time when the summer is hot,
When ambition and energy slumber,
When exertion and action are not–
A time that its title has got
From the placid and peaceful cucumber.
When glory grows weary, and Fame
Lifts her laurels her hot brow to mop off,
when sport becomes tiresome and tame,
And people of note and of name
In oblivious dowsiness drop off.
In this period
of listless repose
CONKLING turns to domestic diversions,
OTTENDORFER his eyelids doth close:
E'en the great POPE of Rome in a doze
Lies untroubled by pilgrim excursions.
And NAST, the small warrior tough
Drops his rather too-well-pointed crayon:
McVeagh murmurs faintly "enough;"
While BEN no more stumps his McDuff
In lengthy epistles to "lay on."
TILDEN dreams through the summer
Of returning-boards and their decisions.
BEECHER slumbers: perchance 'twere not meet
To conjecture what images sweet
May be flitting though Henry Ward's visions.
For a while freed from troubles of State
PRINCE BISMARCK sleeps heedless of treason:
Like cucumbers heaped on a plate
All the lights of the world lie, and wait
The end of the Midsummer Season.
Puck Magazine Centerfold; Vol. 1 No. 19, July 18,
1877; 18"w x 12 1/2"h