American papers put in circulation many little verses, such as this—
| “The melancholy days have come, The saddest of the year; Too warm, alas! for whiskey punch, Too cold for lager beer.” |
And this, in reference to the Centennial Exhibition:
| “Breathes there a Yank, so mean, so small, Who never says, ‘Wall, now, by Gaul, I reckon since old Adam’s fall There’s never growed on this ’ere ball A nation so all-fired tall As we centennial Yankees.” |
A number of periodicals nowadays make parody and other out-of-the-way styles of literary composition a feature in their issues by way of competition for prizes, and one of these is given here. The author signs himself “Hermon,” and the poem was selected by the editor of “Truth” (November 25, 1880) for a prize in a competition of parodies upon “Excelsior.” It is called “That Thirty-four!” having reference, it is perhaps hardly necessary to state, to the American puzzle of that name which has proved so perplexing an affair to some people.
| “Chill August’s storms were piping loud, When through a gaping London crowd, There passed a youth, who still was heard To mutter the perplexing word, ‘That Thirty-four!’ His eyes were wild; his brow above Was crumpled like an old kid-glove; And like some hoarse crow’s grating note That word still quivered in his throat, ‘That Thirty-four!’ ‘Oh, give it up!’ his comrades said; ‘It only muddles your poor head; It is not worth your finding out.’ He answered with a wailing shout, ‘That Thirty-four!’ ‘Art not content,’ the maiden said, ‘To solve the “Fifteen”-one instead?’ He paused—his tearful eyes he dried— Gulped down a sob, then sadly sighed, ‘That Thirty-four!’ At midnight, on their high resort, The cats were startled at their sport To hear, beneath one roof, a tone Gasp out, betwixt a snore and groan, ‘That Thirty-four!’” |