By reek and close air overcome, The Climbing Boy was oft struck dumb, And stifled soon, unless got out―― Of course he then no more could shout Excelsior! His knees were worn by rough ascent Bare to the very ligament; Flayed were his fingers and his toes; Because he grazed them as he rose, Excelsior! When, jammed in, on his upward way He stuck fast, oft, some used to say, His master, in the grate below, Would light a fire, to make him go Excelsior! These horrors having been at last Dragged into day, an Act was passed Declaring it, henceforth, a crime To make a child a chimney climb Excelsior! Still certain Bumbles, it appears, Against the law, these many years, Have had their Town Hall’s chimneys swept By means of little boys who crept Excelsior! May a new law, more strictly framed, All parties hit at whom ’tis aimed, Concerned in making children sweep Foul flues, whilst painfully they creep Excelsior! Long brush, worked deftly by machine, All chimneys must, ye Bumbles, clean, Law must on cruel masters fall, Who take to driving urchins small Excelsior! _Punch_, June 26, 1875. ―――――――― EXCELSIOR. The swampy state of Illinois Contained a greenish sort of boy, Who read with idiotic joy―― Excelsior! He tarried not to eat or drink, But got a flag of lightish pink, And traced on it, in violet ink―― Excelsior! Though what he meant by that absurd, Uncouth, and stupid, senseless word, Has not been placed upon record―― Excelsior! The characters were very plain, In German text, yet he was fain, With greater clearness to explain―― Excelsior! And so he ran, this stupid wight, And hollered out with, all his might, (As to a person out of sight)―― Excelsior! And everybody thought the lad Within an ace of being mad, Who cried in accents stern and sad―― Excelsior! “Come to my arms,” the maiden cried: The youth grinned sheepishly, and sighed, And then appropriately replied―― Excelsior! The evening sun is in the sky, But still the creature mounts on high, And shouts (nor gives a reason why)―― Excelsior! But ere he gains the topmost crag His feeble legs begin to lag; Unsteadily he holds the flag―― Excelsior! * * * * * Now P. C. Nab is on his track! He puts him in an empty sack, And brings him home upon his back―― Excelsior!