Punch: Punch (32.1857)

™ PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI. February 28, 1857.

THE MERRY SWISS BOY.

THE SWISS BOY.

Am—" Come arouse thee, arouse thee."

Come, disband thee, disband thee, my brave Swiss boy,

Drop thy sword, and from Naples away !
Come, disband thee, disband thee, my brave Swiss boy,
Drop thy sword, and from Naples away!
From gaoler's lash, and victim's scream,
To the Alpine crag, and the mountain stream—
Come, disband thee, disband thee, my brave Swiss boyv
Drop thy sword, and from Naples away !

Am not I, am not I, say, a very Swiss boy,

When 1 hire me to whoso will pay ?
Am not I, am not I, say, a very Swiss boy,
When I hire me to whoso will pay ?
Tell smiles on Bomba's carbineer,
And Pio Nono's halberdier—
Am not I, am not I, say, a very Swiss boy,
When I hire me to whoso will pay ?

For the right—for the right—oh, my brave Swiss boy

Fling away tyrants' Uv'ry—away !
For the right—for the right—oh, my brave Swiss boy,
Fling away tyrants' liv'ry—away !
And let the Switzer sword at last,
In the scale of right, not wrong, be cast;
For the right—for the right—oh, my brave Swiss boy,
Fling away tyrants' liv'ry—away!

Latest from Berlin.

Oub own Correspondent informs us that the British
Ambassador had yesterday the honour of dining with King
Clicquot, when, or rather after which, his Majesty_ ad-
dressed to his Excellency the following speech, in justi-
fication of his threatened invasion of Neufchatel:— " I
shaynow—you Brish! Lookwhat you Brishabeendoinin-
china! You've been pish'ninto your Canton. Why shouVt
I pishinto mine ? "

The Admiralty.—A Bank for Land-Swells.

THE SOEEOWS OF GENTILITY.

Tiiebe is a Novel written by a clever lady under the above title.
We do not know wrhat the particular Sorrows may be that Gentility uses
its cambric handkerchief over in that sorrowful book, but we fancy
that the following: are such as have cost the fine old lady in her life-
time many a scalding tear :—

It is a Sorrow of Gentility, when a rich uncle, or a fine pompous
relation, from whom one has expectations, drops in at the last moment
to dinner, and there happens to oe nothing but mutton chops, or mince
veal, or cold meat in the house.

_ It is a Sorrow of Gentility, when a lady is looking over the clean
linen to see whether it wants mending, or counting it to learn that it
is all right, for a stupid servant to show a visitor into the very room,
where the sheets are basking before the tire, and the shirts, &c, are
lying perdu over the different chairs and sofas.

It is a Sorrow of Gentility to be caught doing any needlework,
excepting one's fingers are employed on a Berlin Wool hippopotamus,
or are morally engaged in embroidering a butterfly or a snail on a
beautiful pair of mediaeval braces for a Puseyite pet parson.

It is a most mortifying Sorrow of Gentility to be caught in the act
of crying over a book, or weeping during a tragedy, or in fact giving
way to any foolish emotion that common people are subject to.

It is an overpowering Sorrow of Gentility to have plain-looking or
vulgar people, with cottage-bonnets and big umbrellas, shown into
one's pew on a Sunday, simply because there happens to be plenty of
room in it.

It is an acute Sorrow of Gentility to be seen on a Botanic or Horti-
cultural Fete Day, in one's fine clothes, getting out of an omnibus a
short distance from the entrance-gate.

It is a humiliating Sorrow of Gentility when a number of very
genteel persons are waiting, or supposed to be waiting, for their
carriages, for a big calf of a man-servant to dart prominently forward,
and announce, in a tone loud enough for the shadow "of Beau
Bbummell to hear, " Your cab, Mum's, at the door! "

It is a Sorrow of Gentility, quite sufficient to make one faint, to be
seen in London, or anywhere near London, when everybody else is
hundreds of miles out of town.

It is an aggravating Sorrow of Gentility .^vnen it becomes reported

that all your jellies and blanc-manges and creams and "sweets" are
made at home.

It is a perplexing Sorrow of Gentility when the youngest daughters
get married first, and the eldest, iu spite of balls, fine dresses, jewellery,
portraits, puffs, and paragraphs in the Morning Pod, &c, &c, still
remain heavily on hand.

It is a most distressing Sorrow of Gentility to be caught by some
carriage visitors at an early dinner, and, after explaining to them most
elaborately that it is only your luncheon, for some ungovernable un-
birched brat of an Enfant Terrible to let the vulgar secret out.

It is an exquisite Sorrow of Gentility to have, on a Drawing-Boom
Day, the effect of your beautiful dress completely spoilt by some fat,
unwieldy, stupid, clumsy City Alderman treading upon it just as you
are being ushered into the presence of Bxiyalty.

It is an agonising, and uncurable, and inconsolable Sorrow of Gen-
tility to move all the stars and garters of the aristocracy and fashion
in order to get into Almack's, and, after many rubs and snubs, to fail
in one's endeavours.

SOMETHING LIKE A MIRACLE.
The Vienna Correspondent of the Times states that—

" The statue of the Virgin, which is to be erected at Rome in commemoration of
the promulgation of the dogma of the Immaculate Conception is finished. While
the statue was being cast, the Priests chanted the Litany to the Holy Virgin, and the
workmen gave the responses. ' Thanks to these excellent arrangements,' says the
Ultramontane Volksfreund, ' the cast was perfect.'"

We shudder in imagining the scene described in the above paragraph.
Nobody can very well, in the natural course of business, do two things
at once ; and if there are any two things that we should be disinclined
to attempt simultaneously, those two things are singing responses and
casting a statue. We should tremble very much to see a lot of Irish
bricklayers at work on a scaffold, or climbing ladders and carrying
hods, whilst they were also engaged in chanting litanies with their
priests; but the idea of workmen's attention divided between a chant
and the management of melted metal overwhelms us with fright.
That no horrible accident attended such a process, conducted in such a
manner, is indeed wonderful; and we have not for some time met with
anything that looks so much like a miracle, as the successful casting,
under the circumstances, of this molten image.

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