DOI issue:
July to December, 1852
DOI Page / Citation link:https://doi.org/10.11588/diglit.16610#0181
PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.
173
THE LONDON PARIA.
Reader, if ever you chance to go
Through some narrow street of wide Soho,
Where the pavement swarms with children small,
And eggs are sold by the blouse-clad Gaul;
Where a penny is all the shaver's pay;
Where the Magyar seeks the Estaminet; —
Glance at the windows, while passing by,
The Paria, perchance, may strike your eye.
From a window that gapes on a second floor,
Crossing his arms on the sill before,
Gloomily calm is the Paria seen
Smoking his pipe with a lofty mien.
Beneath is a noisy, motley crowd,
But it turns not his thoughts from his broad white cloud.
What to him is the throng below— "1
The man's deep curse, or the child's shrill woe ? >
He watches his fumes as they rise and go, J
Melting away into hueless air,
As sorrow melts into blank despair.
You'll fancy, perhaps, that his wandering mind
'Mid those spreading, fading wreaths can find
Some vision of happy days, which yet
He dwells upon with a fond regret.
Not so.—Though scorn has left its trace
Branded upon his proud pale face ;
'Tis but the stamp of a pain that's past,
For even regret must die at last.
What was this being cut off from the rest
Of the world and its varied interest P
Some talk of a fortune spent in youth—
But who can prove that, they tell the truth ?
What is his calling ? No one knows.
He seems to have neither friends nor foes;
And yet you '11 hear the neighbours say,
Though poor, he always " pays his way."
Perchance he writes with small profit—no fame—
A book that comes out with a noble name;
Or some kinsman rich, on his dying bed,
Left him enough for cheese and bread:
Or perhaps—perhaps—but conjectures tire,
When all know nothing, and few inquire—
We can learn by his broad unwrinkled brow
That the Paria, at least, is contented now;
And whatever storms have troubled the past,
A sort of haven is found at last.
To him who thinks life but a pointless joke,
'Tis enough to eat, drink, sleep, and smoke,
'Till he ends his course—alone—alone,
By none regretted—regretting none.
Punning in the Provinces.
At one of the concerts of the late Norwich Festival, there was
present that objectionable creature, a Wag, who, during a pause in the
performance, was heard to observe, that he considered the audience
had a perfect right to complain of the hardness of the seats, seeing
that the Committee had promised them Herb, Formes (!)
things extremely difficult not to lose on a railway.
A limb, or an eye, or a tooth, or your time, or your patience, or your
trunk, or your luggage, or your wife, or your life !
"Plaudite !"
Praise the Wig that has never been found out; praise the Brand]'
that has never given you a headache; the Chancery Suit that has not
ruined you; the Sermon after you have slept well j the Doctor when
he has cured you; the Cabman that has left you without imposition or
abuse; and the Railway that has carried you safely to ^our destination
without a bruise, or an accident.
the president's progress.
The following is the stereotyped official bulletin: " The President
is Progressing as favourably as can be expected."
A School of Design.—A Jesuit's College.
A new Name for Bass's Bitter Ale.—Basso relievo, or Basb-
relief.
THE MARSEILLES PLOT.
{From our own Gobemouche.)
Incorrect accounts of the discovery of an Infernal Machine having
appeared in our contemporaries, we are happy to supply the following
authentic details, which we have had "communicated" per Horse-
marine Electric Telegraph:
" Marseilles, Friday, One Second to 6, p.m.—Our adorable Prince
has this moment arrived.
" 6 o'clock.—His Highness is alighting. Marseilles salutes him with
her million lungs, Vive I'Smpereur '
" 5 Minutes Past.—The shout has caused an earthquake : the ears
of thousands—even the deaf—are split.
"iPast.—Curiosity is on tip-toe. The Emperor has recognised an
old woman in the crowd, and is now affectionately embracing her.
" 35 Seconds Later.—It is the washerwoman of his infancy. What
memory ! What condescension! The populace is charmed with it.
"10 o'clock.—The Prince is opening the Ball. His chosen partner
is the venerable laundress. Rapture surrounds him. All is serene.
" Midnight.—Horror has seized us! An Infernal Machine has been
discovered by the police. The hair of the city stands on end.
" Half-past.—At present all is locked in secrecy.
" 6f a. m.—At length I've got the key. Listen. My ink runs cold
as I narrate the details.
" Calmly our beloved Prince was coming from the Ball, when a sudden
explosion was heard in an attic adjacent. Rushing on the instant up
twelve steep flights of stairs, the police discovered an Infernal Machine
of the most diabolical description. It consisted, in effect, of a whole
Volume of Punch !
******
" France pants for vengeance! Let these authors tremble. Perfidious
Albion too long has shielded them. Too long these execrables-"
Here, from modesty, we break off.
Legerdemain a la Francaise.
Wht would Irishmen have made first-rate auctioneers ?
