Punch (20.1851)

176

PUNCH. OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.

Rude Boy. " Oh, look 'ere, Jim !—if 'ere aunt a Lobster bin and out-growed

his Cloak !"

A Triple prom Cullen.—We have nothing very rich from Ireland in the Great
Exhibition. Could not Dr. Cullen—with the help of some of the ingenious
gentlemen of Maynooth—have sent an Orrery ?

THE LAUGH BEHIND THE SCENES.

There is a sound of hollow mirth

Bursts on the unaccustomed ear;
'Tis not the merriment of earth,

Nor laughter born of wine or beer;
'Tis not the cheerfulness of heart

That scarcely knows what sorrow means.
No, no; 'tis mirth that acts a part;

It is the laugh behind the scenes.

The laughers are not truly gay;

Their spirits are not really light;
Their mirth is the result of pay :

They laugh for eighteenpence a-night.
They stand within the prompter's view,

Those Joneses, Thomsons, Browns, and Greens,
Waiting the well-remembered cue

To raise the laugh behind the scenes.

The laughter comes from hollow cheeks,

Whose deep vermilion-coated skin
Conceals, by night, the furrowed streaks

Of sorrow, groaning from within.
Not e'en a passing jest is heard,

To raise the mirth that supervenes ;
The solemn prompter gives the word

That starts the laugh behind the scenes.

Jones has, perchance, a little bill

He's fiercely importuned to pay;
P'rhaps Thomson's wife at home lies ill;

Broavn's infant may have died that day.
Green, possibly, with aching head,

Against the wing distracted leans.
No matter; they must earn their bread,

And join the laugh behind the scenes.

But all the world's a stage confest;

And laughter often has its source
In what would prove a sorry jest,

Could we but backwards track its course.
For him the laugh would quickly turn,

Who'd ask too closely what it means ;
Then do not seek too much to learn,

Or look too far behind the scenes.

WONDERFUL SPEED.

The Catalogue of the Crystal Palace is rapidly progressing, and will
be ready, not only in one language, but printed in four languages, by
the First of May. This gigantic undertaking, retarded by innumerable
difficulties, will have been completed, therefore, in less than three
months. _ It is this memorable instance of speed that makes us propose
that the interminable and never-to-be-completed-in-our-life-time (as a
German would say) Catalogue of the British Museum be taken out
of the hands of its present sleepy compilers, and confided to the
management of the concoctors of the Exhibition Catalogue. We will
wager they would get it completed, if necessary, before the end of this
year, and would throw in some five thousand illustrations into the
bargain, if they were wanted.

Some alteration is sadly needed—or else, at the rate of speed at which
this snail-like Catalogue is advancing, it will form a formidable rival to
the Wandering Jew, continually running on, but never coming to an
end. In fact, we can imagine its being used as a land-mark in chrono-
logy. Future Macaula.ys will handle it as a very useful yard-measure
in measuring off lengths in history. Thus, we fancy the History of
England will henceforth be written in the following style :—

" It was towards the commencement of the letter A. of the Catalogue of the British
Museum (an era never to be forgotten in the annals of civilisation) when William
the Fourth ascended the Throne."

Or thus:

" The letter e. of the Catalogue of the British Museum was in an advanced state—so
much so, that it required but ter years more, thoroughly to complete it—when, to the
universal joy of the nation, the marriage, between Prince Albert and her beloved
Majesty, Queen Victoria, was celebrated, &c, &c."

In the meantime the books keep accumulating in hundreds of
thousands every year, so that when the present Catalogue is completed
(if it ever will), another Catalogue will be required for the additional
library, which will have grown out of the long arrears of book-accumu-
lation—and so on perhaps ad infinitum. We prophesy that the sun will
never set on the Catalogue of the British Museum. Like the British
Dominions, there will be no termination to it!

FOREIGN INVASION OF EXETER ARCADE.

A French horseman was trotted up to Bow Street the other day,
on the charge of having made a desperate charge with his formidable
charger upon the Exeter Arcade. His defence was, that being overtaken
by a tremendous mitraille of rain, and seeing the place wholly deserted,
besought shelter within its desolate recesses; and mfact the Arcade was
taken by storm. The foreign equestrian was very properly fined for his
own or his horse's capers; but we would suggest that to avoid such
procedings for the future, some signs of habitation should be made mani-
fest within the gloomy vaults of that Arcade, in which, the Beadle, though
"monarch of all he surveys," cannot be supposed to be present with all
his staff at both entrances at the same moment.

We recommend the Exeter Arcade to the attention of the Emigration
Commissioners, and shall be glad to hear of an omnibus having been
chartered for the purpose of carrying colonists to that unfrequented
nook in the centre of the great human ocean, that rolls past it in every
direction. We can scarcely be surprised at a horse—with all its natural
instinct for the freedom of the desert—having rushed into Exeter
Arcade; which is, we presume, destined to receive the remainder of the
cat-tribe driven from Leicester Square hy the civilised Globe having
been pushed into its limits.

The only thing Free from Adulteration.

We are so frightened with the revelations of the frightful system of
adulteration that is practised apparently amongst all trades, that we
soon shall be afraid to touch, smell, eat, or drink the smallest thing. _ We
have but one consolation to buoy us up on this heaving sea of misgivings.
There is still one article left1 us (thank Goodness !) which is perfectly
free from adulteration. It is harmless, always genuine, and, no matter
what quantity it is taken in, can never do harm, but, on the contrary,
is sure to do good. The article we allude to is labelled " Punch," and
may confidently be recommended as never having contained the smallest
grain of adulteration, in the way of wit, or common sense, or any other
of the healthy ingredients of which it is usually compounded.