DOI Heft:
September 8, 1855
DOI Seite / Zitierlink:https://doi.org/10.11588/diglit.16616#0108
96
PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.
[September 8, 185o.
OBSERVATIONS ABROAD.
(by a prejudiced man.)
Perhaps there is no more striking difference between the gross English and the refined
French than in the matter of eating. "Les Anglais!—Mon DieuJ Comme Us mangent! "
says your Parisian, and with reason, no doubt. For young Mr. Bull would, in all probability,
have gone the length of eating an egg and a piece of dry toast, or even a rasher of bacon,
with a cup of tea, by way of breakfast; whereas the young fellows in the picture have had
nothing in the world but a couple of fowls,, with nice greasy sauce—a dish of cutlets, accom-
panied by mushrooms, olives, and cockscombs—a melon—a bowl of eggs beaten up with
truffles—about a pint of currant juice and iced water—a large crayfish, or lobster, a bottle of
ordinary red wine, some salad, with plenty of oil, four peaches, two apricots, a dish of potatoes
a la matire d' hotel, two cups of coffee and some rum, a yard and a half of bread, and just a
handful or so of radishes, a few almond and ratifia cakes, and a dozen lumps of sugar 1 How
much more delicate and sensible is such a meal! And yet, somehow or other, at the age of
thirty, a Frenchman is generally obliged to wear stays to preserve his figure, aud he has no
digestion to speak of.
POUNDING OF SWEABORG.
The trembling Baltic shore
With a volcanic roar,
The fast and fun'ous cannonade astounds;
Thousands of bombshelL fly
Across the smoky sky,
In every one of tinm—there goes five pounds!
But pi'ch away the cash,
And may the death-holt crash
Into as many little bits of bomb ;
Those fiagments, every part,
Reaching a Russian's heart,
As there are farthing pieces in the sum.
The more gold we expend,
The more Cossacks we send
To Nicholas, who loosed them on mankind.
How much of life we save,
In smashing every slave,
To work a Tyrant's muiderous will design'd !
Delightful is the note,
From the bkzing iron throat,
Answering the Muscovite hyaena's yell
When, Liberty to crush,
The brandied Helots rush,
Mov'd down before our batteries pell-mell
Tin se morta1 s are the things,
Upon Destruction's wings,
The telling kind of messenger to send
Those, who to no discourse
Save that of mere brute force,
Their stupid, savage, servile ears will lend.
More mortars ! send out more,
Burn arsenal and s'ore,
Let the shells scatter death on every side ;
Among the slaves, to show
Their Czar that he is no
Colossus that shall all the world bestride.
Woik, founders, work away,
There will be much to pay:
If there's as much to show we'll cry "Content!"
Sink, burn—that War may cease,
Kill and destroy—for Peace;
Spend money, that less money may be spent.
A PROBzVBLE GLUT OF GENIUSES.
An anonymous individual, who is quite right
in concealing his name, has given 10,000 francs,
some £400, to be distributed in prizes to men of
letters of every degree, and of every nation. We
tremble to think of the number of geese thcit
will be sacrificed to provide quills for the myriads
who will rush into manuscript on the chance of
obtaining a share of the proffered plunder. The
highest prize is one of £40, for the best novel,
consisting of not less than 50,000, and not more
than 60,000 letters. We suspect that even the
successful competitor will starve before an award
can be made, for the arbitrators cannot come to
a decision until they have counted all the letters
in all the novels that may be sent in for adjudica-
tion; and when this operation has been gone
through, it will be necessary to read every one of
the million manuscripts that will pour in upon
the harassed judges.
When all this has been done, there will still
remain the task of appropriating some £200
among the authors of second rank; and as the
numbers of those who come off second-best in
the literary world are .ncalculable, we look with
real horror on the task that has been imposed on
those who have been appointed to adjudicate.
modesty where least expected.
Delicate Swell {holding up his long coat pre-
vious to running over a dirty crossing). "Good
gracious ! I hope to goodness no Lady will see
my ancles !
PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.
[September 8, 185o.
OBSERVATIONS ABROAD.
(by a prejudiced man.)
Perhaps there is no more striking difference between the gross English and the refined
French than in the matter of eating. "Les Anglais!—Mon DieuJ Comme Us mangent! "
says your Parisian, and with reason, no doubt. For young Mr. Bull would, in all probability,
have gone the length of eating an egg and a piece of dry toast, or even a rasher of bacon,
with a cup of tea, by way of breakfast; whereas the young fellows in the picture have had
nothing in the world but a couple of fowls,, with nice greasy sauce—a dish of cutlets, accom-
panied by mushrooms, olives, and cockscombs—a melon—a bowl of eggs beaten up with
truffles—about a pint of currant juice and iced water—a large crayfish, or lobster, a bottle of
ordinary red wine, some salad, with plenty of oil, four peaches, two apricots, a dish of potatoes
a la matire d' hotel, two cups of coffee and some rum, a yard and a half of bread, and just a
handful or so of radishes, a few almond and ratifia cakes, and a dozen lumps of sugar 1 How
much more delicate and sensible is such a meal! And yet, somehow or other, at the age of
thirty, a Frenchman is generally obliged to wear stays to preserve his figure, aud he has no
digestion to speak of.
POUNDING OF SWEABORG.
The trembling Baltic shore
With a volcanic roar,
The fast and fun'ous cannonade astounds;
Thousands of bombshelL fly
Across the smoky sky,
In every one of tinm—there goes five pounds!
But pi'ch away the cash,
And may the death-holt crash
Into as many little bits of bomb ;
Those fiagments, every part,
Reaching a Russian's heart,
As there are farthing pieces in the sum.
The more gold we expend,
The more Cossacks we send
To Nicholas, who loosed them on mankind.
How much of life we save,
In smashing every slave,
To work a Tyrant's muiderous will design'd !
Delightful is the note,
From the bkzing iron throat,
Answering the Muscovite hyaena's yell
When, Liberty to crush,
The brandied Helots rush,
Mov'd down before our batteries pell-mell
Tin se morta1 s are the things,
Upon Destruction's wings,
The telling kind of messenger to send
Those, who to no discourse
Save that of mere brute force,
Their stupid, savage, servile ears will lend.
More mortars ! send out more,
Burn arsenal and s'ore,
Let the shells scatter death on every side ;
Among the slaves, to show
Their Czar that he is no
Colossus that shall all the world bestride.
Woik, founders, work away,
There will be much to pay:
If there's as much to show we'll cry "Content!"
Sink, burn—that War may cease,
Kill and destroy—for Peace;
Spend money, that less money may be spent.
A PROBzVBLE GLUT OF GENIUSES.
An anonymous individual, who is quite right
in concealing his name, has given 10,000 francs,
some £400, to be distributed in prizes to men of
letters of every degree, and of every nation. We
tremble to think of the number of geese thcit
will be sacrificed to provide quills for the myriads
who will rush into manuscript on the chance of
obtaining a share of the proffered plunder. The
highest prize is one of £40, for the best novel,
consisting of not less than 50,000, and not more
than 60,000 letters. We suspect that even the
successful competitor will starve before an award
can be made, for the arbitrators cannot come to
a decision until they have counted all the letters
in all the novels that may be sent in for adjudica-
tion; and when this operation has been gone
through, it will be necessary to read every one of
the million manuscripts that will pour in upon
the harassed judges.
When all this has been done, there will still
remain the task of appropriating some £200
among the authors of second rank; and as the
numbers of those who come off second-best in
the literary world are .ncalculable, we look with
real horror on the task that has been imposed on
those who have been appointed to adjudicate.
modesty where least expected.
Delicate Swell {holding up his long coat pre-
vious to running over a dirty crossing). "Good
gracious ! I hope to goodness no Lady will see
my ancles !