Because they are ready to " knock down " anything at their priest's
bidding."
173
THE LONDON PARIA.
Reader, if ever you chance to go
Through some narrow street of wide Soho,
Where the pavement swarms with children small,
And eggs are sold by the blouse-clad Gaul;
Where a penny is all the shaver's pay;
Where the Magyar seeks the Estaminet; —
Glance at the windows, while passing by,
The Paria, perchance, may strike your eye.
From a window that gapes on a second floor,
Crossing his arms on the sill before,
Gloomily calm is the Paria seen
Smoking his pipe with a lofty mien.
Beneath is a noisy, motley crowd,
But it turns not his thoughts from his broad white cloud.
What to him is the throng below— "1
The man's deep curse, or the child's shrill woe ? >
He watches his fumes as they rise and go, J
Melting away into hueless air,
As sorrow melts into blank despair.
You'll fancy, perhaps, that his wandering mind
'Mid those spreading, fading wreaths can find
Some vision of happy days, which yet
He dwells upon with a fond regret.
Not so.—Though scorn has left its trace
Branded upon his proud pale face ;
'Tis but the stamp of a pain that's past,
For even regret must die at last.
What was this being cut off from the rest
Of the world and its varied interest P
Some talk of a fortune spent in youth—
But who can prove that, they tell the truth ?
What is his calling ? No one knows.
He seems to have neither friends nor foes;
And yet you '11 hear the neighbours say,
Though poor, he always " pays his way."
Perchance he writes with small profit—no fame—
A book that comes out with a noble name;
Or some kinsman rich, on his dying bed,
Left him enough for cheese and bread:
Or perhaps—perhaps—but conjectures tire,
When all know nothing, and few inquire—
We can learn by his broad unwrinkled brow
That the Paria, at least, is contented now;
And whatever storms have troubled the past,
A sort of haven is found at last.
To him who thinks life but a pointless joke,
'Tis enough to eat, drink, sleep, and smoke,
'Till he ends his course—alone—alone,
By none regretted—regretting none.
Punning in the Provinces.
At one of the concerts of the late Norwich Festival, there was
present that objectionable creature, a Wag, who, during a pause in the
performance, was heard to observe, that he considered the audience
had a perfect right to complain of the hardness of the seats, seeing
that the Committee had promised them Herb, Formes (!)
things extremely difficult not to lose on a railway.
A limb, or an eye, or a tooth, or your time, or your patience, or your
trunk, or your luggage, or your wife, or your life !
"Plaudite !"
Praise the Wig that has never been found out; praise the Brand]'
that has never given you a headache; the Chancery Suit that has not
ruined you; the Sermon after you have slept well j the Doctor when
he has cured you; the Cabman that has left you without imposition or
abuse; and the Railway that has carried you safely to ^our destination
without a bruise, or an accident.
the president's progress.
The following is the stereotyped official bulletin: " The President
is Progressing as favourably as can be expected."
A School of Design.—A Jesuit's College.
A new Name for Bass's Bitter Ale.—Basso relievo, or Basb-
relief.
THE MARSEILLES PLOT.
{From our own Gobemouche.)
Incorrect accounts of the discovery of an Infernal Machine having
appeared in our contemporaries, we are happy to supply the following
authentic details, which we have had "communicated" per Horse-
marine Electric Telegraph:
" Marseilles, Friday, One Second to 6, p.m.—Our adorable Prince
has this moment arrived.
" 6 o'clock.—His Highness is alighting. Marseilles salutes him with
her million lungs, Vive I'Smpereur '
" 5 Minutes Past.—The shout has caused an earthquake : the ears
of thousands—even the deaf—are split.
"iPast.—Curiosity is on tip-toe. The Emperor has recognised an
old woman in the crowd, and is now affectionately embracing her.
" 35 Seconds Later.—It is the washerwoman of his infancy. What
memory ! What condescension! The populace is charmed with it.
"10 o'clock.—The Prince is opening the Ball. His chosen partner
is the venerable laundress. Rapture surrounds him. All is serene.
" Midnight.—Horror has seized us! An Infernal Machine has been
discovered by the police. The hair of the city stands on end.
" Half-past.—At present all is locked in secrecy.
" 6f a. m.—At length I've got the key. Listen. My ink runs cold
as I narrate the details.
" Calmly our beloved Prince was coming from the Ball, when a sudden
explosion was heard in an attic adjacent. Rushing on the instant up
twelve steep flights of stairs, the police discovered an Infernal Machine
of the most diabolical description. It consisted, in effect, of a whole
Volume of Punch !
******
" France pants for vengeance! Let these authors tremble. Perfidious
Albion too long has shielded them. Too long these execrables-"
Here, from modesty, we break off.
Legerdemain a la Francaise.
Wht would Irishmen have made first-rate auctioneers ?
Because they are ready to " knock down " anything at their priest's
bidding."