorrigible and I disgusted. Time passed, and I missed Sophonisba more gruesomely day by day. I was at work on an important canvass for the Academy—“ Diana surprised whilst bathing.” I tried every model in London—in vain ; none of them could assume that pose of modesty—that jc ne sais quoi about the hips was Greek and Chaldaic to the idiots. I ground my teeth and wore out my heart over my hopeless task. It grew as plain as the nose on my face (all my family have line noses) that my Diana was not, after all, to electrify the artistic world. A friendly critic (the fool !) even begged me to begin something unambitious at the last moment. The torso was absurd, he said ; it was put on crooked--didn’t fit onto the legs. I could have kicked him with pleasure out of the window. As if I didn’t know all about a torso, and how it should fit on to legs ! Had I studied anatomy for nothing ? I deigned, however, to explain that Sophonisba— the well-known, the celebrated Sophonisba—had given mo at the first sitting the most suggestive and marvellous movement of coy modesty. It was Diana herself (so long as her face was hidden, and the red nose). There was a poesy in each suave line—a poem, sir, an epic! I vowed, in the enthusiasm of my regret. ‘ Then why did you change your model 5’ that stupid critic asked. Why, indeed ! I pushed Sambo from his perch with wrath, and he fluttered all sideways to the ground. ‘ You beast !’ I hissed at him, ‘ you pig ! but for you ’ and then, so soon as I was left alone, I sat down to indite a letter in the interests of art. I humbled myself to Sophonisba—grovelled—bowed my forehead in the dust before the peccant damsel. I would forgive the past I wrote. It was my own fault that she should have sinned. It was not right to have thrown temptation in the path of a poor girl. For aught I knew to the contrary—whilst I was lavishing my geguws on the tables—she had tiny sisters to clothe and keep and food—-

brothers who clamoured for shoes—whdso .ver-darned garments were' a laughingstock to the School Board ! She borrowed my little trinkets, and pawned them for their sakes. New socks, new knickerbockers grew out of the pouucet boxes and the watches. Juvenile hunger was ' assuaged, and the infant gastric juices were permitted to do their work. I was glad that it was so, foi of what use was the trumpery to me '! Socks and stout shoes for the indigent arc better than br.c-a-back ; good shirts of calico of more account than pouncet boxes ! If Sophs iisba woo d only throw a veil over the past, return and give me that hip-improve-ment for Diana, all should be forgotten and forgiven, and I would promise in the future to lock my valuables away. ‘ The quality of mercy is not strained. It blcsseth him that gives and him that takes. ’ T is mightiest in the mightiest ! ’ I declaimed the fine speech reflectively to Sambo, who, no longer smiling, had returned to his position on the chair-rail. He glowered crossly, and made weird gurgles in his throat. In good sooth, he was an evil fowl. For two pins I would make a present of him to a friend. Could ho give mo that attitude for Diana ? Of course not—useless brute ! And yet, like many another futile bit of goods, he had sown dissension between two worthy people who were of mutual value one to the other. But it was most wrong in the woman to have beaten him so, for, if wearying, ho was droll. I smoothed his feathers with an indulgent palm ; but he shook it off disdainfully, and even dared to make a snap at me. Well, well! I was apparently not destined to please anyone. I was a failure. There is nothing like work to soften carking care. If only Sophonisba would return, I could put right that faulty movement of the hips, and then should triumph in the academy—be dubbed R.A. upon the spot. The critics ■would gush forth in deserved praise—‘Never has it been our advantage to see the human figure better drawn ; the twist of the lumbar vertebra) is a miracle of management; the dimple caused by the slight rotary motion to the left is’—and so forth, for a column and more. I had waited long. So did Delacroix, and Millais, and dozens more who were geniuses. But appreciation crowns toil at last. It’s merely a matter of perseverance. If Haydon had not committed suicide—but pshaw ! of what use are ifs ? Three mornings in the week with Sophonisba, and then —and then—!

The postman called. What an atrocious rattle ! Eh? a letter without a stamp, sealed with a door-key, and adorned with grimy thumb-marks. Miss Sophonisba ‘ presented her respioks, and could not think of obtruding any more where that beastly bird was. Though a poor orphin, with no father nor mother that she was avv-eer on, yet she had her feelinks. Thief, indeed ! A lot of dirty rubbidge that she would not have at a gift. Never no more, sir, would Sophonisba demean her feet by stepping into that there studio. If insulted, she had pride, thank goodness ! and if other people did keep devils as gnawed honest people’s legs, and then were iraperent into the bargain, she would have no carryings on with ’em. Miss Sophonisba was a-goin’ to ’Erne Bay for the olodaise, and didn’t want to be bothered any more with gents as couldn’t behave.’ So the dream of ambition was over. Sophouisba was pitiless. Then came reaction. Rage succeeded to despair. Doubtless it was better as it was. Diana would be handed down to posterity a glorious frags ment, like the Elgin Marbles or the Torso Belvidcre ; but, at any rate, I should not have offered a premium to vice. Why! I had actually been on the verge of compounding a felony ! Newgate loomed in the distance —Millbank—Portland ! I was bathed with guilty perspiration at the horrid vision. Yes, yes ; I had stood on the brink, but stopped while there was time. Sambo, frightened by the rat-tat of the postman, had scuttled off the chair and retired to his fastness in the garden. Whatever was he about, the comical, quaint fellow ? Distressed in mind as I was, I could not but watch. He was gyrating round and round a bush with a gobble-gobble. He was playing at being a turkey with influenza. He was vastly amused with somethiug—perhaps was cracking internal jokes, at my expense delighted that I had been snubbed by Sophonisba. Round and round he stalked with protruded neck, and toes turned out, as though performing some mysterious incantation. How bright his eyes were as, now and again, he cast a gimlet glance at mo over his shoulder 1 How saucy was the glance ! how tinged with mockery ! Absolutely ho was bursting with suppressed merriment. He was shaking both his sides— I mean his wings. All at once ho plunged headforemost into the bush, with a giggle—so deep into the centre of it, that there was nothing to be discerned but the tip of a black tail waggling, and a symphony of splay feet beating the air. Now he was playing at gravedigger —what an uncanny beast! —throwing up the earth with skilful bill. What, in Heaven’s name, was this ? Something that glittered. My watches, one by one—my valued trinkets —were tossed, with a derisive gurgle, at my feet ! I saw it all. This was the fowl’s revenge. Sophonisba had beaten him wellnigh to death, and then he had turned the matter over in his mind as to how to eject her from the establishment. He had put two and two together, and had succeeded in his fell design. Vainly did I apologise to the injured lady. Vainly did I even offer—for the sake of Diana’s figure—to sacrifice the offender as a peace-offering. She didn’t answer—is still sojourning, maybe, at Heme Bay. Alas! alas ! Diana remains unfinished. Sambo rules the roast—master of me—and of the situation !