Essex County herald. [volume] (Guildhall, Vt.) 1873-1964, 1878-08-02

The vast dim halls are stil and deserted;
Only the ghost-like watchmen go,
Through simmer and shadow, 10 and fro
While the moon in the sky,
With its half-shut eye.
Peers smilingly in at his rival below.
At this mysterioush hour, what is it
That comes to pay the Fair visit /?
The gates are well barred,
With faithful guard
Without and within; and yet tits clear
Somebody-or something-is entering here
There is a Paris underground,
Where dwels another nation;
Where neither lawyer nor priest is found,
Nor money nor taxation;
And scarce glimmer and scarce q sound
Reaches those solitudes profound,
But silence and darkness close IT round
horrible habitaton!
Its streets are the sewers, where rats abound;
Where swarms, unstiled, unstarved undrowned,
Their ravenous population.
Underground Paris has heard of the Fair;
And up from the river, from alley and square,
To the wonderful palace the rats repair;
And one old forager, grizzed and spare
The wiseBt to plan and the boldest to dare,
To smell out a prize or to find out snare
In some dark corner, beneath some stair
q never learned how, and never knew where),
Has gnawed his way into the grand affair;
First one rat, and then pair.
And now a dozen or more are there.
While the drowsy watchmAn mods in his chair,
But little hungry rat will care
For the loveliest lscquered or inleid ware,
Jewels most precious, or stufs most rare -
There's marvellous smell of cheese in the air
They all make a rush for the delicate fare;
But the shrewd old fellow squeaks out, Beware |
'Tis prize indeed, but say forbear!
For cats may catch us and men may scare,
And well-set trap is rats depair
But if we are wise, and would have our share
With perfect safety to hide and hair,
Now listen, and we will our plans prepare"
The watchman rouses, the rats are gone;
On q thousand windows CLEANS the dawn;
And now once more
Through every door,
With hustle and hustle, the great crowds pour;
And nobody hears soft little sound,
As Of saving or gnawing, somewhere underground
At length, the Judges, going their round,
Awarding the prizes, enter the hall,
Where, amid cheeses big and small,
Reposes the sovereign of them all.
They put their tape round it, and tap and bore It,
And bowling before it,
AS if to adore it,
Like worshipers of the sun, they stand
Slice i'll hand,
Pleased and bland,
While their bosoms glow and their hearts expand
They smell and they taste;
And, the rind replaced,
The foremost, smacking. his lips, says; "Mes-
sieurs
OF all fine cheese at market or fair
Holland or Rochefort, Stiton or Cheshire,
Neufehate, Mianese-
There never was cheese,
l am free to declare,
That at all could compare
With this great Gruyere n
In short, so exceedingly well 1t pleases,
They award 1t prize over all the cheeses,
That prize is the pride of the whole Swiss nation;
And the town of Mule, in its exutation,
without dissenting voice, DEGREES
To the poor of Paris gift of the cheese.
Paris, in grateful recognition
or this munihcence sends a commission
-Four lately officials, of high position
To take King Cheese from the Exhibition
And, in behalf of the poor, to thank,
With speeches and toasts, the Swiss for their
gift,
The speeches they made the toasts they drank
Eight Normandy horses, strong and swift,
At the entrance wait
For the golden freight;
And ell the porters there to lift,
Prepared for long and strong embrace,
In moving His Greatness little space.
They strain at the signal, each man in his place
Heave, no when 10 as light as feather,
Down tumbles, down crumbles, the King of the
Cheeses,
With seven men, all in heap together
Up scramble the porters, with laughter and
sneezes
While sudden, mighty amazement seizes
The high officials, until they find
curious bore
In the platform floor,
And another to match at the neither rind--
Just one big rat-hoe, and no more;
By which, as it seemed, had ventured in
One rat at first and hundred had followed,
And feasted, and left-to the vast chagrin
Of the worthy burghers of Nulle-as thin
And shabby shell as ever was followed;
Now nothing but just
crushed-in crust,
cart-load of scraps and pungent dust
So the newspapers say but though they call
King Cheese hoax, he was hardly that
And the poor he fed, as you see, after all;
For who is so poor as q Paris rat?
j. T. TrOrbridge, IN st. Nicholas.